Preached on Saturday, June 13, 2026 at Trinity Cathedral, Little Rock in memoriam Orson McNeal Arthur (May 7, 1948 – May 11, 2026).

From Orson’s favorite book of the Bible, the Proverbs of King Solomon the Wise:

Listen, children, to a father’s instruction, and be attentive, that you may gain insight, for I give you good precepts: do not forsake my teaching. (Proverbs 4:1–2)

I did not know Orson Arthur as well as I wish I had. In his final months, I had the privilege of serving him the Bread and Wine of Holy Communion in this, his Church, but little more than that. Yet from everything I have heard over these last several days, King Solomon may have been wise, but he had nothing on Orson Arthur.

Orson trained and worked as a diesel mechanic. He loved working on machines, and he passed that love along to his son, Cory––the feeling of the engine, the feeling of fixing something, the feeling of being satisfied with work well done.

Cindy tells me that, if her dad saw that your grass needed cutting, he did it. That’s who he was. He saw a problem and got things done. (We need more people like that today, don’t we?)

He loved to learn. Cindy and Cory tell me that their father was a huge fan of the Encyclopedia Britannica––the whole thing!––which travelled with them in all of their moves.

He loved good food, good gatherings, and good dancing. “After all,” Cindy told me, “he was an island boy.” His love for his culture, a love for his way of doing things, stayed with him in all of his moves––from Barbados, to New York, back to Barbados, to Florida, and then to Arkansas. He was always an island boy at heart.

That island boy married his island girl. They grew up together, and one day, they would eventually become inseparable, “Bonnie and Clyde” as Cindy put it––but it didn’t start that way. Cindy told me that her mom didn’t want him at first. Orson had to win Wendy over––and for anyone who knew him, they knew that he could do that no problem. And thank goodness, they did marry one another. He was 21 years old. On that day, July 4, 1970, Orson said to his bride, in the words of the Prayer Book of her upbringing: “With this Ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost” [1]. And for just short of 56 years, Orson made good on that promise.

The wisdom of Orson’s and Wendy’s life together passed on to their children, especially in his own fatherly love and care. Cindy and Cory told me that he had a knack for knowing when something was off, and if something was, indeed, off, you would become the recipient of a good piece of advice––maybe something he learned himself, maybe something he read in the Encyclopedia, maybe some quote from someone long dead.

Here’s a particular favorite of his by the eleventh century Persian polymath, Omar Khayyam: “The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it” [2]. That’s a quote that is learned and passed on only by someone wise like Orson.

The book of Proverbs reminds us that wisdom is among God’s greatest gifts. Wisdom is not merely intelligence. It is not cleverness, nor is it simply the accumulation of information. Wisdom is the knowledge of how to live well––so beautifully demonstrated to all of us in the life of Orson Arthur. Wisdom is the ability to distinguish what matters from what doesn’t. Wisdom is the patient instruction of parents, the companionship of spouses, the habits of faithfulness formed over decades, and the lessons learned through joys and sorrows alike. Scripture teaches us that such wisdom is a blessing from God Himself. It is given not to be admired from a distance, but to be received, remembered, and practiced.

That is why the writer of Proverbs speaks so tenderly of a father’s instruction. “Listen, children, to a father’s instruction, and be attentive, that you may gain insight.” The task of children is not merely to love their parents. It is to heed them. It is to treasure what they have taught. Wisdom received becomes wisdom handed on.

For families who walk the difficult road of dementia, that truth can sometimes become hard to see. The loss of memory is real. It can seem as though the person we have loved is slipping away from us.

The theologian John Swinton, who has spent many years caring for and studying those who live with dementia, once wrote, “The problem is not that people with dementia forget, but that they are forgotten” [3]. His point is more profound than simply saying that families abandon those with dementia. Indeed, many families become extraordinarily devoted, just as this family has. His concern is that we begin to treat people with dementia as though they have already disappeared. We assume that, because memories are gone, the person is gone. We mourn them as though they have already died. They are forgotten.

But none of this is the case for us today––not by a good measure!

For you see, long before Orson’s memory began to fail, he lived in the memory of God. Long after words became difficult, he lived in the memory of God. Through strength and weakness alike, through joy and sorrow, through life and now even through death itself, Orson remains held within the faithful memory of the God Who first called him His beloved child.

And so do we remember him, too. For wisdom has a way of outliving memory itself. A father’s instruction continues long after his voice grows quiet. His sayings are repeated around dinner tables. His habits become our habits. His convictions shape our own. His children and grandchildren find themselves saying, sometimes without even realizing it, “That’s something Dad used to say.” In that sense, wisdom remains alive, and so does our brother, Orson.

And so, one of the callings entrusted to you now is to keep telling the stories. Tell them to one another. Tell them around holiday tables and family gatherings. Tell the funny stories. Tell the stories that reveal his integrity, his patience, his love, and even his stubbornness. Tell the stories that make you laugh. Tell the stories that make you cry. And then, tell the stories again. “For [he] give[s] you good precepts: do not forsake [his] teaching” (Proverbs 4:2).

Even so, as we continue to remember Orson and to give thanks for the wisdom he shared, our deepest comfort rests elsewhere. It rests in the God Who remembers every single one of His children. The God Who first claimed Orson as His own in Holy Baptism has not forgotten him now. In fact, the Father Who gave all light to His beloved child now knows him fully, beholds him with a Father’s unchanging gaze, and keeps him very much alive. And in that promise, we commend Orson to his God in a holy hope. Amen.

[1] From the 1662 Book of Common Prayer.

[2] From The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám, translated by Edward FitzGerald.

[3] John Swinton, Dementia: Living in the Memories of God (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2012), page 275.