Rachel Copley was a much loved sister in Christ who worshiped in the Mirfield Team Parish over many, many years. She will be sorely missed by many people in the parish, the town of Mirfield, the staff and congregants at Wakefield Cathedral where she worked, and by many countless others in other communities whose lives she touched for the better.

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When I arrived as a fresh-faced member of the clergy here in Mirfield, Rachel and I quickly realised that we had met before, many years prior, when we both worked in marketing teams. We soon became friends, bonding over our shared faith, our connections to the Cursillo movement, and war stories from our previous corporate lives. I came to know Rachel as a deeply faithful person with a boundless drive to build up and make better the lives she touched and the communities and organisations that she so capably served. In other words, she was a woman of faith, hope and love.

And, therefore, it seems so fitting that Rachel’s family chose our reading from Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians for us to hear today.

We have come together today in love and in sorrow, to commend Rachel into God’s keeping, and to support one another as we grieve. Moments like this can leave us feeling fragile and uncertain. Words can feel inadequate, and yet it is often through words — carefully chosen, gently offered — accompanied by loving actions, that comfort can begin to take root.

The reading from Saint Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians is one that many people know well. It is often read at weddings; celebrations of new beginnings. Yet at its heart, it is not about a simple happiness; it is about what endures when everything else feels uncertain or has fallen away. Paul writes of faith, hope and love—and reminds us that the greatest of these is love.

Paul is honest about the limits of human life and understanding. He speaks of seeing “in a mirror, dimly”, of knowing only in part. That can feel very close to our experience today. In grief, the future can seem unclear, and the reasons for loss hard to grasp. Faith does not pretend that everything makes sense to us, but it does trust that God remains present, even when we cannot see the way ahead.

Faith, in this moment, is trusting that Rachel is known and loved by God more deeply than we could ever imagine. It is the faith that says that death is not the end of the story, because our lives are held within God’s eternal purposes. It is the faith that says that we will be reunited with God and with Rachel once more in the future, and for eternity.

Hope, too, is not wishful thinking. Christian hope is quieter and stronger than that. It is the hope that God’s love is stronger than death, that nothing — not even our deepest sorrow — can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. Hope gives us permission to grieve honestly, while still trusting that light will come again, even if slowly and gradually.

And then there is love. Paul tells us that love is patient and kind; that it bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love is what has brought us here today. Love for Rachel, love for one another, love for God, and love that continues even now, shaped by memory and thanksgiving. Death does not erase love. The love we have shared remains part of who we are, and it continues to bind us together.

At the end of the reading, Paul tells us that faith, hope and love abide—these three. They remain. They endure beyond the moment, beyond loss, beyond even death itself. Today, as we entrust Rachel to God, we do so held by those enduring gifts.

So, as we hold Rachel in our hearts before God today, we give thanks for a woman of faith, hope and love, and I pray that the same faith that Rachel knew may steady us, hope sustain us, and love surround us — and that we are all held, now and always, in the everlasting arms of God.

Amen.