Preached on Tuesday, December 16, 2025 in memoriam Sylvia Sue Atkinson Maulden (July 26, 1940 – December 10, 2025).

“Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)

It is a remarkable thing, isn’t it? In a single verse of Holy Scripture—a mere fragment preserved across two thousand years—we are given to know Who Jesus Christ is. Jesus Christ is the giver of rest: yesterday, today, and forever. The God Whom we worship is the God Who gives rest to the weary and the burdened.

This is one of the ways the Church has always known the goodness of God. God’s goodness is not merely theoretical or abstract, not distant or detached from the weight of our lives. God’s goodness is always goodness for us: burdens met, weariness relieved, the full gravity of human life not denied, not left on the floor, but taken up upon God’s shoulders. The good God is the giver of rest.

Such goodness is not always perceived clearly. As Saint Paul reminds us, “Now, we see in a mirror, dimly” (1 Corinthians 13:12). And yet, crucially, even through the dimness, we still see something. That is, we see enough, enough to recognize goodness when it shows up, enough to know rest when it is given, enough to trust that the good God is at work among us.

Very often, that goodness is among us through other people.

God gives us rest through human hands and human hearts; through ordinary faithfulness, patiently offered. God sends into our lives those who steady us, who bear with us, who put up with our foolishness, who love us, who make the weight of the world a little more bearable. They do not remove every burden. They do not spare us from every sorrow. But through them, God makes known a deeper truth: that we are not abandoned, and that we are known, and loved, and held.

So it is with the people God sends into our lives. And so it is with our beloved Sue Maulden.

Sue gave us rest. In ways both quiet and profound, she bore our burdens. She offered steadiness rather than spectacle, presence rather than display. Hers was a love that did not need to draw attention to itself—indeed, she would have preferred that it didn’t, thank you very much. And yet, through that quiet faithfulness, the goodness of God was made a bit less dim––made a bit more clear!––to those around her.

Over the long course of her life, of her marriage, of her motherhood, my Grandmother showed us what it means to persevere in love: to remain and to return. Hers was not a love of flashy moments, but of constancy—a love shaped by endurance. Many here know what it meant to be supported by her, and how her presence made what was heavy more bearable.

Such a life is not without its own weight. It requires that all too rare willingness to carry what cannot be set down. But also, it requires being supported by others—and let me tell you, Sue Maulden, did not do that very easily. After all, she carried burdens; she didn’t burden others. But God sent people to help carry her, too. I’m thinking of neighbors in neighborhoods from throughout her whole life. I’m thinking of Sunday School classes at her beloved First Baptist Church. I’m thinking of her best friend, Sharon Jackson, who finished her course in faith just days before Sue did. I’m thinking of her sister, Nadine. I’m thinking of children, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. And above all, I’m thinking of her husband, my grandfather, Jerry, who now rejoices with her upon another shore and in a greater light. God gave these people to her to help her.

And! And, as my Grandmother knew intimately, her Lord came to help her. She knew that His yoke is easy and His burden is light—not because love demands nothing of us, but because love borne in God is never borne alone. When we take Christ’s yoke upon us, we discover that God always carries the greater share. And that sustained Sue.

And now, the only thing that remains between her soul and life eternal is that very same promise spoken to her and to each of us by our Lord: “I will give you rest.” Now, the work that love required has reached its completion. The hands that supported others are at rest. The heart that carried so much is at rest. Now, she is at rest.

Therefore, we do not speak this day as those who have no hope. We speak as Christians who trust that the goodness glimpsed dimly in this life is now known fully by Sue Maulden. Love has not ended. No, love has fulfilled its course. Love has run its race. And such love comes at last to its rest in God.

As sudden as this parting seems, I am persuaded that Grandmother was ready. She had no wish to leave those whom she loved—anyone who truly knew her knows that well—but she was ready to place her life, just one more time, into the hands of God.

I’m reminded of a poem by James Weldon Johnson, “Go Down, Death.” Sometimes, when we see but through a glass dimly, we have to leave it to the poets to give us some clarity. Here’s what Johnson wrote (with a couple of edits by yours truly, with respect to the poet):

Weep not, weep not,
She is not dead;
She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus.

Heart-broken husband—weep no more;
Grief-stricken son—weep no more;
Left-lonesome daughter—weep no more;
She only just gone home.

God said: “Go down, Death, go down…
And find Sister [Sue].
She’s borne the burden and heat of the day,
She’s labored long in my vineyard,
And she’s tired—
She’s weary—
Go down, Death, and bring her to me.”

While we were watching round her bed,
She turned her eyes and looked away,
She saw what we couldn’t see;
She saw Old Death. She saw Old Death
Coming like a falling star.
But Death didn’t frighten Sister [Sue];
He looked to her like a welcome friend.
And she whispered to us: I’m going home,
And she smiled and closed her eyes.

And Death took her up like a baby,
And she lay in his icy arms,
But she didn’t feel no chill.
And death began to ride again—
Up beyond the evening star,
Into the glittering light of glory,
On to the Great White Throne.
And there he laid Sister [Sue]
On the loving breast of Jesus.

And Jesus took his own hand and wiped away her tears,
And he smoothed the furrows from her face,
And the angels sang a little song,
And Jesus rocked her in his arms,
And kept a-saying: “Take your rest,
Take your rest.”

Weep not—weep not,
She is not dead;
She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus. [1]

Amen.

[1] James Weldon Johnson, “Go Down Death: A Funeral Sermon,”from God’s Trombones (New York: The Viking Press, Inc., 1927).