See You Later
Margaret Jane Woertz, 101, passed away peacefully on Wednesday, December 4, 2024, at her home.
Born Margaret Jane Longest, she spent her earliest years in New Albany before her family moved to Elizabeth, Indiana, at age nine, where she made a home for the rest of her life. Over the course of her 100-year lifespan, she lived through numerous significant historical events, prepared countless exceptional meals, and traveled extensively across the world later in life. Most importantly, she was a beloved mother, grandmother, and follower of Jesus Christ.
Jane was preceded in death by her husband Harold Woertz; her twin sister Mary Jean Reeves; her parents Graham Longest, Louise Kessinger, and stepfather Harold Kessinger; and her special friend Lloyd Bailey.
She leaves behind a legacy of love through her surviving family: son Ed Woertz (Sue) of Corydon; daughters Audrea Nichols of Elizabeth and Myra Woertz of Lanesville; seven grandchildren, Michael Woertz, Cynthia DeGraff, Melissa Best, Tyson Yeager, Brent Nichols, Emily Yeager, and Nick Cokeley; thirteen great-grandchildren, Tyler Best, Regan Applegate, Alex Woertz, Levi Decker, Caroline Woertz, Brayden Yeager, Alexis Nichols, Jane Davis, Emma Davis, Austin Nichols, Brody Yeager, Ruby Cates, and Hattie Cokeley; three great-great-grandchildren, Graham Best, Willow Applegate, and Liam Best; and two nieces, Lynda Grable and Jolanda Petrick.
John 11:1-4, 20-27, 32-35, 38-44
Let's just be really honest, we don't really want to be here today.
It isn't often said aloud at a funeral, but it is something many of us are feeling and thinking.
We don't really want to be here. It isn't that we aren't appreciative of the wonderful care and support of the funeral home. Or that we don't want to be here together, catching up and exchanging memories. It isn't that we don't want to celebrate the life of this amazing woman, Margaret Jane Woertz (Our Mother, Aunt, Mamaw, Granny, Grandma, Friend, Hero), or share the countless ways she touched our lives. But we would rather be doing all of these things with her here with us, gathered around her kitchen table, sharing one of her legendary meals.
Oh, those meals. Every visit meant being greeted not just with her warm smile but with the promise of something delicious. The moment you walked through her door, you would be greeted with an offer for everything in the pantry, if not twice, at least once. The way she could turn a simple meal into a feast. The aroma of her delicious food would fill the house, drawing us all to the kitchen like a magnet. She had this magical way of making even ordinary weekday breakfasts feel like a special occasion. The best dang toast you would ever taste in your life. Yes, just bread and butter, but more than bread cut diagonally and butter spread perfectly – they were made with love and that special touch that only she knew. And dessert? Her cakes weren't just desserts; they were masterpieces of love, decorated with the kind of attention to detail that showed just how much she cared about making every occasion special with our names in quotations written with the tastiest frosting. Her home was more than just a gathering place; it was a sanctuary of love and constancy. If those walls could talk, and it’s probably good, they can’t! Many of us still cherish the things she lovingly sewed for us, each stitch embedded with her care and attention to detail. Shopping trips with her weren't just errands – they were adventures filled with laughter and joy. She had this way of making even the most mundane feel like precious moments, her smile brightening every space she entered. She taught us that life's greatest pleasures often come from these simple moments.
For all of these reasons and so many more, most of my life, if you would have asked me, my biggest fear was losing the life of this precious woman and having to experience it today. That was until a few years ago, when God opened a door that gave me an immense amount of peace. I was visiting Granny in the hospital, and we were trying to convince her to undergo some type of procedure. She looked me straight in the eyes, and we had one of the most serious conversations we ever had. “Don’t worry about me,” she said. She told me she had lived a good, long, and fulfilling life. She had witnessed so much, and she had been greatly blessed. She told me, however, that all of the people she could relate to were gone: Papaw, Aunt Jean, Lloyd, Aunt Dorothy, and others. She loved us so much, but nobody could really understand what she had experienced, and it felt a bit lonely. Most importantly, she knew Jesus and was confident in her future in eternity with him. Because of all this, she wasn’t looking to prolong being here any longer than she had already. This conversation was really difficult, but at that moment, I knew she was right.
So this is perhaps both the easiest and most difficult funeral message I have ever given, all wrapped up into one. Despite not really wanting to be here, it does beg the question... How are we to respond? And what are we to do besides obviously showing up?
And that's why I love the passage about Lazarus so much. Like so much of the scriptures, it's raw, it's real, and it is, in many ways, what we're experiencing here today.
We know that Lazarus was loved by Jesus. The text says that Lazarus' sisters sent a message to Jesus: “Lord, he whom you love is ill.”
The one whom Jesus loved. That can describe Lazarus. But that can also describe us. “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.” Granny knew this love, and she lived it out in every single thing she did – from the way she welcomed everyone into her home without hesitation to how she always seemed to have an extra plate ready for whoever might stop by.
You can often tell when someone truly knows and feels the love of God because that love just exudes in their selfless care for others.
That was Granny. Many may wonder what caused her to love so well, so deeply, so genuinely. She knew the love of Jesus, and it flowed out from the depths of her being, whether she was feeding her family, hemming dress pants for a grandchild, or simply sitting and talking over a cup of coffee. Her faith wasn't just something she talked about – it was something she lived every single day, in the way she treated people, in the way she gave of herself tirelessly, in the way she always had room in her heart for one more person to love.
I will be the first to raise my hand here today and could recall the times I remember upsetting this precious woman. Like many here, her house was my second home growing up, and this may come as a shock to some of you, but some of us were not the most angelic of kids growing up. We tested her patience, destroyed a thing or two, and probably gave her more gray hairs than she deserved. There were some instances and situations in which we gave her way more grief than she deserved. I can think of a few reasons she could have written us off as a lost cause and given up on us. And yet, despite all of that, she continued to hug us tightly, love us fiercely, and always had her fridge and pantry ready for the next raid.
“For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
Granny knew this love, and she lived it out.
In the Gospel passage about Lazarus, we read that when Jesus saw Mary and Martha weeping and the Jews who came with them also weeping, He was deeply moved. Jesus was so moved that He began to weep, too.
Jesus weeps with us today even though He knows the final outcome. I know some folks may live by the code that crying or weeping is a sign of weakness. “We gotta be tough, we gotta be strong.” But I am standing here today, reading that the Savior of the world, the God of all creation, weeps with us in our grief. Just as Granny wasn't afraid to show her emotions, to laugh fully and cry freely, we too can be real with our feelings today.
Like the sisters, we may also sit here today with questions. Why now? Why the strokes? Why couldn't there be more time? These aren't questions of doubt - they're expressions of love and grief. And just as Jesus didn't rebuke Martha and Mary for their questions, He doesn't rebuke us for ours. Instead, He meets us in them, weeps with us, and gently reminds us of who He is: “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” These weren't just comforting words that Granny believed – they were the foundation of her hope and the source of her joy. She knew that this life, as beautiful as it can be, as rich as she made it for all of us, is not the end of the story.
You see, the Christian hope isn't just that our souls float away to some distant, ethereal place. No, it is something far more substantial, far more real. I believe, as Granny did, in the physical resurrection of the body like that of Lazarus. Just as Jesus walked out of His own tomb with a real, physical body – one that could be touched, that could eat fish on the shore with His disciples, that still bore the scars of His sacrifice – we too will be raised with new, glorified bodies.
Think about those hands of Mamaw's – hands that prepared meals, that hemmed clothes, that wiped tears, that held babies, that folded in prayer. Those hands will be restored, perfect, and new but still uniquely hers. That laugh we all loved will ring out again, even more joyous in the presence of her Savior. The eyes that sparkle with love will open again to see wonders we can't even imagine.
This isn't wishful thinking or a pretty metaphor – it's the solid hope that kept Grandma going through every hardship, every goodbye, every challenge. The apostle Paul tells us that what is sown perishable is raised imperishable. The body that we lay to rest today is like a seed – what rises will be so much more glorious. All the limitations, all the pain, all the frailty will be gone. But the essence of who she is – her love, her joy, her creativity, her faith – all of that continues and will be perfectly fulfilled when Jesus returns.
That's why we can say today that this goodbye, as painful as it is, is temporary. We're not just trying to keep her memory alive – though we certainly will. We're looking forward to seeing her again, to hugging her again, to laughing with her again. And she would want us to remember this today: Death has lost its sting, Jesus has conquered the grave, and because He lives, Granny lives, and we will live also, if we make Him the Lord and Savior of our lives. Like Jesus, I ask, “Do you believe this?”
In closing, I'd like to read some of the words I've read and heard people use to describe our Mamaw over the last several days…
A true master of making everyone feel special. The heart of our family. The best cook on this side of heaven. One of a kind. So much grace. Beautiful soul. Sweetest. Greatest of all time. The kindest. The best in every way. A woman who showed us Jesus in how she lived. A saint who walked among us.
Goodbye is hard, but this isn't really goodbye – it's “see you later.” Her legacy lives on not just in memories but in the faith she instilled in us, in the way she showed us what it means to follow Jesus with your whole heart. She is now wholly healed, completely joyful, and forever in the presence of her beloved Savior, Jesus Christ. And I can just hear her saying, “Don't worry about me,” like she did in that hospital room. “I'm more alive than I've ever been. I love you. I'll see you soon.”
Until that glorious day, may we live as she taught us, love as she showed us, and trust in the same Jesus who was her everything. For indeed, as she well knew and now fully knows, neither death, nor life, nor anything else in all creation, can separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Amen.
