Brother. Family. Friend.

“Death is the act or permanent fact of dying,” or so we are led to believe by those who would tell us of its meaning. Death, we are informed, is the cessation of life. The final act. The end. We are at a loss when we hear: “He died.” There is such finality to these words that we feel there is nothing more to say. And yet there is so much to say. Death is not the end. It is but the summation of a life lived. It is a life full of history: complete with stories, full of emotions, of triumphs punctuated by setbacks, of love and loss.

We bear witness to the life of Richard Leland Hubert. His was a life in search of meaning. His was a journey full of laughter, friendship, and joy. His embrace was warm, and his heart was big. He looked for the best in people. But more importantly, he wished the best for people. In this, we see the character of the man. Loving and compassionate. Gentle and kind-hearted. Always seeking.

Richard was a man of faith, striving and longing for the Eternal. He searched for peace, desired redemption, hoped for salvation. We -- family and friends -- desperately wanted this for him; to find calm and comfort in life’s turmoil; to allow Grace to enter his everyday life. He struggled, as we all do. Tellingly, however, all that he sought was never far away.

Richard looked to create and recreate perfection; to find God in the here and now. He found it dockside at his beloved Loon Call Lake, waiting in anticipation of the setting sun. (“There is no such thing as a bad sunset,” he would tell anyone reassuringly.) He found it diving below the surface of the cool lake water, the twinkling of stars overhead in the midnight sky, and the dip of the paddle alongside a canoe cutting through the morning mist. He heard it in the harmonies of voices lifted in song, the tender play of the Celtic harp, and the melody of an Old-Fashioned Waltz. He was drawn to the rejoicing of children. And as if they were his own, they reciprocated in their love for him, calling him “our dear uncle.” Richard sought perfection because he wanted to be nearer to God. He found it in his own humanity.

For whom does the bell toll? It is for you, Richard. It is not, however, a bell of sorrow. The bell peels loudly in celebration of a life lived, full of Grace and wonder. It is also a bell announcing a new beginning because death is not the end. Rather it is the next phase in our journey, allowing us to enter the Kingdom of our Lord.

As we believe, so we must remember. Cradling your memory in our hearts, we carry on. In doing so, however, we are reminded of how much you enriched our lives and that we are better human beings for knowing you. We give thanks for all that you were and continue to be. We give thanks for your life.

Peacefully in his 68th year, on Monday afternoon, March 20, 2023. Richard was predeceased by his parents, Irene and Anthony, and is survived by his sister Janet. He will be missed by family and his many dear friends.