Life is changed not ended

There is an old axiom in the Church that expresses a long held truth: lex orandi lex credendi.  The Latin phrase means that the law (lex) of what we pray (orandi) is the law of what we believe (credendi).  This is no less true than in the funeral Mass for the dead.  

The preface for the funeral Mass states:
“In Him [Christ], the hope of blessed resurrection has dawned, that those saddened by the certainty of dying might be consoled by the promise of immortality to come. Indeed, for your faithful, Lord, life is changed not ended, and, when this earthly dwelling turns to dust, an eternal dwelling is made ready for them in heaven.”

The preface that we pray at every funeral Mass states our belief that the love of God cannot be held back.  Not even by the chains of death.  Christ has revealed to us that our God waits for us with an eternal dwelling place of love. Death will not be the last word.

In our Parish Newsletter we wish to acknowledge and honour those who have died by sharing their story and their legacy.  We would like to acknowledge particularly those parishioners who have faithfully witnessed to their faith in many ways over many years.  For them we dedicate our new column: life is changed not ended.

BRIGITTA JOHNSON
19 March 1937 to 1 August 2020 

The following is an edited version of the Eulogy delivered by Brigitte’s family at her Funeral Mass on 6 August 2020

Refugee Background by Brigitta’s grandson James 
Novi Sad (now Serbia) to Bonegilla  
Nana was born in Novi Sad in 1937. Her warm childhood memories were shared with us - her father Imre’s love, always carrying her should she ask. Her mother, Rosalie’s laughter, who would tell her she would carry toddler Brigi - if Brigi would also carry her. A lifetime later, she could still sketch the family home layout, and recall the feeling of hot chestnuts in her pocket, placed by her father. It was far away, but it feels close because Nana told us in her words, and in her actions. 
 
When the Second World War intruded on everyday life, as for so many of Nana’s generation: she, her mother, and her newborn brother Joe, fled their home - alongside her Auntie Julie and cousins George and Otto. 
 
How it would have been for a seven-year-old, to leave everything behind and travel across a warzone. We came to understand her family’s love, in these moments, taught her the love she would share with us - a both tender and tenacious love, a love that knew no bounds, a light-in-the-darkness love. 
 
In a displaced persons’ refugee camp, Salzburg, Nana quickly became aware of scarcity, learning to knit with bicycle-spokes-needles and receiving a fledgling education from whichever adult had an hour to spare. Her adult compassion and tireless giving, had its roots in a childhood where people, above all her own mother, gave selflessly to ensure she had the best. 
 
Though it was in Australia, arriving in 1949, she would start a life and a family, a life full of echoes of the journey she made to get here. Often she would tell us, since ‘time immemorial’, the human story was one of movement from place to place - a truth she held because she lived it. A sense of hope, kindled in her early life: what might have seemed far away, as time went by, was never lost. For Nana, every ending was also a beginning.  
      
Education & Career by Brigitta’s granddaughter Madeleine 
After arriving in Australia, Nana felt so fortunate to attend Notre Dame de Sion School, Warrigal, impressing the nuns with her Geography and Maths knowledge, and her ability to speak German, Serbian, and Hungarian. The nuns introduced her to the class: “This is Bridget. We will teach her English, she will teach us German.” Nana told us, slyly, within two years she received top marks for English, and regretted not pushing harder for her peers and teachers to correctly pronounce her name: Brigitta. 
 
Those nuns encouraged Nana to pursue her architecture studies, at RMIT, and Melbourne University, - a field in which she put her mathematics skills to good use. 
 
Of her time at RMIT, Nana often felt she had two heads. As one of very few non-Anglo students, and even fewer women, other students didn’t quite know what to make of her. She’d not only ask questions in class - she’d answer them! This changed when, in one of her favourite stories, she met Grandpa. Wearing a cardigan draped across her shoulders in what she believed a very stylish fashion, one of the young engineering students kept creeping up behind her to tie the sleeves together! This young engineering student was, of course, Peter Johnson, and thus began many years of happiness together. After some time of them “going out”, Grandpa asked her to marry him - her response? “Not until I finish my degree!” 
 
Nana’s philosophy on love, what many of us think of as love, early infatuation and falling in love, isn’t really love. It’s about the trust and companionship of years and years together, a deeper feeling than “falling in love”, which was certainly what she shared with Grandpa. 
 
Growing up, I never felt ashamed of academic achievement, or limited my study because of my gender. I was good at Maths, like my Grandma. It was Nana I thought of, in the lecture theatre on the first day of my Master’s Degree, realising I was one of just two women in a classroom full of men. Nana, got on with it and excelled. I’ve always felt what I wanted to achieve was possible - because I knew Nana was there before me. 
 
As a professional, Nana continued to trail blaze, with a distinguished career, working on many residential and commercial buildings such as Shell Petrol stations, and the first stage of the Sunshine Hospital. Amazingly, Nana produced several of her old architectural drawings from her back room. Carefully ruled, lettered and coloured, they looked printed - but were each hand drawn. With this same diligence she’d cover grandchildren’s birthday cards and Christmas cards with carefully inked hearts.  
 
 I will miss Nana’s hugs, and her always-wise counsel at the other end of the phone. I am so grateful for the chance to know her. We carry the stories of her extraordinary achievements, her extraordinary love for us, within us always. 

Motherhood by Brigitta’s daughter Caroline  
Busy as she was building her career, it definitely took second place to the efforts made, with my darling Dad, to build a secure and happy home for the family.  She was disappointed she and Dad never had a big family, like close friends the Spangaros and the Horvaths, who were Godparents to David and me respectively.  We loved times spent with these large families, and our cousins, on both the Johnson and Gabel sides. Mum also made the most of motherhood: Dad, David and I were the centre of her world.   
 
Mum believed she compensated her disrupted childhood by living a new one with David and me, not spoiling us (she left that to her mother) but giving us every opportunity to learn. So we lived in a house full of books, board games and toys. 
 
We did not miss out because of Mum’s demanding career, she juggled the challenges of many commitments in an era not designed for career women. Fortunately, Mum and Dad ran their lives in unison, always thinking of each other and the needs of their children. 
 
Mum’s devotion to her mother, Nana Gabel, her best friend, was strong. It was stressful being Nana and Uncle Mil’s main carer, but she was totally committed. I hope David, Sue, Stan and I showed her the same love and devotion when she most needed it, after Dad died in 2015.  Theirs was a love story knowing no equal, Dad’s death cut her in half. We struggled to find the balance between standing back, letting her be independent and stepping up to give her the help needed. She would lament we sometimes forgot she was not a young woman anymore but she never came across as old. Always interested, engaged and youthful was her outlook on the world. 
 
David and I marvelled at Mum’s ability and knack to meet someone one minute and be firm friends shortly thereafter. Parish and yoga friends and local area shopkeepers will attest to this. She was naturally non-judgemental and encouraging, a facilitator of tolerance and kindness who brought out the best in many people. 
 
The pandemic made it very hard to properly acknowledge all who made Mum’s life complete.  Looking at photo albums, there are lovely memories - not only of family, but of holidays and outings with the Sinhas, the Harts….... of meals (and even one espresso martini) shared with Xavier and Bridget, Rita and Danny and many others. Thank you so much. 
 
Mum rang from hospital and begged me to facilitate the cessation of leukaemia treatment and move into palliative care. I protested, so many people would want to see and hug her before she passed away. She looked at me with that stern stare reserved for mothers and daughters and pointed out simply: ‘They all know I love them.’ Even perhaps if you didn’t, you know it now…. 
 
Mum loved you, she treasured you, and she had enough love for all of us.  Her wish would be we keep that charism going:  tolerance for all, believing in your bones there is no such thing as ‘the other’, we are part of this one great human family. Listen to each other, love each other.  
 
Mum, I will miss you terribly, deeply, exquisitely. I never said it to you directly, but you were, without doubt, my very best friend. 
 
Grandmotherhood by Brigitta’s grandson Mike  
Nana was Nana to everyone: When someone of our generation asked what she would like to be called, she would always say, “Call me Nana”. This was never an empty phrase, it was a statement of how she would treat you. Her 4 grandchildren and 5th grandchild Xavier, can attest to the prerogative of grandmother’s unconditional acceptance.  
 
Nana followed her mother’s footsteps displaying love through the food. I distinctly remember a delicious dinner, mini chicken drumsticks, with Nana and Grandpa as a teenager. After about the 15th drumstick Grandpa, with the awareness I’d eaten enough, warned me I should probably stop, but Nana remarked, “Don’t worry there’s more still in the kitchen,” and I could eat as much as I wanted. 

She had a great ability to show love doing something a little bit special for you: whether it be beautifully cubing pears to encourage the grandchildren to eat fruit; having Pub Squash in the fridge in case Xavier popped over; or sprinkling sesame seeds on top of a Gibanica (pastry dish) remembering me telling her I liked them as a young child. 
 
Nana was incredibly supportive. During her self-described “crazy fashion” era, Madeleine recounts the weirder and the wilder her outfit, the more Nana overcompensated telling her she looked lovely and fashionable. I too felt this support, playing Nana my first ever song, which sounded like 7a.m. construction work, she told me it was great and I should practise more. 
 
Perhaps the most unique way she showed us love was her willingness to connect as an intellectual. I fondly remember our friendly competition over a newspaper puzzle, unscrambling 9 letters to find as many words as possible, with one 9 letter word. I frequently called when I figured it out, to which she usually answered she had found it, “...a few hours ago dear.” On the rare occasions I beat her I could hear her smiling as she congratulated me. With incredible openness to discuss any topic, whether it was religion, society or politics, she would eloquently explain her belief and why, be willing to meet you halfway, and find a middle ground. No matter how heated the argument, how decisively she disproved you, as soon as the conversation stopped we moved on to tea and biscuits. 
 
Faith by Brigitta’s grandson Luke  
In everything she did, Nana was guided by grace and a sense of the sacred.  
 
For Nana, faith was about compassion and inclusion. One of her favourite stories was the washing of the feet, and its message of service. This value Nana pursued throughout her life, in her love for Ignatian spirituality, her work with Oxfam, and across five decades as a parishioner at Our Holy Redeemer Parish. A lifelong journey, Nana often mourned that many stopped their faith journey once they finished school.  Nana practiced her faith, knowing how to listen for, to see and to find God’s traces. 
 
I was lucky enough to spend these last four months living with Nana. We would watch Mass, and talk of religion. Nana shared some of her favourite theologians: Thomas Merton, Julian of Norwich, and Teilhard de Chardin. She encountered God in many mysterious and powerful ways. Nana would remind us God was not a man in the sky like a Michelangelo painting, but something all around us, in each of us. Her faith was an ecstatic kind of love for being in the world. It was something we saw in her marriage. Peter chose this journey with her. It was through faith they modelled the devotion and selflessness our family knows so easily as love. 
 
After Grandpa died, Nana often described, despite her grief, she felt held by God, a clear and tangible presence. On Good Friday morning, this year, at the table we ate hot cross buns, and Nana again described this. Knowing it might be her last Easter she spoke about how happy and lucky she felt. She told me: “I feel so loved by the universe ... so blessed to be here.” This was how Nana said goodbye to each of us, to remind us we are loved, the world is full of joy and we found that joy in her.