Nancy Lotton (McCarthy)
June 4, 1976–April 1, 2018

I want to celebrate the life of Nancy Christine McCarthy. As we processed the shock of her passing we came to realize how much she has meant to so many people. I’m her brother-in-law—I know her as a sister to Lisa and Donna and as a daughter to Don and Jo-Anne. But she didn’t stay in Uxbridge! She left her hometown and touched many other people’s lives—none more significant than her life-long love, Dave McCarthy. To him, she was always “Fancy.” With Dave, she gained a whole new family. Then, of course, there are the friends she’s made along the journey. Whether they be childhood friends from Uxbridge, people she’s met at work, or those whose lives she shared in her grief group, Nancy’s life has, in some way, impacted ours—for the better!

At times like these we often reflect on the big events and accomplishments of a person’s life. Yet these things only give us a framework to sketch out a life. It’s more often the little quirks and mannerisms of a person that linger the longest in our memory. I’ll always remember Nancy’s ongoing arguing with my wife Donna over who’s fatter! Spoiler alert—the answer is neither of you, although in childhood that award would have to be given to Nancy as the cute pictures testify! I’ll remember the way Nancy always tilted her head to the side when posing for a photo. This was such an ingrained habit that we started taking tribute pictures, heads tilted. Then there’s one of her most endearing qualities to me—her burning hatred for the Ottawa Senators. I gained a whole new level of respect for my sister-in-law when I heard she and Dave were kicked out of a Senators game for cheering too—err, passionately—for the Leafs! (I should add that this season has clearly proven Nancy’s wise judgment in choosing an NHL team.)

I want to encourage you to share your stories of Nancy. Tell each other what she meant to you. Don’t be skimpy on the little details that made her such a unique person. In doing so we’ll be able to experience some measure of joy to temper our grief.

Life is a Breath

I’m sure we all remember the moment we found out about Nancy’s passing. It was such a shock. I had just finished reading through my Easter morning message when Dave called me and everything changed.

Moments like this rudely interrupt our lives and force us to reflect on how brief our lives really are. We put money into RRSPs, pay down thirty-year mortgages, and work for the weekend all the while unaware of how long our lives really are. Perhaps this is why the preacher of Ecclesiastes once wrote:

Better to spend your time at funerals than at parties.
After all, everyone dies—
so the living should take this to heart. (Ecclesiastes 7:2)

On the surface this sounds helplessly morbid—but dig a little deeper and you’ll see wise advice. No matter how long any of us get to live, one day we will die. What would our lives look like if we took that into consideration? Would we do life differently? Would we spend more time with each other—perhaps over a meal of Dave’s famous ribs? How should we spend our lives on this earth when we become aware that these lives will end?

Our Short Lives are Loved

We’re not the first people to reflect on the brevity of human life. This is a common theme in scripture. James, the brother of Jesus, compared humans to “a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes” (James 4:14). Let me make that metaphor more Canadian for you. Donna and I have glass panels on the edge of our deck and for the last few mornings I’ve awoken up to see them coated in thick frost. Then, by the time breakfast is over and the sun has risen, the frost has evaporated and the glass is clear again. Our lives are like mist, like frost.

On the one hand, this can make us feel insignificant, but nothing could be further from the truth. In the face of this reality, the Psalmist offered this prayer to God.

O Lord, what are human beings that you regard them,
or mortals that you think of them?
They are like a breath;
their days are like a passing shadow. (Psalm 144:3-4)

Our lives, however short, matter because we are loved. Nancy is loved by God and by a whole host of family, friends, and children. Our lives may be quickly passing—a “breath,” but that breath is God-breathed. Just as God breathed into Adam and he became a living soul, his breath is in each one of us. We are valued and loved by the Creator who gave us breath and who sustains our life. It’s up to us to use our short lives to reflect that love to those around us.

When you consider Nancy’s life, she did this in so many ways. I’m sure you all have your stories—here are a couple of mine. When my Dad was in Kingston General Hospital for bladder cancer a couple years ago I spent an afternoon driving across the 401 from the far side of Toronto to see my parents. Waiting for the elevator in the hospital, I was surprised to meet Nancy who—unbeknownst to me—had filled up a bag full of goodies and brought them there to cheer up my Mom and Dad. If you know Nancy, you’ll know how much she disliked hospitals! This was pure giving—an act of love.

Nancy demonstrated her thoughtful love with gifts. My kids always knew that when Aunt Nancy came to our house there would be gifts involved—usually a bag full of miscellaneous toys and treats. Nancy spent her life trying her best to love those around her. I’m sure many of us are here today because we have been the beneficiaries of her love.

Easter morning

As a preacher, I can’t help but reflect on the fact that Nancy passed away on Easter Sunday. When I heard the news, I was on my way to attend a worship service where we would celebrate Jesus’ victory over death. I’d like to leave you with one brief story from Jesus’ life.

A few days before Jesus entered Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover feast, he went to the nearby suburb of Bethany because his friend Lazarus was sick. As he was approached the town he was met by Lazarus’ sister, Martha, with tears streaming down her face. “If you had only been here,” she said, “my brother would not have died.” (John 11:21).

“If only.” These words are an accusation—the haunting cry of a grieving woman. They threaten to haunt us too. If only I had called her that last time. If only I could have recognized that something was coming. If only. It’s worth pausing here to see how Jesus replied.

Jesus responded to this grief-filled accusation with words that would become famous: “I am the resurrection and the life. Anyone who believes in me will live, even after dying” (John 11:25). He then looked Martha right in the eyes and asked, “Do you believe” (John 11:26)?

Nancy passed away on Easter Sunday morning, the day when Christians around the world celebrate the deep truth that death does not have the final word. This is why Christians do not grieve hopelessly. We have hope. The same God that raised Jesus from the grave will lift us up as well. Let the question of Jesus sink deep into your souls: “Do you believe?”