It is difficult to fathom that Kathy Fischer has left us. It scarcely seems possible – and yet it’s true. For those of you not blessed to have known her, Kathy was a long-time member of Holy Communion, wife of long-time organist Randy Fischer, a deeply-admired and much-loved public school teacher until her retirement some years ago, a faithful member of Holy Communion’s senior choir, and also a vivid presence on Facebook with her often hilarious and always illuminating posts. She made a very deep impression on all those around her, but she did not do so with a razzamatazz “hey, everybody, look at me!” kind of personality. She was a gentle and sensitive soul, very intelligent, and very funny – but she had this way of making every moment feel like it was much more about you than it was about her. That’s an increasingly uncommon trait in this world in which we live, but she had it in spades.
Kathy’s funeral was this past Friday evening, and the service – meticulously and tenderly planned by Randy – was a wonderful tribute to her and to her powerful legacy. It included several of her favorite scripture passages, including this verse from Micah that sums up her life as well as any mere words could: “This is what the Lord requires – that we do justice, love kindness, and walking humbly with our God.” (Kathy’s dear friends Dal and Jackie Drummer were the lectors, and they read the lessons with beautiful, simple eloquence.) A heartfelt sermon was delivered by Pastor Mark, who was not afraid to reveal the depths of grief that both he and Pastor Laura were themselves experiencing over this loss. Following the sermon, I sang (per Randy’s request) my song about the ten lepers titled “Mercy and Love.” Randy wanted it sung because he thought the words nicely reflected how blessed Randy and Kathy felt throughout their marriage and even through the difficult last couple of years. “Thank you for all of my blessings, bestowed so richly, far beyond my deserving…” For the prelude, I tried to choose music that I knew Kathy would like- and I finished the prelude with a beautiful Christmas song by Amy Grant called “Breath of Heaven.” I knew Kathy loved this song because a couple of years ago, she shyly approached me to ask if I would consider arranging it so that the choir could join “my” Kathy and Kate Barrow, who have always sung it as a duet; she said that the duet was so incredibly beautiful and that it was almost unbearable for her to sit there listening to it and not be a part of it. Sadly, Kathy by that point had already sung her last Christmas Eve service with the choir, so it was not to be, but I played that particular song as the prelude in honor of her and because the words of the song were so fitting for the occasion: “Breath of Heaven, hold me together. Be forever near me, Breath of Heaven. Breath of Heaven, lighten my darkness. Pour over me Your holiness, for You are holy. Breath of Heaven.” And for the postlude, I returned to the theme of blessedness with the doxology (“Praise God from whom all blessings flow”) and the All-Saints Hymn “For all the Saints.” The assembled congregation (nearly a packed house) joined together in two of the most beautiful hymns of our tradition, “Beautiful Savior” and “Lift High the Cross.” And if all of that weren’t enough, two choirs were also part of the service. Holy Communion’s own senior choir, of which Kathy was a faithful member for many years, sang my setting of “Loving Shepherd of Thy Sheep,” which includes these stunning words: “Nothing can Thy power withstand. None can pluck me from Thy hand.” The Choral Arts Society, a fine community chorus that Randy has served as accompanist for many years, offered up Ralph Vaughan Williams’s “O How Amiable.” And at the end of the service, the two choirs joined together in Walter Rodby’s “Blessing of Aaron.” It was an incredibly beautiful service, but it was one of those cases where one knew that it wasn’t beautiful because of any of us and our talents. It was beautiful almost entirely because of Kathy – because the service was such a vivid reflection of who she was and how she lived her life.
I had many memorable encounters and conversations with Kathy over the years and always appreciated her intelligence, her wit, her honesty, her sensitivity. As her life drew to a close, I found myself thinking about what I’m sure was the first lengthy conversation that she and I ever had – back in November of 1988, less than a year after I began working at Holy Communion as minister of music. Two days after Thanksgiving, my beloved mother passed away very suddenly at the age of 58. (Too soon.) She and my dad had only been able to be at Holy Communion once, so almost nobody there had ever met her. But the news of her death set off an outpouring of concern and love that I deeply appreciated. But out of all of the expressions of concern and condolences that I received, the one that meant the most to me was from Kathy Fischer. The first time she saw me after my mom’s death (a little over a week later), she gave me a quiet hug – and then said “Tell me about your mother. I want to know all about her.” I still get a lump in my throat, all these years later, when I think about that moment. What a simple yet powerful request – and it absolutely meant the world to me. I have no recollection whatsoever of what I said to Kathy – of what I said to try and describe my mother (who was a woman who was amazing and complicated- and I mean that in the very best possible sense of the word) because my answer didn’t matter nearly as much as the request or question. And for me, this was a perfect example of what it means to be discerning. Somehow, Kathy knew that one of the hardest things for me was to be surrounded by people who were sad for my loss but for whom my mother was a complete stranger. (I remember a dear friend of mine named Chris Roules – a teacher – who suffered a very sad loss during graduate school when a former student of hers was killed in some kind of accident. Chris was surrounded by friends who were grieving for her- but none of them knew this student, and so they were grieving only in a second-hand sort of way …. and Chris suffered a very lonely grief as a result.) I think Kathy may have had some sense of the loneliness of my grief – although it’s just as likely that she had a sincere curiosity about who my mom was and what she was like. At any rate, that simple request was the single most powerful gesture of concern I received in the wake of my mother’s death. And more than three decades later, I am still moved by it.
Such is the lasting impact of simple, loving words- uttered from the heart- between two friends.
Thank you, Kathy Fischer, for being that kind of blessing to me and countless others, through the course of your remarkable life.
(My wife Kathy is responsible for these words – and they say it all.)