Transfiguration and Miss Ruby

She was a tiny little old lady... white hair gathered up into a knot on the top of her head, a reminder of hair styles from her youth at the turn of the century. Her posture was perfect and she observed the etiquette rules of her generation. She sat erect in chairs with her feet crossed at the ankles, leaning slightly forward. Her face, wrinkled and soft, was punctuated by two bright eyes that saw beneath the surface, x-ray vision of the soul. The bread she baked for communion services was light and tasty, kneaded by hand, not machine. Born and raised in Plains, Georgia, she was the epitome of southern womanhood, gentle on the surface and tough as nails underneath. The fire in her spirit broke through when someone made snide comments about her friend Lillian Carter’s boy, Jimmy.
We became friends when Michael was pastor of her church. She was in her eighties then, still adventuring through life, white water rafting, going to Atlanta Braves games, listening to Pavarotti sing at two in the morning when she couldn’t sleep. Her gift to Michael was afternoon tea parties, a balm for his wounds as he lead a church that knew how to fight but not how to get along. Children adored her. Grown ups respected her and no one argued with Miss Ruby.
Her life had not been easy. She and her husband had three children, one son and two daughters. The son was killed in World War Two in Italy. After the war ended, she and her husband visited his grave. In an Italian hotel, far from home, her husband suffered a fatal heart attack. Her answer to this tragedy times two was to write a hymn, her doxology. Much to her delight, Michael had us sing her hymn in worship one Sunday.
We visited her and kept in touch after we left the church to move to Asheville. Life alone in her apartment gave way to life with one of her daughters. Her mind began to lose its edge but her spirit was brighter than before. Her daughters gave her a one of a kind birthday present... a seat behind home plate for a Braves game with a kiss from the pitcher as a cherry on top of that sundae. Hearing her tell us that story was the last time we heard her soft, southern voice. The next call that came was to tell Michael it was time to redeem his pledge to Miss Ruby made many years ago, to perform her burial service at First Baptist, Plains, Georgia.
Miss Ruby wanted us to stay in a restored fine old hotel in Americus, near Plains, so we did. The cemetery was full of her friends, neighbors and family. Miss Lillian was buried not too far away. She and Michael had spoken of how she wanted this service to be and he minded her one last time. The transfiguration of Miss Ruby was complete.
Born into a time and place in history that was by our standards poor and narrow in view, she transcended the constraints of her culture. It must have been something in the water in Plains that allowed Christian character to be formed in persons like Miss Ruby and Miss Lillian. All her life was a journey towards transfiguration, occasional brighter than light moments that illuminated a life lived lit from the inside out. To be in her presence was to see the dancing Light of the Holy shining through her merry eyes.
I read the stories of transfiguration in the liturgy for today and remember Miss Ruby. I didn’t get to see chariots of fire carry her to God but I wouldn’t be surprised to find out they were standing by waiting to carry her home. I know she had moments standing on spiritual mountaintops when she was transformed by the power of God. The Light she walked in still shone brightly through those wise old eyes. Like Elijah, Elisha and Jesus, transfiguration was both a once in a lifetime experience and an all her lifetime experience. There was no separation of the two for Miss Ruby. I’m trying to remember and learn this lesson today, Transfiguration Sunday. I want to search and find the Source of all that has been and all that will be, let the Light shine on and through me, share the Light I find as I live my way towards transfiguration so that when I die, others will hear the rumble of chariot wheels rolling by. Please, Lord, let me be transformed by your loving light so that I may become more like you. Tell Miss Ruby I said hello.