When Molly, Max and I sat down to plan this service, I asked what their wishes for the service
were – what they hoped the service would mean for them and for those gathered here. Now most
of the time, when I ask that question to a grieving spouse and children, I get something of a
blank stare, a shrug of the shoulders – (as if to say) I don’t know.

Not with Molly and Max. Without hesitating, really, they answered: okay, #1) – we want this
service to reflect Ken, not us. #2) (here I started taking notes) Ken was Jewish, his family’s
Jewish: even though the service will be held in a church, we want to be mindful of that,
respectful of that. #3) besides, practically speaking, all this is kind of moot, because several years
ago, during one of those long car rides where the conversation goes everywhere, Ken told Max
what he wanted at his funeral: he spelled it out. (Apparently Ken believed that one’s funeral is
not something one leaves to the vagaries of local clergy and grieving families. So he spelled it
out.) And so it is, that we have a funeral service that is all the things Ken was. Or let me at least
suggest five traits, or characteristics, of Ken’s as found in this service. Number one, Ken was
extraordinary. And I mean just that: extra-ordinary, outside the ordinary. I don’t know anyone
else who would say, in a long car drive with their son, “you know, at my funeral it’d be nice to
have Beethoven’s Variations for Cello and Piano on ‘See the Conqu’ring Hero Comes’ from
Handel’s Judas Maccabaeus… And it should be followed by that poem from the Statue of
Liberty, don’t you think? Extraordinary! And in that Emma Lazarus poem is a clue to a second
characteristic of Ken: he could be brusque and gruff – “not like the brazen giant of Greek fame”
– we don’t want big old Colossus conqueror!, here on our shores we want a woman with a torch,
saying, “keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” keep your hoity-toity rich people, we don’t
want ’em…give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, that’s who we want. –

(And here, on the inside front cover of our leaflet, in place of the usual gregarious welcome
letter, we have Psalm 3, and not just any Psalm 3, but John Milton’s paraphrase, so the first
words we’re greeted with this afternoon are “Lord, how many are my foes, How many those
That in arms against me rise… …[R]ise Lord, save me my God, for thou Hast smote ere now On
the cheek-bone all my foes. Of men abhor’d Hast broke the teeth.” A little different from our
normal, “Good afternoon and welcome to St. James! We’re so glad you’re here!”)

Brusque, and gruff, and yet…a third characteristic of Ken: at the same time he could be so
patient, and such a patient student, such a patient editor, midwife-ing a good idea. And a patient
teacher: by his request, we’re going to hear Max read us Shelley’s Ode to the West Wind… and
no, not just the first and last stanzas, but all 70 lines. In his life, and now even in his death, Ken
is casting a vote of confidence in his students, confident in Max’s ability to read poetry, and in
our ability to hear it. Which brings me to the fourth characteristic of Ken. He was a poet. (He’s
way too introverted to allow any of his own poetry to be read today), but he saw the world
through a poet’s eyes, experienced life through with a poet’s heart. And so no funeral leaflet of
his would be complete without a Shakespeare Sonnet on the back cover.. …a sonnet about love’s
fire. The fire of love that heats water And water cannot cool… …a sonnet ending with “water
cools not love.” And therefore -- it’s no coincidence -- that Ken’s funeral leaflet ends with that
line… …what is the last word Ken leaves us with? Love.

And that brings me to my assigned passage, and Ken’s fifth and final, and most important
characteristic: love, and Paul’s remarkable hymn to love, first Corinthians 13. It’s a well-known
passage, a passage you often hear read at weddings. And it’s a remarkable passage, all the more
remarkable when we remember the context in which it was written. Paul wrote the letter to the
Christians living in Corinth around the year AD 54 – over 1,950 years ago. Corinth was, at that
time, one of, if not the, largest and most important towns in Greece. Very important Seaport
Garrison town. Strategic road-juncture. Capital of the Roman province. Filled with a
cosmopolitan crowd. “Corinth” back then was a synonym for power, decadence, opulence…in
other words, imagine taking all the power struggles of Washington, DC, and the wealth of
Manhattan; all the opulence of Hollywood, all the decadence of Las Vegas; and combining
them—and you’ve got a pretty good idea of Corinth.

So Paul writes to these people; it is a wake-up call, a call to self-examination and repentance. So
much of the other chapters of 1st Corinthians are filled with explicit and stern instruction and
direction … Paul criticizes their sexual immorality, their arrogance, their litigiousness and
complacency, their irreverence and pride and lifestyle. He’s very direct! But then he says this:
You know, if I say all these things in the most convincing way possible – “though I speak with
the tongues of men and of angels,” – if I am the most eloquent person in the world, but have not
charity, have not agapē, don’t do it with love, it’s not eloquent. Eloquence delivered without
love makes the same sound as a sounding brass, or tinkling, clanging cymbal – …the sound of
fingernails on a blackboard, Eloquence without love is nothing but obnoxious noise.

(He goes on to say) If have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and have all
knowledge – If I have the wisdom of Solomon, the intellect of Einstein, if I have nine PhDs and
have published fifteen books – but don’t have love, I am nothing. It doesn’t matter. If I have all
faith so as to move mountains – if I have all the faith of Mother Teresa, and give away all I have
in solidarity with the poor, if I hand over my body and become a martyr, but have not charity, it
profiteth me nothing: it doesn’t help. The love of which Paul speaks is slow to lose patience, and
is kind. It does not envy. It vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, seeketh not her own. Love does
not violate individuality, is not easily provoked, looks for ways of being constructive, is not
irritable, or touchy, it beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all
things; it never faileth. Some time ago, Ken told Molly and Max something very significant, that
shed light not only on his life, but on his death, and the manner of his death: he said, I used to
believe that conflict – attacking everyone all the time – was the way of the universe. I now know
that the universe is run by love. When the values you are surrounded by are in conflict with the
principles you believe in, it causes pain. For most of us, that pain is tolerable: For Ken, it must
have become intolerable…too much. Ken, like the rest of us, saw through a glass darkly. He
knew so much: he was such an extraordinary person; he was, even in his gruffness, patient. He
was “glad to learn and glad to teach.” He was a poet, and until the very end… he had faith, and
he had hope, and he had love. But the greatest of these is love. A love that was poured into his
heart, generously given to others, and passed on to Molly and Max. Water cools not love. Death
cools not love. Nothing cools love: The last word is love.