Golden Fire

    The expanse of the universe
    from one burning star
    to another
    waiting for the impossible,
    watching the revolution
    from grief and suffering
    to comfort

    The entire collection of angels
    past, present, future
    singing funeral hymns
    soothed into silence

    Thoughts turn to golden fire

Well Done, Good and Faithful Servant (A Promoted to Glory Sermon)

This is the sermon I gave this morning at the funeral service of one of our soldiers (Salvation Army church members).  

Before the service, as prelude music this arrangement of the song Joy in the Salvation Army was played (it's number 8 in the playlist).

The scripture texts were Psalm 23, Isaiah 49: 1 - 7, and 1 Corinthians 15: 50 - 58.
Congregational songs were: What a Friend We Have in Jesus and Greater Things

***

It is the tradition and custom of The Salvation Army to speak of the death of its soldiers (lay

members) and officers (clergy) as a “Promotion to Glory.”  Though we recognize and validate the grief and sense of loss felt by friends and family member who remain, underlying our funeral services is a sense of joy and celebration.  There is honor here, joy even, because one of our comrades has put down her sword, ceased her warfare and gone to receive her reward – to receive her “promotion to glory” in the presence of God the Father, and of the Son, Jesus Christ our Lord, and of the Holy Spirit.

I haven’t been here in Newton very long, a little more than a year and half so far.  I didn’t have time to get to know Donna very well before her death.  By the time that we arrived at this appointment her mental faculties had already begun to rapidly deteriorate.  She loved to play the piano, and for the first few weeks that we were here she accompanied our congregational singing.  But she knew that her abilities were fading.  She came to me and asked to be relieved of that duty as she felt that she wouldn’t be able to perform adequately any longer.

It was difficult for those who cared about her to watch her decline, to see her slipping away.  And it frustrated her as well – to know that there things she couldn’t remember, people she knew but couldn’t place. 

She’d been a faithful servant of God throughout her life, in many different roles, and in a variety of works – but at the end, all of that seemed to be slipping away with her memory and her mind.  Like the servant of the prophet Isaiah’s second servant song, “I have labored in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity…” (Isaiah 49: 4)

Life is difficult and filled with struggle.  And sometimes the all the good we do seems to get swallowed up by that struggle, forgotten like the names and faces in Donna’s memory. The servant of Isaiah’s song was chosen and equipped by God for a good work – to serve the Lord, and to bring glory to God.  But in the end the servant felt like a failure.  His sword was blunted, his arrows spent. 

But the servant, discouraged as he was, never gave up his faith: “I have labored in vain; I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity, yet surely my cause is with the Lord, and my reward with my God.”  And Donna’s faith, also, never diminished, even as her life was fading away.  She trusted in the grace and goodness of God.

Death has no victory over her.  Death has no sting.  Thanks be to God.  He has given Donna and he has given us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.  Her life and labor were not in vain (1 Cor. 15: 50 - 58).  She has been welcomed into the Kingdom of Heaven and she has heard the master say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”
  

Summoned home, the call has sounded,

Bidding a soldier her warfare cease;

And the song of angels resounded,

Welcomes a warrior to eternal peace.

Praise the Lord! from earthly struggles

A comrade has found release.

Death has lost its sting, the grave its victory;

Conflicts and dangers are over;

See her honored in the throne of glory,

Crowned by the hand of Jehovah!

Strife and sorrow over,

The Lord’s true faithful soldier

Has been called to go from the ranks below,

To the conq’ring host above.

Once the sword, but now the scepter,

Once the fight, now the rest and fame,

Broken every earthly fetter,

Now the glory for the cross and shame;

Once the loss of all for Jesus,

But now the eternal gain.

Trials and sorrow here have found their meaning

Mysteries their explanation;

Safe, forever in the sunlight gleaming

Of His eternal salvation.

-Promoted to Glory – Herbert Booth 1890

The service concluded with an arrangement of Herbert Booth's (son of Salvation Army founders, William and Catherine Booth)  Promoted to Glory.  This arrangement ends with a Salvation Army benediction, "Praise God, I'm saved! Praise God, I'm saved. All's well.  All's well.  He sets me free!"  

Life is Good, Life Goes On - Part of a Christmas Funeral Sermon

During the few days of vacation that I was able to take with my family after the conclusion of all of our varied frenzied Salvation Army Christmas fundraising and programming, I was called upon to officiate (I hate that word! There must be a better one...) at the funeral of a friend of a friend.

The family wasn't particularly religious (I was told) and what religious ideas were present were varied (Unitarian and New Agey...)

I had very little time to prepare, what I share is the first page and a half of my notes....

***

As a minister I am often called upon to speak words of comfort.  I have had the opportunity to speak at many funerals over the years and every one of them is different; every one of them is special, and every one of them is awkward.

Awkward because, I have very few words of comfort.  I’ve heard all of the standards: “he’s in a better place now,” or “it must have been his time” or “God must have needed another angel in heaven,” You’ve heard them, I’m sure.  And I’m sure you’ve felt, as I have when they’ve been spoken to me, that they’re just not comforting at all.  In fact, they are sometimes downright infuriating.  I’ve learned that it’s almost better to not say anything at all.  To just let the silence be. 

But as I said, as a minister, specially trained for such occasions, I’m expected to have some special insight into these occasions.  But I don’t. None of us ministers do, really.  People expect that we do, and many of us, feeling the weight of that expectation, try to say something profound and meaningful, and, above all, comforting… but the truth of the matter is, we all fumble through these times.

Those infuriatingly glib and vacuous clichés may be little or cold comfort but they are fumbling attempts to make sense of the mysteries of life and death and life after life.  My words here this afternoon, may be more polished than some, may be spoken from the place of authority or respect… but they are no less fumbling and awkward. 

The grief is just too big right now for any word to soothe.  The hole in your lives created by A.’s absence is too big for words to fill.  But funerals are for the living, and we will, each one, go on living today, tomorrow, and the next day, trying to make sense of all these things.

As a minister I come to these questions through the doorway of faith, and though I realize that we may not all agree on every issue and doctrine, there are several things that I believe we can agree upon:

I believe that life is good.  No matter how difficult and awkward, no matter how painful at times, I believe that, ultimately, life is good.  Life is mysterious and wonderful.  The spark that fires our DNA, holds our memories, and forms our personalities is precious and wonderful.  It is a treasure beyond calculable value.  That is why it hurts so much when someone we love dies. The life in us is wounded by the extinguishing of life in others.  Life is good. 

If we you to honor and treasure A.'s life then do good. Find the value and goodness in each day’s living and in each person around you.  Share yourself with others.  Forgive the offenses given to you.  Make peace.  Help those who need your help.  Life is good – and we must do what we can to find, and honor, treasure that goodness.  And sometimes we even have to create that goodness in situations where it is hard to see. 

In the pages of the gospels we find Jesus speaking to his followers about the Kingdom of God – not as something far removed into the future – but something present in the here and now, breaking into our daily lives.  This is a powerful thing: to live in the joy and wonder and splendor of each day’s goodness and to share that joy and wonder and splendor with someone else.

If life is good, and I believe that it is, then we cannot squander it in feuds, and in hurting each other.  We cannot horde it, but we must share it – giving away of ourselves, sharing our love and our joy with others.  This is where we find the kingdom of God, among us, within us – as we share and forgive and love. 

I also believe that, as good as this life is; that this life is not all there is.  I believe that there is something more – that life goes on.  I don’t usually speak of life after death, preferring instead to speak of life after life. Looking out into the vast expanse of space and seeing the brilliant burnings of billions and billions of distant stars, I find it impossible to believe that the few fleeting years that we have here, spent scrabbling and squabbling with family and neighbors, is all there is. 

But Saint Gregory of Nyssa wrote, "Why marvel at the stars, when you are eternal? They were not made in the image and likeness of God. You were."

We value and treasure the life that we live in the here and now.  We celebrate the goodness that we find in one another because we recognize that goodness as the spark of divinity that gives fire to each one of our lives.  And in that life after life can take some measure of comfort and hope.

I know that comes awfully close to one of those clichés “we’ll see him again in heaven…”  And I try to avoid those clichés, but I do believe that while this life is good, and that there is much to treasure and celebrate in this life here and now, I also believe that there is more.

So we can live each day in joy and wonder because life is good.


***

There was more that I said, but this is all I have written out...

They Are Gone, But Something Remains – A Graveside Committal Sermon

I am performing (Performing? Performing isn't the right verb, but the only other ones I can think of: "conducting," "leading,"..."officiating" are even worse...) a graveside committal service this morning.  G. died last week.  The ashes of he and and his wife, V. (who died a few years ago) are being interred together.

Funerals are for the living - and for that reason, the final song quoted in this sermon was one of the family's choosing. 

***

We are here this morning because they are gone, G. and V.  

While alive they shared our lives, and we theirs.  We shared their joys and triumphs.  We suffered their losses and miseries.  The highs and the lows.  The pains. The celebrations.  And all the daily routines and the extraordinary wonders that compose this life. We shared these together.

But they are gone from us.  Gone from this life.  And yet something of them remains, something more than their ashes which we commit to the elements, today. We have the memories of them formed within us, and the shape they gave to our lives. These things outlast our fragile bodies.  Call it spirit, call it soul; though the body is temporary, something remains.  And it is that something that we honor today. 

We are here because they have gone. In this life we will hear their voices no more.  We will never take their hand or clap their shoulder.  No more shared laughter over jokes and games.  No more shared tears for grief and wounds. For G. and for V. these things are past.  Yet something remains.  The past is gone, just as G. and V. are gone from us.  But something remains.  The future is wide, wider than we can know.

Jesus of Nazareth, our Savior and Lord, on the occasion of the death of his friend, Lazarus, said “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die.”[i]   There is life after this life, and in this we take great comfort.

Death is not the end.  This mortal life is not all there is for us.  In his famous play, Hamlet, William Shakespeare wrote the lines, “all that lives must die, passing through nature to eternity.”[ii]  All that lives must die.  Everything and everyone passes through this brief life and then is gone.  Yet, we insist that something remains.

“For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”[iii] Faith remains, even when our friends and loved ones have passed, Faith remains.  Hope too, remains even after this flesh is gone.  And love.  The greatest of these, Love, remains.  Our love for G. and for V. does not cease when we commit their ashes to the elements.  Love remains. 

And it is God’s great love for us that gives us ground for our faith and our hope and our love.  It is his great love that nullifies the power and finality of death.  He breaks the power of cancelled sin and sets the prisoners free.[iv] It is his love that has swallowed up death in victory and gives us immortality,[v]  so that we might remain forever with him.

We are here because they are gone.  And their absence leaves us with grief and sorrow.  But we take comfort in what remains.  We have our faith that God is good.  We have our hope, the blessed hope of eternal life with God the Father.  And we have our love, our love for each other and our love for G. and V., despite their absence.  Our memories of them will keep that love alive within us, and in however many days and weeks and months and years we have left here ourselves, we will share those memories with others.   And in doing so we will share that love with others. Love not only remains but Love grows.

We may gather around the grave to grieve today for what we have lost, but we take comfort in all that remains.  We say farewell to G. and to V.  We entrust them to God’s great love, and place ourselves within that same love for peace and comfort in the days ahead.

So, go rest high on that mountain.
[G. and V.] your work on earth is done.
Go to heaven a shoutin’
love for the Father and the Son.[vi]

Amen.

---

[i] John 11:25 – 26 

[ii] Hamlet – Act 1 Scene 2

[iii] I Corinthians 13: 12 - 13

[iv] O For a Thousand Tongues To Sing – Charles Wesley

[v] I Corinthians 15: 54

[vi]Go, Rest High on that Mountain – Vince Gill

Every Pastor has a Weird Funeral Story or Two

I attended a funeral this afternoon.  As a pastor I attend many funerals – it’s expected, it’s part of what we do.  And like the people for whom the funerals are held, every one is different.  Every one is unique. And that is as it should be.

But this funeral today was … well, it was strange.

The departed was an infant.  Little Marcus James was only three weeks old.  His death was attributed to SIDS – Sudden Infant Death Syndrome – which is to say, we’re unable to say why he died.  He died suddenly and, seemingly, without cause.

His mother and four brothers used to live just a few houses from our church building.  I got to know them as the boys came into the building almost every afternoon. Sometimes they came to see if we had any free food they could take home.  Sometimes they came to ask for treats.  Sometimes, though, they came because they just wanted someone to talk to them.  They never said it that way, of course, but that’s what they wanted.

The family eventually started attending our Sunday services and youth programs and bible studies and woman’s programs. But about a year ago they moved to another nearby community.  I hadn’t seen them since, but we’d certainly missed them.  When I arrived at the funeral home, one of the boys immediately recognized me and ran through the chapel to give me a hug.  Apparently I was missed too. 

The funeral service itself was conducted by a chaplain from the hospital, the chaplain who’d helped comfort the family immediately after Marcus’ death.  But I’m not sure how much input he had in the planning of the service.  I think the family did most of that and just asked him to speak.

What struck me as strangest was the family’s selection of music.  Now, I grant that the funeral is not really for the dead, but is for the living.  And I also concede that the service should be personalized and relevant to the grieving family.  But it was their selection of music that left me confused.

The first song that they wanted played was Eric Clapton’s song Tears in Heaven.  This was an appropriate and interesting song. Clapton wrote the song following the death of his four year old son and so it makes a certain kind of sense to play it at a funeral – especially the funeral of a young son. 

Beyond the door,

There's peace I'm sure,

And I know there'll be no more

Tears in heaven.

The song was accompanied by a slide show of photos of little Marcus.  This is a common thing in funerals.  Usually, however, there is a whole lifetime of photos to see - photos of the deceased as an infant, as a child playing in the yard, as an awkward and moody teenager, graduation, first car, wedding photos, photos of the deceased with their children, on family vacations … all the activities of a life captured on film and remembered in the funeral service.

For Marcus James, however, there were precious few photos.  The slide show began with a few images of him, still in his mother’s womb, from an ultrasound scan.  Then there were a couple of him as a newborn, his eyes still goopy with the antibiotic ointment and his dark, dark hair standing up in all directions.  There were a few photos of him lying in his crib in his little onsies, and a picture of him sleeping on his mother’s chest. 

The hospital chaplain read from Psalm 23 and then another song was played through the funeral home sound system:  Wind Beneath My Wings as recorded by Bette Midler.  This was, to me, a strange selection… not really a song a mother would sing to her son.  But I tried to remind myself that this wasn’t about me. If she wanted Bette Midler to sing Wind Beneath My Wings at her son’s funeral, who was I to object?

Besides, the final lines of the song almost work…

Fly, fly, fly high against the sky,

so high I almost touch the sky.

Thank you, thank you,

thank God for you, the wind beneath my wings.

The chaplain then stood up to share his funeral sermon based on an alliterative summary of Psalm 23 (God is a Person and Personable, he Protects, Provides, and leads us on the Path...) I dislike this kind of preaching – but again, I forced myself to ignore my preferences. (Was that another part of his alliterative outline?)  Besides the youngest of the boys (who was still only crawling around on the floor when the family moved away) had indicated that he wanted to sit in my lap, and after playing with my hat for a few minutes, he fell asleep in my arms.

The hospital chaplain finished his sermon and led the assembled in a recitation of the Lord’s Prayer – which, I think, most of them didn’t really know.  They muttered their way through it, stumbling over the only vaguely remembered phrases.

And then chaplain indicated that there would be one more song, after which everyone was invited to attend the reception.  And the final song was – get this - Madonna’s Like a Prayer – a song of a young girl so in love with God that it is almost as though He were the male figure in her life with metaphors for sexual intercourse and ambiguous innuendo referring to fellatio and orgasm.

I’d given up trying to rationalize and justify the song choice. It was just an inappropriate song choice for a funeral.  

But I still loved the family and tried to share their grief with them. 

Every pastor has a weird funeral story or two (ask me some time about the Biker funeral I led a few years ago...).  It’s part of what we do.

....

Terrible person that I am, this is all I could think of when Like a Prayer started playing.

Cemetery Rain

It's just not a funeral if it's not raining.

A Stranger at the Mass

I had the opportunity to attend a funeral today - not an altogether uncommon occurrence for a pastor - but what made this funeral different for me is that it was a Roman Catholic funeral.  I've not been to one of those before.

The chapel was very beautiful and well lit.  The stained glass windows were bright even though outside it was cold and grey and raining.  Wood carvings of the stations of the cross were placed around the room, and the symbols of the 12 apostles and the 4 gospels at the front.  At the back there was a gurgling water fountain. 

The service began with the singing of a Catholic hymn that I'd never heard.  "Here I Am, Lord" by Dan Shutte.  I like it quite a bit, and will see if I can track down the music. I think that it's one I'd like to play.  I found this version on youtube:



This was followed by a reading from the (Apocryphal) book of Wisdom 3: 1 - 9

But the souls of the upright are in the hands of God,
and no torment can touch them.
To the unenlightened, they appear to die,
their departure was regarded as a disaster,
their leaving us like an annihilation;
but they are at peace.
if, as it seemed to us, they suffered punishment,
their hope was rich with immortality,
slight was their correction, great will their blessings be.
God was putting them to the test
and has proved them worthy to be with him;
he has tested them like gold in a furnace,
and accepted them as a perfect burnt offering.
At their time of visitation, they will shine out;
as sparks run through the stubble so will they.
They will judge nations, rule over peoples,
and the Lord will be their king for ever.
Those who trust in him will understand the truth,
those who are faithful will live with him in love;
for grace and mercy await his holy ones,
and he intervenes on behalf of his chosen.

Being a minister from the Protestant side of the Christian fence, there was much about this "Mass of Christian Burial" that I missed. I am unfamiliar with many of the traditions of my Roman Catholic brothers and sisters - when to rise, when to sit, when to kneel, when to sing the antiphon with the cantor, etc...  But there is at least one thing that we share - both Catholics and Protestants (and I would assume, Orthodox as well) - and that is the untimely ringing of cell phones during the service. (It wasn't mine.  I know to turn mine off.)

My one complaint is that much of the Mass seemed very rote, that is, the readings were read very quickly  and responses (which I didn't know) were given back just as fast and I'm sure I missed most of what was said. 

There is something wonderful to be said for tradition (just ask the fiddler on the roof) but when outsiders miss the import and meaning because they don't know the traditions - when the traditions themselves become obscurants then we've failed a little.

My complaint, it should be noted, is a relatively minor one - at least for me. I do know enough of Christian tradition that I was able to fill in the gaps.  When the priest said, "May the Lord be with you." I knew to answer back, "And also with you."  I was glad (as "glad" as you can be to attend a funeral) to be able to share this time with my friends and fellow believers, though I wish I could have participated more fully with them.

- The term "Mass," by the way, is derived from the Latin word missa (dismissal), a word used in the conclusion of the Latin Mass: Ite, missa est. (Go; it is the dismissal.)  Long ago the word simply meant "dismissal" but has in Christian use come to mean something more and implies a sense of mission.  I like this.
"Go in peace to serve the Lord."