Ecclesiastes 3.1-4
Psalm 23
The writer of Ecclesiastes reminds us that life unfolds in seasons, held within the mystery and purpose of God.
There is a time to be born and a time to die, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.
These words do not try to explain everything, but they do name life as it is: full of movement and change, light and shadow, joy and sorrow.
And they affirm that all of it—every season—is known to God.
To live wisely, says Ecclesiastes, is to accept the times we are given, to find meaning in the moment, and to trust that the whole is held within something greater than ourselves.
That trust does not remove our grief today, but it does remind us that our grief belongs within the larger story of divine compassion.
The psalmist speaks of that same trust. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”
This is not the confidence of someone untouched by suffering, but the faith of one who has known dark valleys and found, even there, the quiet presence of God.
The shepherd does not always lead by easy paths, but he does not leave us to walk alone.
When we reach the edge of what we can understand, God is already there before us.
It is this faith that allows us to look at a human life, with all its complexity and strength, and say: it was a gift.
Tom’s life was rich in vision, energy, and conviction.
He sought meaning in what was made by human hands, and in the beauty of movement and form.
But today our reflection is not only on what he achieved, but on the grace of the One who gave him breath, who sustained him through every season, and who receives him now.
For in God, the seasons do not end in loss.
Beyond weeping there is laughter, beyond mourning there is dancing.
And so we commend Tom to the shepherd who restores the soul, and we trust that he now dwells in that house of love where every rhythm of life finds its rest, and every movement finds its completion in the dance of God.
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