Eulogy for Clara

Written for Clara Cheek, my paternal grandmother.

Clara, Grandma, was home for me in a special way.  My mom was many amazing things, but no one would use the word “warm” to describe her.  She made a home like a mission outpost.  But Grandma made a home that, to the childhood me, was like a story-book cottage of delight.  Grandma knew how to bring me into her world, envelope me with love and care.  So much so, that even now I sometimes dream that I’m waking up on some holiday morning in the spare room of Grandma’s double-wide trailer in Pennsylvania.  Those were some of the best days of my childhood.

Grandma was home.  Maybe you encountered Clara in this way?  Her hospitality was legendary, really she will be, at least in the Cheek book, the GOAT of “take a load off and eat this.”  Whether it was a simple meal, a giant family reunion, running the kitchen at Fourth and Forest, or a handmade gift — or some bargain treasure discovered at a garage sale -- she always made you feel seen and appreciated.  Grandma truly received people and generously shared her heart through her hands.

I say hands, because some of you might have known Clara in another way that involved her tongue.  Grandma was not known for holding her opinion to herself, at least not among those she cared about.  When Grandma noticed something she did not like, or maybe something she did not quite understand, and definitely anything that she thought was wrong, a spark would rise in her eye.  It would make her shoulders shift and her chin cock in a particular way as it worked its way down.  By the time it got to her tongue it was a flame that could quickly heat up a room and might burn those unable to dodge or brush it off.  This had an explosive potential in our family.  The most exquisite emotional fireworks were possible especially if Grandma encountered a feisty family member with enough brass to tell her “don’t get your panties in a wad”.  Ka-boom!

Grandma came by it honestly.  While I’m not sure a sharp tongue is genetic, it can certainly come from hard living and difficult situations, and as a child, Clara had plenty.  But from farm and family, she drew a deep conviction that family will be family no matter what.  Addiction, disability, poverty, brutality, and misfortune cannot divide the inseparable power of people bonded by blood and love.  Add to this her membership in the Greatest Generation — who pulled together in the days of rations and recycling — during the worst times of humanity revealed in WWII, and you got a woman who would not flinch for one second from “we can and we will”.

For the Cheeks, the most particular expression of this has been her unflinching commitment to open her door to any of us and anyone we happened to bring along.  They were all welcome — not necessarily without comment — but welcome all the same, for a few hours, a few days, or - in some cases - a few years. 

Though grandma said some things that virtually every Cheek (and our numerous branches) still feel “some kinda way about”, we still know we were deeply loved.  It is amazing to me how Grandma, as powerful as her opinions and convictions were, maintained this openness — to share life and community with so many people so different from her, and not in some abstract or showy way, but in the intimacy of her home and life.  And this brings me to Grandma’s legacy for us: a legacy most especially needed by those in this room in this particular time.

In order to explain my Grandmother’s legacy, I am going to have to say a word that some of you may think is a bad word.  I promise you it has more than four letters.  I’m going to say it for the sake of the grandchildren and great grandchildren who for the most part live this word, use this word among their friends, or hold it in their heart -- even though they are not supposed to say it in some churches and are definitely not supposed to say it in school or college. “Inclusion”.  There, I said it.  And, though I am a Christian and a social conservative, I am not sorry for saying it and I will say it again as often as I like.  Inclusivity is one of the great issues of our time.  But here may be a shocker: it has been one of the greatest human issues since the Garden of Eden when our Fall from God made us wonder if there was a place for us in the Divine Family and therefore anywhere at all.  “Is there a place a for me?”

Inclusion is important to everyone — who gets included and who doesn’t — so much so that it’s in the news every day.  Some people talk about it from the perspective of we need more of it and must fight for it.  Other people talk about it from the perspective of we have already achieved it in this great country so it should be illegal to work for it or even talk about it.  In arguing about it as a society, we implicitly acknowledge two things — first, we are people and belonging is fundamental to what it means to be human and, second, that the future of our society will be determined by the question “who is included.”

But this is a eulogy, not a stump speech or a sermon.  Eulogy means to study the good of someone’s life.  So I best get back to Grandma.  You might was well know that “good” for me is defined completely by the person and teaching of Jesus.  You may or may not agree with that standard, but I ask you right now to consider the what good is and join me in finding the best from Clara’s life as I have described and as you have known her.  This will not take us away from the inclusivity that was my Grandmother’s art — even more than her crafts or Bob Ross paintings — but rather illuminate it in — I hope — a helpful way.

So the question is, do I see Jesus in my Grandma, especially in her inclusion and hospitality?  Jesus took in and spent time with people very different from himself.  He is renowned for his fraternity with tax collectors and sinners — the outcasts according to the “good” and “proper” people of his time.  But, we should also note, that he often ate with Pharisees, self-righteous and judgmental people of respectable standing very much considered his enemies.  What is perhaps the most remarkable, is his gathering together and living with — 24/7 — a group of very different, often diametrically opposed, disciples who often struggled with who Jesus was and what they should do in response.  

I see my Grandma in that, most especially in her embrace in later years of family members some might think should be excluded for being too different in unacceptable ways.  She did not prevent the little children from coming to her, and she embraced them on her knee and championed them in family conversations in a way that looks like my Lord.

But here, we must part from our culture’s expectations of inclusion and see in both Jesus and Grandma a better definition.  Jesus, though he included “the least of these” in his family — and sometimes “the worst of these” — he never once laid personal, relational, social, or spiritual truth on the chopping block in order to avoid the inevitable offense of being a real human.  In the same way, Grandma did not jettison herself, her opinions, or her convictions in order to fly with the trend, appease error, or flatter the 500-pound gorillas thrashing the lives of those she loved.  Inclusivity, to be real, powerful, generative, sustainable, and good cannot be based simply on affirmation that verbally appreciates ideological graffitti while ignoring the diversity of identity and stifling true concern.  Such inclusivity makes it illegal to be human in certain ways and turns into a vicious fashion police of our mouths when it should be generous enough to hear our hearts.

We need this now.  For we haven’t much time left to include in our life all whom we should include.  And if we wait until “they” become perfect in opinion or politics or behavior or economics or religion, we will miss the point of Grandma’s life and we will miss opportunities to know Jesus — not about him, but really to know him.  Let us instead adopt Clara’s unflinching ferocity to open the doors wide to a well-laden table that really does have enough grace spread for all.

May Clara’s blessing be upon you all.  She spoke over each of you, “welcome”.  And I say it over you again now, "You are most welcome in the Family."  And should you see her again on the shore where our new life will dawn, she will be there to greet you in that morning with her vital cup of coffee in her hand.  If you happen to arrive later in that Happy Day, she will still greet you, but will be drinking a Diet Coke.