When Brian called and told me that this was the gospel being considered for the vigil tonight, I had a flashback to an evening 25 years ago. It was 1974 and I was studying in St. Louis. A group of us met regularly, sharing the gospel of a Sunday.

One evening, while sharing this very gospel, one of the women said that in praying with this passage, she found herself turning the words and phrases over and around and discovered that the burden which she was invited to carry was sometimes light itself. It was the burden of the light of vision, of wisdom, the light of truth as it is given to us by God to see – and live.

It is the grace of that prayer 25 years ago that I would like to bring to bear on the gift of Margo’s life among us.

"Come to me you who are weary and heavy-laden. I will refresh you, for your yoke is easy; your burden is light." The burden might well be to see clearly. And if so, what was the light for Margo? What is it she saw – and then could not pretend she had not seen it?

I believe that there are three sources of the light that Margo saw – and that they are part of her gift to us.

Margo was given to see the light that radiated from the experience of women, from the experience of the people of God, and from her experience of the Word.

First, the experience of women. Margo came of age, as many of us did, in the society and church of the 60s. She saw, within those cultures, the changing role of woman, with all its struggle and hope. Women were discovering their worth and their oppression, their potential and their invisibility.

In some ways, Margo was like a frog. (I’m sorry Margo, I know that doesn’t sound very flattering, but wait.)

Frogs have these amazing eyes that bulge out and enable them an incredible peripheral vision – up, down, sideways, to see in practically all directions. Margo could almost see around the next bend, the next turn in the road, what we as a society and church were on the verge of becoming. And she was impatient for it to come about. It was the light that drew her forward. It was the rightness, the clarity of that vision that impelled her.

And she wouldn’t let go. It just wasn’t in her to let go. Margo just never got it that some people and some institutions were not interested in inclusivity and mutuality. She saw the light within the best of the women’s movement and the most sacred of Vatican II. All are welcome. Everyone has a place at the table. Everyone’s experience is to be respected.

Some of you would recognize that step forward and half-turn Margo would take and "be in your face" with a word of truth that left us holding the burden of light with her.

A second light she saw was the light that radiated from the experience of the people of God, the laity, real people in a real world. Families, parent groups, moms’ groups, people in need, new ventures – she was always making connections, always networking, putting people in touch with each other. Parish life, the life of flesh and blood people, was all-important to her.

Margo was dogged in her efforts to invite new leadership, to further the empowerment of people – all the while never letting go her interest and support of the people, projects, and ideas. How’s it going? she’d ask. How can we help? She was always moving, always anticipating what was next. The woman had energy and drive and the ability to see a need before you could even put words on it. Some of you would recognize that step forward and half-turn Margo would take and be gently in your face, and then into your heart – from where she would offer her support and some connection to a resource in the community.

The last light, the burden of the light of the Word. The Word of the Gospel, the liturgy of the church, the ritual of life. There is a passage from Jeremiah: "Your Word is like a fire within me. I grow weary holding it in. I cannot contain it."

Margo loved working with liturgy, giving voice and shape to the Word of God as it confronts us, comforts us and enables us to celebrate the full range of our lives. From music, to ritual, to environment, to language and drama. She loved it all.

I talked with her just a little more than a month ago, calling her early one Sunday night. She sounded exhausted and very weak when she answered the phone. As we talked, she came alive all over again, talking about the parish plans for advent, for the millennium, all the way into next year and lent. She asked if I had any suggestions, if I had found any new music, if I had come across any good resources. It was as if she had shed the disease for the moment, that her zeal for ministry could keep it at bay one more time.

So much of the creativity and meaningfulness of the parish liturgy is due to her commitment, insight, and ability to communicate a love of the liturgy and Word to others. Some of you know how Margo could take that step forward and half-turn, and put her liturgical foot in the door of our parish soul – allowing God to enter and work her own miracle of grace in our lives.

Margo’s death did not come easily. Not until very close to the end did she really admit that she would die soon. There was too much to do. She saw too much, too much light of truth. If she saw it, she had to respond. She could not do otherwise. Finally though, it was enough. Something shifted.

I like to think that she decided on some level to put into practice something that she and Brian and this community proclaims every year in the midst of the Holy Saturday liturgy that Margo loved so much. After the catechumens are baptized, they are invited to profess their faith. Brian typically says something both simple and profound. Something like: "A wonderful thing about the Christian community is that we are never asked to believe alone. We are in this together. We profess our faith together. We live our faith with the help of one another."

I like to believe that at some point in time, Margo decided she did not have to carry the burden of light herself. And actually, she didn’t have to carry the burden of this light at all anymore. The community could carry it. And she, for her part, could simply move into and live in the light she saw.

The burden of light which Margo saw is ours as well. It is a gift she leaves us. And as we are reminded in the Holy Saturday liturgy, we do not do this alone. We are in very good company. We have only to look around.

I expect to have a few problems at the service tomorrow. There are times in the ritual where we pray "Eternal rest grant to her, O Lord." I frankly don’t think Margo is the least bit interested in resting. That would be enormously out of character for her. I don’t think I can pray that. But the response to this prayer is another story: "and let perpetual light shine upon her." Margo has been drawn by this light all of her life. Now she lives in it.

And our prayer, that she be granted the fullness of peace, life and joy – this we can pray and celebrate with great confidence.

We will miss you, my friend.