Eulogy: Mother to Many

By Rev. Emma Chattin
for Bernie Mathes at her Memorial Service

Mary Hahn, one of Bernie’s friends wrote this:

“I have never known anyone who was such a good listener,
always had the right thing to say, and was so supportive to everyone.
I will miss her as will everyone whose path she crossed.”

Heather and I went to visit Bernie at the ReHab center in Charlottesville on April 1st, which happened to be our 15th anniversary. As we turned the corner on the floor where Bernie’s room was located… while looking for her room… I heard a voice in the hallway call out loudly, happily, and enthusiastically “HEATHER!”
It was Bernie, sitting in a wheel chair in the hallway.
We had somehow walked right past her.
There was something particularly endearing to me
that Bernie greeted Heather first.
Later in the car, on our way home, Heather commented to me that no one has ever sounded so glad to see her except me. There are many memories that I have of Bernie, but at that point, where Bernie’s story suddenly intersected with ours in a wholly surprising and unexpected way, she became a part of our own story, weaving into the fabric of our relationship memory in a way that we will never forget. So has her memory woven itself into all of our lives at some point, or many points, crossing the warp and weft of our own stories,
leaving her memory in the pattern of our lives.

I believe our lives are our story and our stories are our life.
and in this way, our lives themselves speak out more clearly and honestly
about who we are than any words or eulogy could ever hope to capture.
Over the years, between the covers of beginning and ending,
our lives have laughter, magic moments, and mysteries…
musicals, comedies, tragedies, novel settings…. epic journeys….

Our lives develop complex plots… drama…
(sometimes too much drama),
transformations, recurring characters,
and an ever evolving main character, which is we ourselves.
Over arching all of these, there is often a theme,
a common thread that sews together the patchwork of our years
so that a pattern often emerges from the abstract….
… a central theme … a thread that whispers who we are.
My task is often to seek that whisper, to listen to it, to follow it….
to hear it speak…

In this case I did not need to listen long….
All of the stories I received only served to reinforce…
to give greater voice to the whisper that I first heard.

I didn’t need to hear about the time when Emily’s college roommate, Kaitlin, was preparing for her senior flute recital, and when it became apparent her parents could not attend, that Bernie stepped in, and organized and catered a party for Kaitlin

I didn’t need to hear about Bernie’s years leading the sexuality seminars at Emmerson Unitarian Church in Houston for 5th 6th, and 7th graders, educating all the young ones regarding responsible sexual behavior…

I didn’t need to hear about the times and occasions when Bernie had to go against her nature to give space to those who needed it, even though she would have preferred closeness…. or the fact that being a host did not come naturally to her, but her strong desire to put others at ease and make them comfortable expanded her own horizons and overtook her limitations….

I didn’t need to hear about her work at the free clinic… helping others… helping those most vulnerable and most in need… and even taking money from her own purse on occasion to help provide items that were immediately needed for folks without the immediate resources to afford them.

Or when a friend’s son was diagnosed with cancer without health insurance, and the efforts she made to find the needed resources,

All quietly done… with little notice or fanfare.

I didn’t need to know these things
to understand the theme of Bernie’s life,
in order to hear her life whisper to me:
“Mother To Many”.

All of these other things i learned after Bernie’s death did not surprise me
but only served give added dimension to the person I knew,
to reinforce what I knew to be true,
to add voice and strength
to the whisper that I had experienced myself
by watching her over the years,
through knowing her over the years…

For I had experienced the theme of her life in my work with her
at the Harrisonburg Unitarian Universialist community.

She was caring, nurturing, compassionate, instinctive, strong,
able to offer guidance and discipline when she felt it needed,
determined, supportive, encouraging, understanding,
and she believed in the goodness of people.

I first came to know her when my name surfaced as a guest preacher for the lay led Harrisonburg UU community. In 2006? She had not been a part of that community for very long herself at that time, perhaps only a year or two, yet she was not only very capable, but very comfortable in her role as head of the Sunday services committee, and it was in that role she took me out to lunch.

It was wonderful, casual, and enjoyable.
At the same time, I was also aware that I was being vetted.
Such care she had for the people in her community… the people under her care… and it touched me deeply… because that level of care…. a mother’s care…. is the care of a pastor’s heart.
At that point, I knew I genuinely wanted to work with this woman.
And over the years it was my good fortune to come to know her personally and professionally. As a seasoned and experienced colleague in ministry,
she was a source of wisdom, advice, and guidance….
and always… a good friend.

Her loss…. is palpable.

I was talking with Jennifer Spiller, who is the current leader of the Board of the Harrisonburg UU… and as we talked about this service and pondered some questions…. we both agreed….
that the person to whom we would go to for answers…
is the person whose life we are celebrating today.

Hope Edleman wrote in Motherless Daughters, The Legacy of Loss
“A mother's death also means the loss of the consistent, supportive family system that once supplied her children with a secure home base; the children must then grow and develop on their own. “

There are many communities
who will experience the loss of Bernie’s presence
deeply and profoundly.

A Mother to Many, yes….
And yet, far over and above those Bernie cared for
in the many communities she was a part of,
were her own children, her own family.
If you knew Bernie, you knew this,
and you saw her care, her determination,
and her love in action.

While our sense of loss is palpable,
the loss the family experiences is acute.
I have had the privilege of working closely with them
over the past few days, and a more remarkable group
I would be hard pressed to find.

Her family now enters the care of each other
and the communities that surround them.
We all will move forward through our loss… together.
We go on, we move forward,
even if our way does not always seem clear.

When faced with an uncertain future
Rev. William Sloan Coffin responded with this
to questions about what he was going to do next in his life:
". . . the children of Divinity
are simultaneously burdened and liberated
by a call to participate
in the decisions of an ongoing creation."

We don't always know where we are going,
but we know that we have to go---
and we know that creation is an on going process.
And we go on together.
And together we celebrate the life of Bernie Christine Mathes,
as we each carry with us
the impression and patterns she has left upon our lives.

We are about to hear one of Bernie’s favorite songs. Every time she heard it in concert, she would sit quietly and contentedly sigh with pleasure at the beginning and a tear in her eye at the end.

As she lay dying, Lincoln promised Bernie that he would take good care of their daughters that she so competently raised.
Lincoln now reiterates that promise,
but asks that you help him as you are able.
Bernie was a mother to many,
so this is a song for the many that she nurtured,
but it is also, of course…. mostly to her dear daughters.
Child of Mine, by Bill Staines ....

Child of Mine

Closing Words

In closing, as we celebrate the life of Bernie Christine Mathes,
we reflect on the lessons she taught us, even in dying, even in death.
One of her daughters wrote:
“Even with her diagnosis, which is one of the very worst a person can receive, EVERY day, often multiple times a day, she remarked about how very blessed her life is. While walking past the windows looking out over the chirping birds, or listening to messages left by old friends, or sitting and chatting with her never-ending stream of visitors, she was always able to be thankful and content in the face of unfathomable unfairness. It is a true gift to be able to set aside the hand she was dealt, and focus on all the amazing things in her life, and there are many. It turns out, focusing on those things really does make a happier person, even in the midst of so much sadness.”

Bernie’s cousin, Sara Beth Mathes Mitchell, offered these words
of Henry David Thoreau:
“Every blade in the field… Every leaf in the forest
Lays down its life in its season …. As beautifully as it was taken up.”

Merle Winger, one of her friends from HUU,
wrote Bernie a poem that closes with these lines:

“Thanks for the final lesson
Showing us we have but one life to live
And that while we draw breath and can give,
We must love, and share, and lead, and lend a helping hand,
for tomorrow, it may never come.
Thanks, Bernie.”