All Saints’, Dorval
Winston Franklin “Bert” Larocque
September 19, 2024
Icon of the Holy Family in Joseph’s workshop
It’s surprisingly difficult to describe simple, ordinary goodness without sounding insipid or boring. But we must try, because to do anything else does not do justice to our friend Bert.
Unfortunately, the story of how someone christened “Winston Franklin” came to be known as “Bert” appears to be lost in the mists of time. But that was perhaps the only mystery about Bert. With him, what you saw was what you got. If he said he was going to show up somewhere, he showed up. If he said he was going to fix something, it got fixed. If he was helping out at the church supper and said he was there to count the peas, then by gosh, those peas got counted.
I confess that as I read over the Gospel passage that Anne chose – a beloved and frequently used choice at funerals – I though, “well, if in the Father’s house there are many dwelling places, the Almighty should count himself lucky to have Bert Larocque joining the maintenance team.”
Bert didn’t talk much about his faith or his relationship with God – he didn’t necessarily talk much, period – but he lived it. And his work, as an electrician and general fix-it man, wasn’t just a paycheck to him. His passions for trains and classic cars complemented the jobs he did to make a living. And here at All Saints’ he continued to take great pride in maintaining our first-of-its-kind geothermal heating and cooling system. (I’m sure he gave Russ Peden, whom we buried from the church three years ago, an update as soon as they were reunited.)
Bert certainly enjoyed his retirement, his companionship with Anne, regular brunches with Suzanne and Campbell and the rest of the eight o’clock crew, and of course he treasured every moment with Matt, Nancy, Jim, Emma and Elsie. But he never stopped exercising the gifts and calling that God had given him: the gifts of knowing how things worked, using his hands, being able to make an engine run or keep the lights on safely. This kind of work is “creative” in the most straightforward sense – the work of creation, of making things – and it is a gift shared between God, the creator, and us who are made in God’s image.
We are promised eternal rest in heaven, but I can’t imagine Bert being happy if he can’t also putter around a bit with some tools. Do they have blue jumpsuits in heaven? I think those would suit him better than a white robe.
Bert may have been a man of few words, but he expressed volumes with his smile and the twinkle in his eye. And looking at the photos that the family sent me to include in today’s worship slides, you can tell so much from his expressions – the glowing pride as he looks at Linda on their wedding day; the contentment as he receives a kiss from a child, the bubbling fun as he plays on a swingset with another full-grown adult.
We’ve been hearing a lot about masculinity lately, and I can’t think of a better example of completely non-toxic masculinity than Bert – he checked many of the traditional boxes, of a provider who liked things that went vroom, but he was also the gentlest, sweetest human imaginable, never shy about expressing his love to those who were lucky enough to be its recipients. He may not have used words to express it, but those whom he loved knew they were loved. Bert was a man modeled on the Perfect Man, the one who came to us in a manger and showed the way to God.
Just before the Gospel reading, we sang a hymn that traces the cycle of a day and a human life through the life of Jesus. The second verse reminds us that Christ himself was a craftsperson, a carpenter who made his living working with his hands: “Lord of all eagerness, Lord of all faith, whose strong hands were skilled with the plane and the lathe.” The illustration accompanying the hymn showed Joseph working in his carpentry shop while toddler Jesus played nearby. It’s a scene of simple domestic harmony, depicting three people who love each other, work hard, and find joy in each other’s company. And nothing more is needed to show the life that God desires for each of us who is made in God’s image: a life in which we use our talents and abilities for good purposes, are happy with those we love, and give thanks to God for the gifts God gives us in creation – food, rest, the beauty of a sunset or a summer lake, or a boisterous crowd of friends and family gathered around the Christmas tree.
Bert had, and shared, those gifts and that love in abundance. He was taken from us too soon, but he leaves behind no regrets, no necessary words left unsaid, no painfully unfinished business: only memories of good times.
We mourn, because someone who showed us God’s love is gone and we see him no longer. But we go on in the sure and certain hope that Bert is even now rejoicing at that heavenly table, that feast of rich food on the mountaintop, where death is swallowed up for ever.
(And I’m sure they have exactly the right number of peas.)
Amen.
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