James J. Gray Sr., in the 91st year of his life and the 70th year of his marriage, departed this earth to be with his Savior on Monday, February 9, 2009 at St. Peter's Hospital. Born in Albany, he was the son of the late John E. and Florence (Riley) Gray. He was a proud graduate of CBA, class of 1934. Mr. Gray was a World War II veteran, having served as Captain in the Army Air Corps. He was the owner of J.J Gray Realty and was a longtime communicant of St. Matthew Lutheran Church. Mr. Gray served as president of the congregation and was a member of the board of elders. Blessed with an Irish tenor's voice, he was the soloist at the church and will be remembered for his signature song "Jesus." Mr. Gray was a founding member of the Albany Board of Realtors and was very active in the CBA Alumni Association. He was also a member of the Albany Lodge of Elks, BPOE #49. He is survived by his wife, Ethel K. (Dascher) Gray; his children, Gail (David) MacIntosh, Joan (John) Polak, Timothy D. Gray, and Rt. Rev. Jonathan E. Gray; his grandchildren, Kelly (Matthew) McCormick, David (Maryann) MacIntosh, Tim MacIntosh, Adam (Annmarie) Polak, Joshua J.G. Polak, and Kaitlin (Andrew) Palcowski; also survived by nine great-grandchildren, one great-great grandchild and many nieces and nephews. He was predeceased by his son, James J. Gray, Jr. and sisters, Florence Mary and Sarah Jane Gray. Funeral services will be held Saturday at 10 a.m. in St. Matthew Lutheran Church. His son, Bishop Jonathan Gray will preside. Relatives and friends are invited and may also call at the Norman E. Dascher Funeral Home, 490 Delaware Ave., Albany, Friday 4-8 p.m. In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations to St. Matthew Lutheran School, 75 Whitehall Road, Albany, NY 12209 or to CBA Alumni Association, 12 Airline Dr., Albany, NY 12205.
This is the text of the homily preached at Jim Gray's funeral by his son, Bishop Jonathan Gray:
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable and pleasing in thy sight, O Lord, holy father, almighty and everliving God. Amen.
Grace, mercy and peace of God our Father, the love of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be among you. Amen.
On behalf of my family and the family of St. Matthew's congregation, I would like to welcome you all and thank you for coming to this liturgy as we honor and remember my father. Dad was a very social man, always happiest when he was in the company of friends, and he would be delighted to know that you are all here to celebrate his new life in Christ with us..
It is a particular blessing for me to be here in this pulpit; a few weeks ago when I was visiting him in hospital, Dad asked me if I would 'do' his funeral and I promised him I would. And he just said, 'good'. We never mentioned it again, I suppose we didn't have to -that particular detail was taken care of.
In the few days since his passing, a number of people were kind enough to tell me their stories and recollections about my father and what he meant to them. Some of stories were pretty funny, all of them were very touching. One theme however, that kept recurring was how my father always was concerned that no one ever felt left out or excluded, and he went out of his way, especially with people he felt were lonely or somehow marginalized, to let them know how much they were valued and appreciated.
I can't tell you how many of their children's friends both Meem and Dad 'adopted' and took under their collective wing and showed them genuine warmth and affection and love. And for that, we will always be grateful to the both of you -the love and devotion that my parents had for each other, and for their family, spilled over and touched everyone we brought into the house.
When I was thinking and praying about what I wanted to say today, the phrase 'I know that my redeemer lives' kept popping into my head over and over. And it occurred to me that that should be the central theme of my message to you today: I know that my redeemer lives. And because He lives, those who die in his love, do not die. My father was a man of profound and abiding faith. He didn't parade it or make a show of it, but his faith in Jesus, in his living redeemer, was rock-solid. He, in fact, chose the hymn which we just sang: 'My Hope is Built on Nothing Less than Jesus' Blood and Righteousness'. That sums it up perfectly. That's what his faith was all about. Faith gives that assurance, faith gives that certainty, faith that goes beyond hope, faith that gives confidence: On Christ, the solid rock I stand; all other ground is sinking sand.
This really was the basis of his life. He was aware of his limitations, but he also knew that God loved him, not despite his shortcomings and 'wrinkles' but because of them. There is a section in Luther's Small Catechism which I will paraphrase, which mirrors the foundation of my father's faith: I am saved because God, out of fatherly and divine goodness and mercy, provides for me, without any merit or worthiness in me. For this it is my duty, it is my privilege, to thank and praise Him, serve and obey Him. This is most certainly true.
St. Augustine once said, "He who sings, prays twice", and that being the case, my father did a lot of praying all over the place. He loved music -he had music playing in the house all the time, everything from Big Bands to Gospel, and he was always singing or whistling as he was cooking or walking or driving or whatever. That's a real gift to have because music adds color and flavor to everything we do. God blessed my father, as his obituary noted, with a beautiful Irish tenor voice, and it gave him great satisfaction and pleasure to share that gift of music and voice with this congregation. There is one song in particular that became his signature, if you will: Jesus. And what made that song so singular, so extraordinarily particular to him, was that he didn't just sing it, he crooned it. And when he crooned 'Jesus' it came straight from the depths of his heart, and anyone whoever heard him sing that song, somehow knew that it was more than just a song to him: it was his profession of faith, his credo. It wasn't his voice alone that made that song so memorable, it was the fragrance of his faith that surrounded it when he sang it.
Frankly, he loved the attention he received for his singing; Lois Wahl, Ruth Bowe, Faith Noonan, Sandy Tesch, to mention a few, would always make a fuss over him after he sang in church and he loved it. He would refer to them, with great affection, as his 'fan club'.
My parents would have marked their 70th wedding anniversary in May this year. 70 years! For better or worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. 70 years. I, as one of their children, am very proud of that fact, I am awed and humbled by that fact. A couple does not achieve a milestone like that without sacrifice and work and, most of all, deep and abiding love and respect for one another. Please know how grateful and indebted your children are to you and Dad for that, that we could be the beneficiaries of that kind of commitment.
Some years ago I had the opportunity to help establish a medical mission in the remote mountain village of Nueva Santa Rosa in Guatemala. The village we visited was so poor that they couldn't afford candles for their tiny church. Instead, the sanctuary was fitted with hooks, and the villagers would bring their own lanterns with them for evening services. By the time everyone had arrived and placed their lanterns on the hooks, the sanctuary was ablaze with light. If someone was absent, the villagers would say to them, 'we missed your light. Our sanctuary was less bright without you.'
We will miss Dad's light, our sanctuaries will seem less bright. But the light of his faith is undiminished, it is not extinguished. That light now shines like a beacon before the throne of his God, of his living redeemer. That's Dad's legacy to us. That's his gift to us. How blessed we are to have had him for so long.
As we leave here today, we'll remember his singing, his humor, his caring, but most of all, let us remember that light, and let us say 'thank you' to God, for the gift that was my father.
Well done, good and faithful servant. Come and take your rest. Amen.
And may the peace of God, which passes all human understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.
This is the text of the homily preached at Jim Gray's funeral by his son, Bishop Jonathan Gray:
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable and pleasing in thy sight, O Lord, holy father, almighty and everliving God. Amen.
Grace, mercy and peace of God our Father, the love of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be among you. Amen.
On behalf of my family and the family of St. Matthew's congregation, I would like to welcome you all and thank you for coming to this liturgy as we honor and remember my father. Dad was a very social man, always happiest when he was in the company of friends, and he would be delighted to know that you are all here to celebrate his new life in Christ with us..
It is a particular blessing for me to be here in this pulpit; a few weeks ago when I was visiting him in hospital, Dad asked me if I would 'do' his funeral and I promised him I would. And he just said, 'good'. We never mentioned it again, I suppose we didn't have to -that particular detail was taken care of.
In the few days since his passing, a number of people were kind enough to tell me their stories and recollections about my father and what he meant to them. Some of stories were pretty funny, all of them were very touching. One theme however, that kept recurring was how my father always was concerned that no one ever felt left out or excluded, and he went out of his way, especially with people he felt were lonely or somehow marginalized, to let them know how much they were valued and appreciated.
I can't tell you how many of their children's friends both Meem and Dad 'adopted' and took under their collective wing and showed them genuine warmth and affection and love. And for that, we will always be grateful to the both of you -the love and devotion that my parents had for each other, and for their family, spilled over and touched everyone we brought into the house.
When I was thinking and praying about what I wanted to say today, the phrase 'I know that my redeemer lives' kept popping into my head over and over. And it occurred to me that that should be the central theme of my message to you today: I know that my redeemer lives. And because He lives, those who die in his love, do not die. My father was a man of profound and abiding faith. He didn't parade it or make a show of it, but his faith in Jesus, in his living redeemer, was rock-solid. He, in fact, chose the hymn which we just sang: 'My Hope is Built on Nothing Less than Jesus' Blood and Righteousness'. That sums it up perfectly. That's what his faith was all about. Faith gives that assurance, faith gives that certainty, faith that goes beyond hope, faith that gives confidence: On Christ, the solid rock I stand; all other ground is sinking sand.
This really was the basis of his life. He was aware of his limitations, but he also knew that God loved him, not despite his shortcomings and 'wrinkles' but because of them. There is a section in Luther's Small Catechism which I will paraphrase, which mirrors the foundation of my father's faith: I am saved because God, out of fatherly and divine goodness and mercy, provides for me, without any merit or worthiness in me. For this it is my duty, it is my privilege, to thank and praise Him, serve and obey Him. This is most certainly true.
St. Augustine once said, "He who sings, prays twice", and that being the case, my father did a lot of praying all over the place. He loved music -he had music playing in the house all the time, everything from Big Bands to Gospel, and he was always singing or whistling as he was cooking or walking or driving or whatever. That's a real gift to have because music adds color and flavor to everything we do. God blessed my father, as his obituary noted, with a beautiful Irish tenor voice, and it gave him great satisfaction and pleasure to share that gift of music and voice with this congregation. There is one song in particular that became his signature, if you will: Jesus. And what made that song so singular, so extraordinarily particular to him, was that he didn't just sing it, he crooned it. And when he crooned 'Jesus' it came straight from the depths of his heart, and anyone whoever heard him sing that song, somehow knew that it was more than just a song to him: it was his profession of faith, his credo. It wasn't his voice alone that made that song so memorable, it was the fragrance of his faith that surrounded it when he sang it.
Frankly, he loved the attention he received for his singing; Lois Wahl, Ruth Bowe, Faith Noonan, Sandy Tesch, to mention a few, would always make a fuss over him after he sang in church and he loved it. He would refer to them, with great affection, as his 'fan club'.
My parents would have marked their 70th wedding anniversary in May this year. 70 years! For better or worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. 70 years. I, as one of their children, am very proud of that fact, I am awed and humbled by that fact. A couple does not achieve a milestone like that without sacrifice and work and, most of all, deep and abiding love and respect for one another. Please know how grateful and indebted your children are to you and Dad for that, that we could be the beneficiaries of that kind of commitment.
Some years ago I had the opportunity to help establish a medical mission in the remote mountain village of Nueva Santa Rosa in Guatemala. The village we visited was so poor that they couldn't afford candles for their tiny church. Instead, the sanctuary was fitted with hooks, and the villagers would bring their own lanterns with them for evening services. By the time everyone had arrived and placed their lanterns on the hooks, the sanctuary was ablaze with light. If someone was absent, the villagers would say to them, 'we missed your light. Our sanctuary was less bright without you.'
We will miss Dad's light, our sanctuaries will seem less bright. But the light of his faith is undiminished, it is not extinguished. That light now shines like a beacon before the throne of his God, of his living redeemer. That's Dad's legacy to us. That's his gift to us. How blessed we are to have had him for so long.
As we leave here today, we'll remember his singing, his humor, his caring, but most of all, let us remember that light, and let us say 'thank you' to God, for the gift that was my father.
Well done, good and faithful servant. Come and take your rest. Amen.
And may the peace of God, which passes all human understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.
James J. Gray Sr., in the 91st year of his life and the 70th year of his marriage, departed this earth to be with his Savior on Monday, February 9, 2009 at St. Peter's Hospital. Born in Albany, he was the son of the late John E. and Florence (Riley) Gray. He was a proud graduate of CBA, class of 1934. Mr. Gray was a World War II veteran, having served as Captain in the Army Air Corps. He was the owner of J.J Gray Realty and was a longtime communicant of St. Matthew Lutheran Church. Mr. Gray served as president of the congregation and was a member of the board of elders. Blessed with an Irish tenor's voice, he was the soloist at the church and will be remembered for his signature song "Jesus." Mr. Gray was a founding member of the Albany Board of Realtors and was very active in the CBA Alumni Association. He was also a member of the Albany Lodge of Elks, BPOE #49. He is survived by his wife, Ethel K. (Dascher) Gray; his children, Gail (David) MacIntosh, Joan (John) Polak, Timothy D. Gray, and Rt. Rev. Jonathan E. Gray; his grandchildren, Kelly (Matthew) McCormick, David (Maryann) MacIntosh, Tim MacIntosh, Adam (Annmarie) Polak, Joshua J.G. Polak, and Kaitlin (Andrew) Palcowski; also survived by nine great-grandchildren, one great-great grandchild and many nieces and nephews. He was predeceased by his son, James J. Gray, Jr. and sisters, Florence Mary and Sarah Jane Gray. Funeral services will be held Saturday at 10 a.m. in St. Matthew Lutheran Church. His son, Bishop Jonathan Gray will preside. Relatives and friends are invited and may also call at the Norman E. Dascher Funeral Home, 490 Delaware Ave., Albany, Friday 4-8 p.m. In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations to St. Matthew Lutheran School, 75 Whitehall Road, Albany, NY 12209 or to CBA Alumni Association, 12 Airline Dr., Albany, NY 12205.
This is the text of the homily preached at Jim Gray's funeral by his son, Bishop Jonathan Gray:
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable and pleasing in thy sight, O Lord, holy father, almighty and everliving God. Amen.
Grace, mercy and peace of God our Father, the love of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be among you. Amen.
On behalf of my family and the family of St. Matthew's congregation, I would like to welcome you all and thank you for coming to this liturgy as we honor and remember my father. Dad was a very social man, always happiest when he was in the company of friends, and he would be delighted to know that you are all here to celebrate his new life in Christ with us..
It is a particular blessing for me to be here in this pulpit; a few weeks ago when I was visiting him in hospital, Dad asked me if I would 'do' his funeral and I promised him I would. And he just said, 'good'. We never mentioned it again, I suppose we didn't have to -that particular detail was taken care of.
In the few days since his passing, a number of people were kind enough to tell me their stories and recollections about my father and what he meant to them. Some of stories were pretty funny, all of them were very touching. One theme however, that kept recurring was how my father always was concerned that no one ever felt left out or excluded, and he went out of his way, especially with people he felt were lonely or somehow marginalized, to let them know how much they were valued and appreciated.
I can't tell you how many of their children's friends both Meem and Dad 'adopted' and took under their collective wing and showed them genuine warmth and affection and love. And for that, we will always be grateful to the both of you -the love and devotion that my parents had for each other, and for their family, spilled over and touched everyone we brought into the house.
When I was thinking and praying about what I wanted to say today, the phrase 'I know that my redeemer lives' kept popping into my head over and over. And it occurred to me that that should be the central theme of my message to you today: I know that my redeemer lives. And because He lives, those who die in his love, do not die. My father was a man of profound and abiding faith. He didn't parade it or make a show of it, but his faith in Jesus, in his living redeemer, was rock-solid. He, in fact, chose the hymn which we just sang: 'My Hope is Built on Nothing Less than Jesus' Blood and Righteousness'. That sums it up perfectly. That's what his faith was all about. Faith gives that assurance, faith gives that certainty, faith that goes beyond hope, faith that gives confidence: On Christ, the solid rock I stand; all other ground is sinking sand.
This really was the basis of his life. He was aware of his limitations, but he also knew that God loved him, not despite his shortcomings and 'wrinkles' but because of them. There is a section in Luther's Small Catechism which I will paraphrase, which mirrors the foundation of my father's faith: I am saved because God, out of fatherly and divine goodness and mercy, provides for me, without any merit or worthiness in me. For this it is my duty, it is my privilege, to thank and praise Him, serve and obey Him. This is most certainly true.
St. Augustine once said, "He who sings, prays twice", and that being the case, my father did a lot of praying all over the place. He loved music -he had music playing in the house all the time, everything from Big Bands to Gospel, and he was always singing or whistling as he was cooking or walking or driving or whatever. That's a real gift to have because music adds color and flavor to everything we do. God blessed my father, as his obituary noted, with a beautiful Irish tenor voice, and it gave him great satisfaction and pleasure to share that gift of music and voice with this congregation. There is one song in particular that became his signature, if you will: Jesus. And what made that song so singular, so extraordinarily particular to him, was that he didn't just sing it, he crooned it. And when he crooned 'Jesus' it came straight from the depths of his heart, and anyone whoever heard him sing that song, somehow knew that it was more than just a song to him: it was his profession of faith, his credo. It wasn't his voice alone that made that song so memorable, it was the fragrance of his faith that surrounded it when he sang it.
Frankly, he loved the attention he received for his singing; Lois Wahl, Ruth Bowe, Faith Noonan, Sandy Tesch, to mention a few, would always make a fuss over him after he sang in church and he loved it. He would refer to them, with great affection, as his 'fan club'.
My parents would have marked their 70th wedding anniversary in May this year. 70 years! For better or worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. 70 years. I, as one of their children, am very proud of that fact, I am awed and humbled by that fact. A couple does not achieve a milestone like that without sacrifice and work and, most of all, deep and abiding love and respect for one another. Please know how grateful and indebted your children are to you and Dad for that, that we could be the beneficiaries of that kind of commitment.
Some years ago I had the opportunity to help establish a medical mission in the remote mountain village of Nueva Santa Rosa in Guatemala. The village we visited was so poor that they couldn't afford candles for their tiny church. Instead, the sanctuary was fitted with hooks, and the villagers would bring their own lanterns with them for evening services. By the time everyone had arrived and placed their lanterns on the hooks, the sanctuary was ablaze with light. If someone was absent, the villagers would say to them, 'we missed your light. Our sanctuary was less bright without you.'
We will miss Dad's light, our sanctuaries will seem less bright. But the light of his faith is undiminished, it is not extinguished. That light now shines like a beacon before the throne of his God, of his living redeemer. That's Dad's legacy to us. That's his gift to us. How blessed we are to have had him for so long.
As we leave here today, we'll remember his singing, his humor, his caring, but most of all, let us remember that light, and let us say 'thank you' to God, for the gift that was my father.
Well done, good and faithful servant. Come and take your rest. Amen.
And may the peace of God, which passes all human understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.
This is the text of the homily preached at Jim Gray's funeral by his son, Bishop Jonathan Gray:
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable and pleasing in thy sight, O Lord, holy father, almighty and everliving God. Amen.
Grace, mercy and peace of God our Father, the love of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be among you. Amen.
On behalf of my family and the family of St. Matthew's congregation, I would like to welcome you all and thank you for coming to this liturgy as we honor and remember my father. Dad was a very social man, always happiest when he was in the company of friends, and he would be delighted to know that you are all here to celebrate his new life in Christ with us..
It is a particular blessing for me to be here in this pulpit; a few weeks ago when I was visiting him in hospital, Dad asked me if I would 'do' his funeral and I promised him I would. And he just said, 'good'. We never mentioned it again, I suppose we didn't have to -that particular detail was taken care of.
In the few days since his passing, a number of people were kind enough to tell me their stories and recollections about my father and what he meant to them. Some of stories were pretty funny, all of them were very touching. One theme however, that kept recurring was how my father always was concerned that no one ever felt left out or excluded, and he went out of his way, especially with people he felt were lonely or somehow marginalized, to let them know how much they were valued and appreciated.
I can't tell you how many of their children's friends both Meem and Dad 'adopted' and took under their collective wing and showed them genuine warmth and affection and love. And for that, we will always be grateful to the both of you -the love and devotion that my parents had for each other, and for their family, spilled over and touched everyone we brought into the house.
When I was thinking and praying about what I wanted to say today, the phrase 'I know that my redeemer lives' kept popping into my head over and over. And it occurred to me that that should be the central theme of my message to you today: I know that my redeemer lives. And because He lives, those who die in his love, do not die. My father was a man of profound and abiding faith. He didn't parade it or make a show of it, but his faith in Jesus, in his living redeemer, was rock-solid. He, in fact, chose the hymn which we just sang: 'My Hope is Built on Nothing Less than Jesus' Blood and Righteousness'. That sums it up perfectly. That's what his faith was all about. Faith gives that assurance, faith gives that certainty, faith that goes beyond hope, faith that gives confidence: On Christ, the solid rock I stand; all other ground is sinking sand.
This really was the basis of his life. He was aware of his limitations, but he also knew that God loved him, not despite his shortcomings and 'wrinkles' but because of them. There is a section in Luther's Small Catechism which I will paraphrase, which mirrors the foundation of my father's faith: I am saved because God, out of fatherly and divine goodness and mercy, provides for me, without any merit or worthiness in me. For this it is my duty, it is my privilege, to thank and praise Him, serve and obey Him. This is most certainly true.
St. Augustine once said, "He who sings, prays twice", and that being the case, my father did a lot of praying all over the place. He loved music -he had music playing in the house all the time, everything from Big Bands to Gospel, and he was always singing or whistling as he was cooking or walking or driving or whatever. That's a real gift to have because music adds color and flavor to everything we do. God blessed my father, as his obituary noted, with a beautiful Irish tenor voice, and it gave him great satisfaction and pleasure to share that gift of music and voice with this congregation. There is one song in particular that became his signature, if you will: Jesus. And what made that song so singular, so extraordinarily particular to him, was that he didn't just sing it, he crooned it. And when he crooned 'Jesus' it came straight from the depths of his heart, and anyone whoever heard him sing that song, somehow knew that it was more than just a song to him: it was his profession of faith, his credo. It wasn't his voice alone that made that song so memorable, it was the fragrance of his faith that surrounded it when he sang it.
Frankly, he loved the attention he received for his singing; Lois Wahl, Ruth Bowe, Faith Noonan, Sandy Tesch, to mention a few, would always make a fuss over him after he sang in church and he loved it. He would refer to them, with great affection, as his 'fan club'.
My parents would have marked their 70th wedding anniversary in May this year. 70 years! For better or worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. 70 years. I, as one of their children, am very proud of that fact, I am awed and humbled by that fact. A couple does not achieve a milestone like that without sacrifice and work and, most of all, deep and abiding love and respect for one another. Please know how grateful and indebted your children are to you and Dad for that, that we could be the beneficiaries of that kind of commitment.
Some years ago I had the opportunity to help establish a medical mission in the remote mountain village of Nueva Santa Rosa in Guatemala. The village we visited was so poor that they couldn't afford candles for their tiny church. Instead, the sanctuary was fitted with hooks, and the villagers would bring their own lanterns with them for evening services. By the time everyone had arrived and placed their lanterns on the hooks, the sanctuary was ablaze with light. If someone was absent, the villagers would say to them, 'we missed your light. Our sanctuary was less bright without you.'
We will miss Dad's light, our sanctuaries will seem less bright. But the light of his faith is undiminished, it is not extinguished. That light now shines like a beacon before the throne of his God, of his living redeemer. That's Dad's legacy to us. That's his gift to us. How blessed we are to have had him for so long.
As we leave here today, we'll remember his singing, his humor, his caring, but most of all, let us remember that light, and let us say 'thank you' to God, for the gift that was my father.
Well done, good and faithful servant. Come and take your rest. Amen.
And may the peace of God, which passes all human understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.
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