In Celebration of the Life of Richard Wayne Dirksen
Homily by the Rev. Dr. Francis H. Wade
Cathedral Church of St. Peter and St. Paul, Washington, DC
August 26, 2003

I doubt that you need me to remind you that Wayne Dirksen was a master of the holy arts and certainly his family and friends do not need anyone to speak of his ways of loving and being loved. Our thanks for his life and our grief at his death are the measure of those things far better than any words a preacher might supply. His anthems and his friendships were genuine. He was the perfect complement to the poets whose verse he turned into music and a wonderful mix of grace and gruff with the venerable and the vulnerable in his own day. He was comfortably at home in this awesome place that lives up to Goethe’s description of architecture as “frozen music.” Wayne called this cathedral the greatest influence in his life and work. These things are well known, well marked and well remembered. So let’s do something else with these few minutes.

Let us be aware that Wayne Dirksen ran a great risk in his life. A risk undertaken by many of us who gather to celebrate his life and grieve over his death. All of us who dare to work with holy things are in danger of losing touch with holiness. Take a moment and be aware of the huge difference between the holy things of Church and the holiness of God. It is the difference between the tangible and the intangible. The difference between that which appeals to the senses and that which by-passes them and touches the soul.

We who decide where “Alleluias” go can easily be separated from the power of Grace that is behind and inside of the word. We who put crosses on things and things on crosses can sometimes forget what crosses mean. The more we master the arts of holy things, the more elusive holiness can be. We who write anthems or preach, sing hymns or plan liturgies; we whose profession is to bless, consecrate and absolve and those who write prayers or lead others in saying them have great work to do. But it is dangerous work for the gap between holy things and the holiness of God is both wide and deep.

Wayne Dirksen had ample opportunity to be aware of that gap because death came slowly to him. There was time to look it in the eye and watch it approach with unguarded ease, unthreatened by the interventions of medicine or prayer. There was time for the uncomfortable blessing of saying good-by to friends, family and to a world moving inexorably into the past tense. And there was time to feel the absence of holy things. A bedroom is not a chancel. A pillow is not an altar. A chorus of good wishes is not a choir. When one lets go of such holy things, or when they let go of us, there is nothing left but the holiness of God --- or nothing at all. When we let go or are dropped there is time to wonder: Is it true, this faith we have professed and sung? Is there any music in life that segues into the silence of death? Is there any word ever spoken or written that prepares us for the final word? If we reach in the direction our spires point, will something reach back for us? Is there holiness behind the holy things we have crafted and moved about like chess pieces? Or are they just chess pieces after all? There was time for such wondering as Wayne’s death approached.

And wonder he did. Some of you know better than I but I know for myself that he wondered about these things. I can also tell you that there were times, not consistent times for the experience of holiness does not have a steady meter, but there were times of clarity. He did glimpse the connection and know that there is a bond between that which God holds perfectly and the arts we express so imperfectly. The bond may stretch but it remains strong enough to hold the weight of both human experience and Divine Love.

Most of us have learned much from Wayne Dirksen over the years. He was Master in every sense of the word and few of us have failed to spend at least a little time at his feet. Let us learn from him once again. And be aware that there is a danger in what we do in this place, at this moment. The beauty of it can blind us to the gap that opens just a step away. There is a deep and wide difference between holy things and holiness. But there is also a bond between them, illusive and seemingly fragile, but still able to bear the weight of both our feebleness and God’s faithfulness.

Wayne Dirksen and all of us whose lives focus on where Alleluias go and how they should sound can be thankful that even at the grave we can still make our song Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.