A Ruth's Reflection on the Death of a Patriarch
We have just returned from the funeral and burial of Isaiah's grandfather--William Ralph English. He was a true family patriarch. In case you're wondering, a patriarch is known as "one who rules a family, clan, or tribe," and the dictionary definitions today still reference the Biblical patriarchs for whom the term is named; Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and his 12 sons. In the Bible these Biblical patriarchs share certain similarities in their deaths and burials. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob all "breathed their last and were gathered to their people;" they were all buried with their family; and in each account, the patriarch's sons (whether previously chummy or not) bury their father together. I might add that one other noteworthy commonality is that the patriarch's son(s) are blessed because of their father's faithfulness. Genesis 25, 35, and 49-50 all share these common elements. And so it was with Ralph English, the grandfather I barely knew as an in-law grafted into such a legacy family, and yet one of whom I have heard much about. Ralph breathed his last on January 14, 2025 at the age of 88; he was gathered to his people with the Lord and no longer struggles with the Parkinson's that held him captive for so long. He was buried by all of his sons--Paul, Dan, Tim, and Bill; three of whom spoke at his funeral, and all of whom came to honor and see that their father's earthly body was hidden in the earth even as his heavenly spirit is in glory. He was also buried by numerous grandsons and great-grandsons, and grand and great-grand-daughters as well. Ralph was well-loved on this side of glory, and his funeral which could barely hold the many who came to honor him at Cornerstone OPC in Chattanooga, TN, is testament of that. He fulfilled his covenant to his Savior to be fruitful and multiply in the biological and spiritual realms, and his children rose up and called him blessed in a million spoken and unspoken ways on Thursday and Friday of last week.
I have never before witnessed the death of a patriarch in a family, and so this past weekend gave me much to contemplate, grieve, rejoice in. The closest I have been to familial death in my life thus far is the death of my Nana (Ruby Faye Cleary). She was not a patriarch or matriarch, and could not be said (at least from this earthly perspective) to have impacted as many as did Ralph English. Not only did she simply not live as long as he, she also led a quieter, perhaps more subdued life. But she did impact me. My Nana Ruby died when I was only 11, but there is a reason that, should my new fertility adventure work, I will name a daughter Ruby Sue. Nana was one of two in my young life who didn't only care about my appearance, my pleasantness and manners, my feelings; no, she cared mostly about my thoughts. Quite a powerful thing takes place in a child (perhaps especially a female child) when one cares to ask about and remark on their innermost thoughts. It is at the very least confidence-building and at the very most earth-shattering and generational-strongholds-breaking. In my case, both are true. Nana Ruby, along with some help from my Paw Paw Bob, could be said to be majorly glass-ceiling-shattering in my life. All because Nana cared about my inner thoughts, probed, and gave me two simple pictures of the Gospel through the Dogwood flower and the Sand-Dollar. Nature used to share the simple gospel; the beginning of something grand, the beginning of my heart becoming one of flesh rather than stone. God at work in a simple woman untrained in doctrine, but loved by God and used by Him for a lost one such as I.
Yes, Nana was special, and at her funeral, young as I was, I grieved. And I will always be thankful that my mom sheltered me from her final breaths, which, unlike Ralph's, were not so peaceful and were not taken in her home.
But Ralph is like Nana Ruby times a million.
As I sat under my husband's preaching and my father-in-law's tearful leading at the funeral, I can't even imagine the impact of 18 years of missionary service in Korea, almost 10 in Suriname, lots more years as a pastor and teacher (under pastor emeritus status since 2015), not to mention 60 years of marriage to Grandma Joan and years and years of raising and influencing sons, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Patriarch indeed!
By the time I entered the English family, Ralph had been battling with Parkinson's for quite a few years, and though his Patriarch status was still apparent, it was subtle. When he communicated it was with effort and was often quite difficult to decipher. Though I had a high level of interest in what Ralph had to say and would often ask questions when we saw him at Thanksgiving and otherwise, I often didn't understand most of what he said, and had to focus on the sections I could understand to keep the conversation moving from there. Or I'd simply nod my head, both of us likely knowing I hadn't been able to decipher the labor-intensive words which cost so much, but fell on uncomprehending though willing ears.
One thing that was always very clear to me though was his love for his family and their immense love in return for him. Every Thanksgiving as gratitude was shared around the family-friends circle, Ralph would attempt to share his gratitude with the family. It was always clear than some understood him more than others (I was always in the others category, with both less years and less frequency of practice, not living in Chattanooga), but what was always evident even to me was that his tears were always falling the most when he spoke of God's blessing he and his family, and of the family's serving him. He was always sharing from a place of humility and thankfulness of what God and others did for him; I never heard him speak of what he did for us (which was and is and will continue to be much).
In fact, when I could make out what Ralph was saying it was always one of three things: gratitude, a joke, or something about a theological/helpful book he'd just read (his mind was sharp until the end, even if he couldn't always put his thoughts into the physical words that would produce comprehension). I do particularly recall his speaking to me about some books his pastor had written (and how he admired his new pastor and his wife), the book "Pain: the Gift that Nobody Wants," which Isaiah read on his recommendation, and a commentary on Hebrews he loved and devoured for quite a while (given how long I had seen it on the side table next to his chair). I also recall him placing his hands on his forehead and weeping as he talked about the Lord's kindness to him. Though I never deciphered a joke he told, I heard about quite a few after his funeral, and that made me feel more "let in on the jokes;" stories are powerful that way.
My brother-in-law Josiah, speaking of all the generations coming to the Patriarch's funeral, sent a voice recording from the UK of him reading a poem about Ralph's love for ice-cream, which was played at the fellowship meal following the service. After said poem (which was of course about far more than ice-cream or Ralph's love for it, as is Josiah's way), we all ate a Ralph English favorite--ice cream and popcorn--and folks shared more stories about Ralph. As I chomped on my ice-cream bar, I recalled my first Thanksgiving with the English family (the one before I was even official)--singing "I Wanna' Dance With Somebody" with some of the cousins and eating my most favorite ice cream ever in Ralph and Joan's basement house--Lemon Ice Box Ice Cream. I'd never had it before, but it is still my favorite (just simply can't find it most places).
I suppose when someone passes, even and perhaps especially if they are a true patriarch, you try to find all of the stories you have with them, slight as they are, so that you can feel a part of the great thing you married into or fell into or were born into. A way of figuring out your twig on the family tree so to speak--that area where you met with that great thing or great person, no matter how tiny or brief that touch might be. I think my greatest touch though is my husband.
He is such a result of the legacy of Ralph English: a soft-spoken yet fierce man who loves to tell others about Christ, a kind man who married a lead woman not afraid of doing hard things (I can hope to be as great as Joan one day at least!), a man who enjoys working with his hands, with wood, a man who enjoys camping; a future planter/pastor/missionary within the OPC, a denomination Isaiah likely wouldn't be in were it not for his family, a denomination I wouldn't be in had I not married into the English clan (and yet, God is sovereign but he uses families mightily!). And I can see it in the other children and grandchildren too--the pieces of Ralph.
His love for biking and nature: Elijah, Josiah, and Zach (plus wives and Lil' Logan) taking a Netherlands bike trip soon to enjoy the scenery and the likely rain and tulips as they traverse. His kind heart and soft leadership: in the parents like Joel, Londa, Cara, Philip, Emma, and their spouses when I see their parenting and kind guiding of their kids in gentle and wise ways. Isaiah's sermon (Revelation 14:13) was right "those who die in the Lord...their deeds follow them." Ralph's seeds and his seed follows him as he followed Jesus, into new life. Follow me as I follow Christ; he lived it well. May we do the same, and again and again, until Christ returns.
You may ask the question, as I am in my own mind right now, why would I write this when Ralph English wasn't even my grandpa...I suppose when you're from the outside, sometimes the beauty of what's on the inside strikes you in significant and unique ways, and you simply must share about it. It's what the Samaritan woman did when she found the Christ (or rather, the Christ found her). It's what Rahab did when she gathered her family and prepared them for new life in Israel even as her own city was conquered. And it's what I do now--as one I would call a Last Days Ruth. I was raised by own Noami (though mine was my mother and not my mother-in-law) who taught me and instructed me in how to find and properly marry a Godly man (through both her own experience and books and sermons). And then I married my own Boaz (except mine is named Isaiah), and was grafted into a legacy I never expected and will always be humbled to be a part of, that of Ralph and Joan English, that of the Grotenhuises, that of the MacDonalds, that of a hundred individuals living their lives for Christ so that one day I might marry in and be impacted in a million ways and produce a crop of my own.
"But those that were sown on the good soil are the ones who hear the words and accept it and bear fruit, thirtyfold and sixtyfold and a hundredfold." As my friend and mentor Dorothy-Jane has taught me to pray, May it be so, Lord. May it be so.
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