Julie's Message
Julie was not preachy, but she wanted to leave a message This is a message that, all of you who knew Julie, will recognize even if she rarely put it in words. She testified her message in the way she lived. In the way she loved. Our service is meant as a remembrance of this message.
Psalm 23: The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; they rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. (King James)
This is a well-known psalm of deliverance. To be delivered is to suffer and know fear. Julie didn't want us to dwell on her trials related to cancer, but they have to be acknowledged. She knew pain and disability. She knew the menace of her disease. She knew fear. But, as depicted in the psalm, she kept moving. She continued to move through the valley of the shadow. courage means moving forward even when you are afraid.
The psalmist knew fear and pain. The psalmist knew humility. Julie's gift was her great humility and empathy. The psalmist speaks of being anointed with oil - a gesture that acknowledges honor and worth. While Julie was humble about herself, she freely acknowledged the worth of those she knew and loved. To know Julie was to be lifted up by her. She was at once the psalmist who yearned for a protecting shepherd and a good and merciful person who filled the cups of others.
Mark 5:25-34: Now there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years. She had endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse. She had heard about Jesus, and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, for she said, “If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well.” Immediately her hemorrhage stopped; and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease. Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him, Jesus turned about in the crowd and said, “Who touched my clothes?” And his disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing in on you; how can you say, ‘Who touched me?’ ” He looked all around to see who had done it. But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling, fell down before him, and told him the whole truth. He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.” (NRSV)
Julie spent much of 2013 in New York City undergoing clinical trials in an effort to slow and overcome her cancer. New York was large, intimidating, and far from her treasured base of supporting friends and family. Like the woman in this gospel passage she was afflicted and lost in a teeming crowd.
What did she do? Like this woman she reached out. To know Julie is to love her. The staff at the hotel where she and Don stayed came to adopt her. From the time they arrived in a taxi to the time they left for a train ride home, they were met with hugs, well-wishes, and genuine concern. She built a second home base. How? By reaching out to these strangers.
Julie usually didn't remember her dreams. But one morning, she woke in her hotel bed and told Don of a dream she had. She was in a crowd and she reached out - and touched the hem of a robe. The man wearing the robe looked at her with kindness and mercy. Julie dreamed this passage. Like Psalm 23, she reached out for a shepherd to protect, guide and heal her. Along the way, she reached out to strangers in her humility and love. And they loved her back.
Matthew 25:31-40: “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’ (NRSV)
This passage begins with separation. But there is more to it. Those who are blessed are the ones who do not separate but unite. They reach out to others. Julie reached out to her loving family and friends. She reached out to strangers who could help her - like hotel staff - and to strangers who needed help.
Julie's clinic in New York was a three-block walk from the hotel where she and Don stayed. Hundreds of people walked this same stretch of Third Avenue. Most of these people barely paid attention to each other. Very few of them paid any attention to the handful of homeless people who dotted the sidewalk. Julie saw them - particularly a man in a wheelchair who was positioned outside a McDonald's. Julie began to anticipate passing by this man. She'd stop when she spotted him and reach into her purse and pull out a five- or ten-dollar bill. (An act which you are advised not to do lest you attract pickpockets or cut-purses.) She would drop the bill in the man's cup. He would look her in the eye, smile and thank her. Between themselves, Julie and Don wondered who this man was. After a few months, Julie saw that Just giving this man money wasn't enough. She wanted to give him the acknowledgment of his dignity. "I'm going to tell him my name," she said to Don.
Remember that Julie knew fear. The act of going up to a complete stranger in an unfamiliar city and saying, "Hi, my name is..." can be very intimidating. Somehow, giving your name to a stranger makes us vulnerable. It requires a certain trust and a sense of humility. And Julie did it. She and Don saw the familiar figure in the wheelchair. Julie fished out a bill and placed it in the man's cup. She looked him in the eye and said, "I'm Julie." His eyes lit up and he said, "I'm James," Smiles and handshakes were exchanged and Jule and Don hurried to make their appointment at the clinic. As they departed, James called after them, "Thank you!"
Julie would be the first to tell you that she didn't do enough to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, welcome the stranger, and clothe the naked. Could she have done more, really? Of course. But how much more did she do than all those other people on that busy street? And she did it because she recognized the dignity in someone. She had the humility to see past herself. She reached through the crowd. She anointed this man.
Planting the Seed
Yes, we've jumbled these passages. Julie, like all of us, was complex. but her message was simple. She just wanted people to be happy.
Simple messages don't make for easy plans of action, and Julie felt that she could have done more. She felt guilty when she thought that she was petty or mean. She was frustrated when people would act thoughtlessly. But she knew her message. Love people. Try to make them happy.
Thank you for making us happy, Julie. We love you so much!
Thanks for being with us to hear this message.
Love, (Julie Hoepfer's family)
Miss you, Julie.
