Remembering A Saint on All Saints

This summer I watched my Aunt Janis die. She had cancer which grew at an uncontrollable rate in the final weeks of her life. After complaining of a soar back, originally misdiagnosed as bursitis, she made it seven more weeks before dying. I keep using the words death and die, because somehow the euphemisms we have for it are too tame. My aunt, after all, did not succumb to cancer, she died, and I suspect she would be mad at me for saying otherwise. This is meant to be a bit of a reflection on my life with Aunt Jan, and who she helped me to become. It’s worth noting that if there is a danger here it is that this is more of a caricature of my aunt than an effort at an over accurate depiction, and is a totally biased one sided account of my life with her. She was not just my aunt, there are many others who would have even better stories of my aunt, and who in fact may find my themes at least a bit surprising, and would probably have better suggestions of their own. Nonetheless there is something to be said for reflecting, and I suppose even Aunt Jan would not have minded me writing something down, so here goes.

Aunt Janis was proud of being Irish, and nowhere was she more Irish than in her lightning quick wit. She was incredibly sharp and loved to hear people laugh. Often you learn to admire things because people you admire respect and admire those things, and this is how I learned to admire and respect my aunt’s wit. While riding in the car with my family an ad, which I can no longer remember, came on the radio and within a half second my aunt had made a witty retort, which I also can not remember. While the retort was unmemorable, I distinctly remember my father, who is still one of the wittiest people I know, being amazed at how “quick” my aunt Jan was. That picture of my father being impressed with my aunt’s mental speed has never left me, and no doubt influences the way I still interact with my world.

One of the key pieces of my aunt’s wit was her love of language. This love of language could be clever, in the way she could turn around an argument, or often it was imaginative. She was always crafting stories to entertain us, to scare us, or to simply surprise us. I have been on the receiving side of my aunt’s love of language my entire life, as both a child learning how the world works, and as a parent seeing my own children light up at one her crazy stories. From Jedi trails to talking rabbits, from scissors to smacks and from poetry to Roger Rabbit my aunt loved language, and she shared that love with everyone she met.

I loved to introduce my friends to my aunt, and I still think this is the best part of being from a huge family. Small families feel like families are great because they are private, and there is this closed circle of memories and people, but large families know that families are great because anyone can belong. If my aunt had an irritating quality, it was that she simply refused to believe there was much difference between strangers and family. This meant there were very rarely private meals or holidays where you knew everyone, and many times you had to weigh out the options of what crazy person Jan may have invited. It never occurred to you that you may be the crazy person she invited, but this was only because she was incredibly good at making you feel like your presence made all the difference.

If all this were not enough, my aunt passionately loved Jesus. This may be the wrong order to put things, because after all my aunt would confess that this love of Jesus is what made the other things I have mentioned, language and hospitality, mean anything. I find myself reflecting on my aunt’s life, realizing how true that objection is. I also find myself a bit surprised that these are likewise the themes in my own work and life.

Perhaps my favorite theological axiom is that, “We can only live in a world we can see, and you can only see in a world you can say.” My Aunt taught me to “say.” She helped me see the world that is there, and never let me forget that there is more to the world than there appears at first glance. As Christians, we are forced to imagine and see our world differently. Because of the cross and resurrection of Jesus, we learn the skills of radical hospitality that my Aunt practiced her whole life, namely the discipline of recognizing strangers as family. I was taught to sing very early on that, “Jesus Loves Me, for the Bible tells me so” and while this is true, I know the Bible tells me so because people like my Aunt Jan loved me. If my primary job description as a Christian minister is to love people, then the top of my resume aught to read, Nephew of Janis Routh.