While we were planning this service, I asked Betsy how she and Mark met. Betsy had been thinking about learning Tai Chi.   Tai Chi is a practice that involves slow, gentle movements and physical postures, a meditative state of mind, and controlled breathing. When I’m walking through my local park, I often see groups of people doing Tai Chi. Everything about Tai Chi seems like a perfect fit for Betsy.

So one day, she stopped at studio to sign up for a Tai Chi class. But Betsy had walked into a Taekwondo studio. This is not the same thing as Tai Chi. Taekwondo is a martial art with kicking and punching. It is definitely not known for “slow, gentle movements."

The person at the front desk was very persuasive and convinced Betsy to give Taekwondo a try. She did. Betsy worked at Taekwondo and prepared for her first belt test. When the day came, the black belt who called out her test steps was Mark Menikos.

A new thing was just beginning.

From the Gospel of John, we heard the familiar story of the good shepherd. This story occurs in a section of the Gospel where Jesus is trying to telling us who he is through a series of “I am” statements. I am the Light. I am the gate for the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I am the resurrection and the life. 

Twice, in today’s reading, Jesus says, “I am the good shepherd” … and then he says, “I know my own, and my own know me.” That statement stood out to me this week.

Over the past 18 months, I watched as Mark’s abilities slowly deteriorated. With each passing day, his dependence on Betsy grew. It was a graceful transition of strength and determination—and all of it was possible because of their bond of trust.

In many ways, Betsy was Mark’s shepherd. She knew him so well that she recognized and even anticipated his needs. And Mark knew, too, that Betsy had his back.  He was calm in her presence.  The journey they made together was sacrificial…and holy.

The photos from Mark’s life reflect a focus on relationship and self-discipline. Mark with his sons, all wearing Taekwondo uniforms. Walking with his dog Sadie. Photos of family—and band performances. And there’s a picture of Mark posing in his library, with all his books. As I sat with all these images this week, I thought about the painfulness of Alzheimer's for Mark and for everyone he loved. 

Early in our relationship, Betsy sent videos of Mark playing the violin. Sometimes, she’d send CD’s of the family band…and I would listen to the joyful, racing music of the brothers. As I listened and watched Mark play, I knew that every time he held and instrument and played a piece of music, it was an original rendition of a tune playing in his mind.

Every performance was the making of a new thing. Something that had never existed before came to life.

We heard that gift today in the prelude—Mark’s beautiful interpretation of Amazing Grace performed at the National Cemetery in Arlington Va. His emotion flows from within him--through the violin--to us. It’s like he opened the door to his soul and welcomed us into that space.

Mark was an artist, one of those people in whom God planted extraordinary gifts. Gifts that allow them to capture a moment in life—not just intellectually, but emotionally and spiritually—and translate all of that energy and wisdom into music, or drama, or painting or poetry. If we look thoughtfully, we see the creative impulse of God in all of it.

Some people use words to tell you how they feel. Mark used the bow of his violin. As his disease progressed and words were increasingly difficult, music continued to be an outlet for him for a long while.

In this very room, Mark sang with the choir. Betsy said he sometimes sang his own harmonies and even his own words. Until a few months ago, he knelt here every week and received communion.  He was, and is, and always will be part of this Body of Christ.

Today, we who loved and cherished him, will commend his soul to God. Mark is now in the community of all the saints—the one flock Jesus came to call unto himself. His life, as we knew it, is changed. The shackles of Alzheimer's are broken. And the soul of an artist has entered eternal life. A new thing has begun. 

If there’s a violin in Heaven, there’s a lot dancing going on.