Funeral Homily for Caroline Shaw
Some of Caroline's happiest times were at her allotment. It was her earthly place of refreshment, light and peace. It was a social space for her too, as she brought friends there and shared news of allotment progress with church members in the parish magazine.
Sadly, I never went there, but like many people here I received the benefits of Caroline's labours. Runner beans became a staple part of the vicarage diet. Caroline came alive in the allotment because it gave her a joyful, health-giving rhthym of life. It gave her a space to be her happiest and best self; where her skills and virtues came alive.
The allotment was a place where she exercised physical strength, showed dedication and long-term commitment, and regulated her feelings through routines. It was also a place where her Spirit-given charisms came alive: service, because a garden is no easy taskmaster and requires hard work; and kindness, with the fruits of her efforts overflowing to friends, church members, and people all over Edgbaston and beyond. 
Caroline exercised these same gifts here, in St George's church, which she loved and was an absolutely integral part over four decades. She put in so much hard work and loving service into the building we are sitting in today. Most Sundays she served at the altar here; throughout the week she washed linen, arranged furniture (often with heroic physical strength that far exceeded mine!), tidied and cleaned. Her service was not confined to this building though but rather, like the allotment overflowed into the community at large as she visited the sick and housebound, and constantly helped people with their needs. 
Caroline was someone who instinctively "got" the Christian way of life. That constant back-and-forth dynamic; meeting the God of love here in church, then taking all that she had learned out into a life of practical kindness. Caroline was an accomplished person who also had the open and kind heart of a child. She understood the words of Jesus that those who wish to enter the Kingdom must become like little children, not making ourselves seem big and important but rather being willing to take the humbler part. Caroline absolutely adored children, both in her working life and here in church. Every Sunday she would crown her acts of loving service by asking children - regulars and visitors - if they'd like to help her snuff out candles or put things away. She often conversed with cuddly toys. As at her allotment, for Caroline liturgy outpoured, overflowed into the whole of life, including others in a beautiful way.
Now Caroline was just like the rest of us, and sometimes she got frustrated and irritated with her calling, even as she embodied it so well. Sometimes she expressed confusion, and her ethic of service often led her to burnout. The love that she showed so many people, which she felt in her gut from the teachings of Jesus, she sometimes struggled to feel within herself. I spent much time with her, as did many friends, encouraging her to apply that kindness to herself, and suggesting ways to relieve the burden. In her happier times, I believe she got this too - she knew that in order for her to flourish, she would need time in her allotment, and days off. She knew that when you have a high call to serving others, it's all the more important to tend your own garden, the garden of your inner life.
Yet we know that inner life was exceptionally challenging for Caroline. She was suffering from anxiety, a medical condition which I know from her first-hand experience, can be all-consuming. Anxiety makes everything seem hard, and complicated; and it takes the joy out of even the most wonderful things - our relationships, gardens, families and faith. The fact that Caroline was able to sustain so many good things for others while engaged in a struggle against sad and dark thoughts is a testament to her courage and bravery. She sought help, spiritual and medical, for her inner life and she persevered in prayer and worship, even when (at times) she felt that it was lacked meaning.
Caroline's death is a tragedy, and there is no way we can minimise this reality. I dearly wish that I was not here giving this sermon, but rather with her discussing the arrangement's for weekday Eucharists, or being told off by her (as I sometimes was!) for a liturgical infraction. Like me, you may dearly wish that she would visit, that we would be with her on the allotment or sharing a cup of tea. It is hard to understand how so much beauty and goodness can co-exist inside a person with the desire to end one's own life. My own understanding is that the agony of Caroline's inner struggle was simply too much for her to bear.
But please do not leave this church feeling that all hope is lost, for Caroline or for us. There is always hope. The fruits of Caroline's labours, her love, her prayers, her growth, cannot be lost. They come from a God of love, and God never gives up on anyone.
The Bible, the story of our salvation, begins and ends in a garden; it reaches its pivotal moments there too. In the beginning, human beings walk in the garden with God; in the Gospel, Jesus wrestles with pain and sorrow in the garden of Gethsemane; it is in the garden that the women see Jesus, risen from the dead. Like Caroline's story, it is one of beauty and brokenness, pain and dreadful sorrow - and, in time, of healing, joy and redemption.
And in today's Bible reading, Revelation offers us the urban garden (or perhaps the allotment?) as the image of all things at their proper end. A fruitful tree, perhaps a symbol of Jesus' cross, which offers all people healing; a river of refreshment; the end to all curses - the curse of physical and emotional anguish which we bear now, to be ended in that place of peace. And the opportunity, as in this earthly life, to serve God faithfully, and to enjoy God's presence without limit.
This is the life for which we long. And it is the life that Caroline can enjoy too. We should not despair. Nor should we think that, because Caroline ended her own life, the way to this heavenly place of refreshment, light and peace is closed to her. On the contrary, when God looks upon Caroline, or any person, at the moment of their death, God sees all that they are, were and will ever be. God knows the level of anguish which has caused a person to be in that place of desperation. God sees the whole person, including all their goodness and their desire for him, and God loves them. By ways known to God alone, God can speak into the depths of that person's heart and help them to be ready for heaven. We must remember that this God, who made us and sees our hearts, took upon himself a life of service and sorrow for our sake. That is the depth of God's love for us, and for Caroline his beloved child and dear servant.
So we gather today in sadness but also in profound hope. We entrust Caroline to our loving God. Let us leave this place with picture, drawn from the Scriptures. Jesus welcomes Caroline and says "I understand"; Jesus says, "I know what you went through", Jesus says to her and to us "I love you - and any mistakes you made are history, through my love. Let's talk things through. I am not done with you. All that you did for me I accepted, and I have other things for you to do now. Follow me."
Perhaps they are sat in a garden, with the fruits of Caroline's life, which were always God's gifts, around them, and the tools that she will need for further service. hey are having a cup of tea and a laugh. And we are one with them, in prayer and in the longing for Caroline and all the departed to be filled with joy.