We gather in this great Abbey to mourn
and to give thanks. It is a fitting place to do so, a place
where the story of our nation and the story of the woman we
now commend to her Heavenly Father are intertwined.
It was here that Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon
was married and became Duchess of York; it was here that she
was crowned Queen; it was here that, as Queen Mother, she
attended the coronation of her own daughter. It is fitting,
then, that a place that stood at the centre of her life
should now be the place where we honour her passing.
In the 10 days since she left us, there have been countless
tributes and expressions of affection and respect --
including those of the many people who have queued and filed
patiently past her coffin lying-in-state.
How should we explain the numbers? Rhetorical question Not
just by the great length of a life, famously lived to the
full. Alliteration and placement of famously to draw
attention and create an impact. It has to do with her giving
of herself so readily and openly.
There was about her, in George Eliot's lovely phrase,
"the sweet presence of a good diffused".
Like the sun, she bathed us in her warm glow. Now that the
sun has set and the cool of the evening has come, some of
the warmth we absorbed is flowing back towards her.
If there is one verse of scripture
which captures her best, it is perhaps the description of a
gracious woman in the final chapter of the book of Proverbs.
It says: "Strength and dignity are her clothing and she
laughs at the time to come."
Strength, dignity and laughter --
three great gifts which we honour and celebrate today.
The Queen Mother's strength as a
person was expressed best through the remarkable quality of
her dealings with people -- her ability to make all human
encounters, however fleeting, feel both special and
personal.
As her eighth Archbishop of Canterbury, I can vouch for that
strength.
Something of it is reflected in the
fact that for half a century we knew her and understood her
as the Queen Mother. It is a title whose resonance lies less
in its official status than in expressing one of the most
fundamental of all roles and relationships -- that of simply
being a mother, a mum, the Queen Mum.
For her family, that maternal strength -- given across the
generations to children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren
-- has been a precious gift and blessing.
Its loss is felt keenly today. And as they grieve, we say to
the Queen and to Prince Philip; to Charles, Anne, Andrew,
Edward, David and Sarah as grandchildren; and to all their
children: you are in our thoughts and cradled in our prayers
and those of countless millions round the world.
The very first letter Elizabeth wrote on becoming Queen in
the traumatic and daunting circumstances of 1936 was to one
of my predecessors as Archbishop of Canterbury. It gives a
further insight into the source of her strength.
She wrote: "I can hardly believe that we have been
called to this tremendous task... and the curious thing is
we are not afraid."
With her openness to people, indeed as part of it, came a
quiet courage. A courage manifest in wartime and widowhood,
a courage that endured to the end.
Strength, dignity and laughter.
There was certainly nothing remote or distant about her own
sense of dignity. Her smile, her wave, the characteristic
tilt of her head: all made the point immediately and beyond
words. It was a dignity that rested not on the splendid
trappings of royalty, but on a sense of the nobility of
service.
On their wedding day here, the Archbishop of York spoke to
the newly married couple of their life together: "We
cannot resolve that it shall be happy," he said,
"but you can and will resolve that it shall be
noble."
And indeed it was. An unfailing sense of service and duty
made it so. It was a commitment nourished by the Queen
Mother's Christian faith. A faith that told her, as it tells
us all, that even the Son of God came into the world as a
servant, not as a master.
Strength, dignity and, yes, laughter.
We come here to mourn but also to give thanks, to celebrate
the person and her life -- both filled with such a rich
sense of fun and joy and the music of laughter.
With it went an immense vitality that did not fail her. Hers
was a great old age, but not a cramped one. She remained
young at heart, and the young themselves sensed
that. Repetition of young
Of course, the laughter of the book of Proverbs goes deeper
than a good joke or a witty reply. "She laughs at the
time to come": such laughter reflects an attitude of
confident hope in the face of adversity and the
unpredictable challenges of life.
Of this laughter too, the Queen Mother knew a great deal. It
was rooted in the depth and simplicity of her abiding faith
that this life is to be lived to the full as a preparation
for the next.
Her passing was truly an Easter death -- poised between Good
Friday and Easter Day. In the light of the promise that
Easter brings, we will lay her to rest knowing that the same
hope belongs to all who trust in the One who is the
resurrection and the life.
Strength, dignity, laughter -- three special qualities,
earthed metaphor in her Christian faith. Qualities that
clothed her metaphor and conversational life so richly.
Qualities repetition of qualities that with her passing, we
too -- by the grace of God -- may seek to put on afresh, in
our own lives and the life of our nation and world. Let that
be part of her legacy, part of our tribute.
And lastly this: for the book of Proverbs has more to say
about a gracious woman; words we can summon now as we
commend to her Heavenly Father his faithful servant
Elizabeth -- Queen, Queen Mother, Queen Mum -- deeply loved
and greatly missed.
It simply says of a woman of grace: "Many have done
excellently, but you exceed them all."