Prejudice

Prejudice

St. Luke 10:25-37

A Sermon Prepared and Delivered by James E. Norton, Guest Preacher

Vance Memorial Presbyterian Church, Wheeling, WV

July 14, 2013

            It’s rather curious that we listen to the parables that Jesus told, especially considering how in one way or another, the parables include all people (the people we call “good” and the people we call “bad”) in what Jesus calls the “Kingdom of God.”  One difficulty for us when reading the Bible, living as we do in a democracy, is its language of feudalism: kingdoms, kings and lords; empires and emperors; masters and slaves, concepts that seem so out-of-step with our more equalitarian ways of the popular vote, electing officials to represent us in a government of, by and for all the people.  But then, maybe there’s more feudalism in our thinking than we realize.  Remember the Christmas card Dick Cheny sent out while Vice President, quoting this line from Benjamin Franklin: “And if a sparrow cannot fall to the ground without (God’s) notice, is it probable that an empire can rise without (God’s) aid?”  Perhaps our thinking is more feudal than we’re willing to admit.  But I digress, and that’s a topic for another time.

The more central issue of this make-believe story that Jesus told is that he takes human beings we keep separate in our minds, and he puts them together and calls them “Kingdom.”  Jesus, who associated with the common people and whom the common people heard gladly, who dined with tax collectors and prostitutes and other sinners, includes everyone in the same community.

          Look at the title given to this morning’s parable we have just heard: “The Good Samaritan.”  There is no way a Samaritan could be good from the point of view of Jesus’ fellow Jewish citizens in the first century.  Samaritans were people whom first-century Jews loved to hate for what they thought were good reasons.  Generations before that time, Samaritans had cooperated with invaders while the faithful Jews had been rounded up and exiled, carried off by the invading armies to foreign lands, and the Samaritans then snatched up the good Jewish lands.  Samaritans also intermarried with the invaders and were held in contempt by upright decent Jews as “half-breeds.”  Samaritans were therefore viewed as political traitors and as racially inferior.  A few years before Jesus told this parable, some Samaritans took their pack animals into the holy places of Judaism and let them defecate there to show their disdain for the Jewish religion, so Samaritans were regarded as blasphemers as well.  Think of the worst names you have heard applied to members of another race or to persons whose lifestyle is different from what you regard as “normal,” and you may come close to the intensity of the hostility that existed between Jews and Samaritans.

          There’s another detail in this story that we usually overlook.  The priest, as Jesus tells the story, is going down the road (that is, from Jerusalem to Jericho).  Jesus takes away any excuse the priest might have for not stopping to help.  If the priest had been going up the road (that is, from Jericho to Jerusalem), then he might be justified for not stopping, for he might have been on his way to perform priestly services in the Temple.  There were roughly 5,000 priests in Jesus’ day and each was paid a yearly salary through the taxes collected by the Temple.  Yet, each priest worked at the Temple only once or twice a year.  Nice work if you can get it.  If the priest in this story were on his way to the Temple, stopping to help someone not only might delay him from reaching the Temple on time but also might make him ritually unclean.  As a priest, if he were to touch someone regarded unclean, he would then be ineligible to serve in the Temple until after he had gone through purification rituals, rituals that would take weeks to complete.  But this priest is not on his way to the Temple in Jerusalem, he is going the other direction.  He is returning to his 360-day-a-year vacation and still does not help.

          How can we apply this parable to our lives today?  Try this.  Imagine that you are the person who has been beaten up and left by the side of the road or down in a ditch.  Your pastor drives by and notices something, but he is too busy to stop.  Some of your friends in church are on their way to a Presbytery meeting and because they’re running late, they don’t even see you lying there in a ditch.  Now think of the person you would least expect or even want to stop.  Think of the person whom you consider to be evil.  Maybe it’s the person for whom you still hold a grudge because of the time he or she beat you up in high school.  Maybe for you it would be a bare-chested skinhead with tattoos all over his body and earrings protruding from every conceivable orifice.  Or it could be a modern day equivalent of Adolph Hitler or a drug dealer or a gay prostitute.  Considering my luck, the person reaching down to help me would probably be someone like Pat Robertson or Joel Olsteen, or Michelle Bachman or Ted Cruz or some other representative of the religious and political extreme right, or a former bishop who went out of his way to publicly embarrass me, or a member of the KKK, or one of my homophobic colleagues in the ministry.  Visualize, if you can, Adolph Hitler as the Good Samaritan of the week.  Mind boggling, isn’t it?  But that’s precisely what Jesus was doing when he cast a Samaritan as the helping one.

          “Gospel” means good news.  Where is the good news in all of this?  If we see good as coming only from those we consider to be good, there is very little hope; for, comparatively speaking, we see very few persons as good.  But if we see good coming from those we consider bad, then there is a great deal more hope, for we see many persons as bad.  The news is filled everyday with those we consider bad; so there are vastly far more resources for good news.

          Who are the Samaritans today?  Bringing the story into the present day, it becomes clear that what we are talking about is prejudice.  In the parable as Jesus told it, the “good” people could not see beyond race.  The root meaning of prejudice is “to prejudge,” to “profile” in a judgmental way based on stereotypes rather than facts.  Prejudice has something to do with the way we may tend to judge certain characteristics or behavior as “bad.”  Sometimes it seems that we humans are forever finding some group to be the object of our prejudice.  When I was growing up, it was the communists, and there was much to-do about the “red menace” and those “pink-o” sympathizers.  Then there was the Civil Rights Movement of the sixties led by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and all the hatred we witnessed in those turbulent years.  When Dr. King was assassinated, one of his colleagues was asked to state Dr. King’s greatest accomplishment.  Very seriously, the reply came, “He taught Gov. George Wallace how to say ‘NEGRO’!”

          Sometimes, I find myself questioning whether our nation’s present political process with seemingly impossible gridlock and outlandish combativeness is not just about honest disagreements in health care, immigration and the other problems besetting us, but also, and maybe more so, about more deeply-seated prejudices.  If there is truth in that possibility, then it is sad, very sad indeed!

          An unfortunate and tragic occurrence that took place on July 3^rd, 2000, in the town where I live may point to a present-day target of prejudice.  A young, disabled Afro-American man, Arthur “JR” Warren, Jr., was brutally beaten by two very strong adolescents who afterwards mangled his injured body by running their car over him four times.  Some argue that it was a hate crime against an individual who was considered “bad” because of the way in which he was different; others say that the brutal murder was an attempt on the part of the two youths to cover-up their own behavior involving the victim.  Either way it probably was a hate crime in that if the perpetrators were trying to keep past indiscretions with the victim from becoming public, then they were acting out of a fear that they would be judged as “bad” when their secret was out.  The prejudice of society against certain people would become directed at them. 

          As the slaying of “JR” gained national attention, the focus shifted more and more on his homosexuality than on the qualities reported by those who knew him: his gentleness and kindness, his quiet, courteous and shy manner.  A week after JR’s murder, a vigil took place in front of the Courthouse, a vigil made up of mostly church people.  Among them were the Rev. Fred Phelps and his followers carrying huge posters that read, “God hates fags,” and “Fags die; God laughs.”  Such beliefs about God’s attitude toward LGTB individuals as exhibited in such persons as the Rev. Phelps clearly demonstrate how prejudicial and hate-filled humans can become.  It is the very same kind of hatred that the Jews felt toward the Samaritans.

          But the posters carried by Rev. Phelps and his followers were not the only banners present at the vigil.  There were other people on the other side of the street who carried signs like “Christ professed love, not hate.”  Which signs came closer to reflecting the understanding and teachings of Jesus?

          When Greg Luganis, who at one time was probably America’s best competitive diver, disclosed his homosexuality and the fact that he is HIV positive, he became the target of many Christians who see their responsibility as condemning the likes of Luganis.  Nearly everywhere he went, there were crowds of protesters—Christians!—with their hate-filled posters and their outcries of contempt.  Someone asked Greg, “How do you handle it?”  He replied, “One cannot respond with hatred to all the hatred in the world and expect to live a full life.”  Who is the real Christian?

PRAYERS

          Gracious God, by whom our life is sustained, we praise your name for your presence that never fails, even when we have failed you.  We give thanks that by your love we know love and are able to love; that by your justice we are able to know what justice requires of us; that by your peace we learn what we must do to be peacemakers; that by your forgiveness we know both how to give and how to receive the forgiveness that can bind up this world’s wounds and heal our divisions.

          Hear us as we offer intercession for all who stand in special need of your blessing.  We pray for those who are ill, especially _____.  We pray for all who mourn the loss of loved ones.  We pray for those in this time of year who are on the road on vacation, that their time away may be refreshing and relaxing, and that they may return safely home again.  We pray for those most directly caught in the madness of war.  We pray for the perpetrators and victims of violence.  We pray for all who seek in earnest and do not find you.  We pray for all who lack food and shelter.  Bless hurting persons, O God, with the awareness of your presence and the strength of spirit to rise above their reasons for despair into a higher hope.

          These things we ask in the name of our Savior, the Jew who praised a Samaritan; who interceded for an adulteress; who ministered alike to Jew and Gentile, slave and free, women and men; who was not afraid of your kind of loving; and who taught us this prayer we now pray together, saying:

Edna "Enne" Lorene Cunningham Friend

NOTE: I was asked by good friends Larry Friend and Sharon Peterson to officiate at the funeral of his mom today in Parkersburg, WV.  Below are scripture readings with reflections that comprised the "message" part of the service.

A Service of Celebration and Remembrance for

Edna “Enne” Lorene Cunningham Friend

Leavitt Funeral Home, Parkersburg, WV

Noon, June 9, 2013

Let us now turn our attention to the witness of the Hebrew Scriptures, first to the very familiar 23^rd Psalm, remembering with the Psalmist that God is our Shepherd.  This Psalm, obviously derived from a shepherd’s experience, is rather curious.  Recalling how for most of Israel’s history shepherds were seen as insignificant at best and as objects to be scorned at worst, that any shepherd could have felt as important and of value to God as the one who wrote this Psalm is inconceivable.  Yet, the affirmations in his Psalm attest to that fact:  “I shall not want.”  “I will fear no evil.”  “He restores my soul.”  “My cup runs over.”  “Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.”  The entire Psalm radiates a kind of inner confidence and poise.

Further reflection leads us to realize that the regard of the shepherd for the sheep is undeserved.  All a sheep has to do to gain this kind of status with the shepherd is to be itself.  Be a sheep!

Does it follow then that the only prerequisite we as human beings have for being of immeasurable importance to God is to be ourselves, to be just as we are, the persons we were created to be?  Certainly, Edna Cunningham Friend, or “Enne” as she was known to her family, was the person she was meant to be.  No doubt, it was her gentle spirit and pleasant, unassuming manner that you most appreciated about her.  She was a woman who didn’t need to push her way to the front of the line or in other ways draw attention to herself.  Quietly, even modestly, she went about her daily responsibilities providing practical help where she could and following the paths of righteousness as best she could.

She surely faced times of hardship and difficulty, valleys of the shadow of death, but such times could not crush her loving kindness and courteous, friendly manner.  Even in the last months when advancing impairment was taking its toll, her pleasant demeanor unfailingly persisted.  In geriatrics, there is a saying, “As we age, we don’t change; we just become more of what we already are.”  Clearly, that was true of “Enne.”

As the Psalmist could sing of not being in want and being surrounded by lush green pastures and streams of flowing water, so “Enne” derived similar abundance and joy from her family and neighbors, delighting in all the responsibilities and thrills of life with you.

She had a ball with you, whether

• Preparing the great Thanksgiving feast on the farm,
• Or telling stories while cutting your hair,
•  Or traveling with her husband, Owen, far and wide (though the truth be known, she  would rather have stayed at home)
•   Or on rare occasions when she was cooking and something went wrong, emanating from the kitchen would be the shouting of the four-letter equivalent of “Oh, fertilizer!”
• Or patiently and wisely listening when a family member or friend needed to talk, offering advice only when requested,
• Or performing her miracle of peacemaking when disruptions arose among the children and grandchildren.

“Enne” had a ball with you!  She was an artist in creating beauty in her life with you.

So as a witness to her faithfulness to who she was, wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, sister, aunt, neighbor and friend, let us hear again Psalm 23, remembering that as a sheep is of value to the shepherd just by being itself, so “Enne” is of value and worth because she was very true to herself, the person she was meant to be:

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:

He leadeth me beside still waters.

He restoreth my soul:

He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his names sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;

Thy rod and staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:

Thou anointest my head with oil;

My cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

 

Another passage from the Hebrew Scriptures that expresses something of who “Enne” was appears in these lines from the author of Proverbs:

A virtuous wife who can find?

She is far more precious than jewels.

The heart of her husband trusts in her,

and he will have no lack of gain.

She does him good, and not harm,

all the days of her life.

She rises while it is still night

and provides food for her household.

She opens her hand to the poor,

and reaches out her hands to the needy.

She is not afraid for her household when it snows,

for all her household are wrapped in two cloaks.

She makes her own coverings,

and clothing of fine linen and purple.

She opens her mouth with wisdom,

and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.

She looks well to the ways of her household,

and does not eat the bread of idleness.

 Her children rise up and call her happy;

her husband too, praises her:

“Many women have done excellently,

but you surpass them all.”

 Give her a share in the fruit of her hands,

and let her works praise her in the city gates.

 A family member wrote these lines in tribute to “Enne,” which contain striking parallels to the passage just read from Proverbs:

“Her passion was her family.  She came from a gentle people of Scots-Irish heritage—she grew up in a loving family with two sisters and seven brothers.  All were good, decent people who valued family above all else.  She was part of a close-knit rural community that helped each other—she was the neighborhood hairdresser, cutting and styling hair for several of her girlfriends.  She was an expert seamstress, making most of her own clothes and for others in her family.

“Edna was a devoted wife to her husband, Owen, and mother to her children Larry and Sharon.

 “She was committed to keeping a clean house and clean kids, helped her kids with homework—even helped Larry write a poem for a class assignment that got raving comments from the teacher.

 “Her cooking and baking were top-notch—her fried chicken, cheesecake, spaghetti sauce, and mincemeat are particularly memorable.  She loved cooking for family when all gathered at the family farm in Smithville.  She saw that as her purpose in life—to care for her family.

“She was a trusted confidante to children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews—they came to her with their problems and she was a caring listener and advisor.

“She never had a bad word to say about anyone and she seldom said a bad word.  Hers was a calming presence in the home.  She supported others and defended them when others criticized them.”

 Another member of the family spoke with deep gratitude about how “Enne’s” tireless care for her husband was returned by him when the tables were turned and “Enne’s” health was declining.  Owen now became the care-giver to his wife of 72 years, thus enabling her to stay in their home until the day she died.  Assisted by the superb services of Housecalls Hospice, “Enne” lived out her days in what is the true symbol of her being and joy in life.

 It is not good that “Enne” suffered.  It is good that her suffering is over.  And it is very good that she lived!  Thanks be to God.

 PRAYER

Gracious God of love, we praise you for the great goodness we have witnessed in the life of Edna Cunningham Friend.  The years slip through our minds like minutes when we think of her, and remembering the days we have had with her, we thank you for the providence that let us call her wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, sister, aunt, neighbor and friend.  For her faithfulness in relationships and her genuine care for others, for her steadfastness in the surging flood of daily duties and her unswerving perseverance in the face of overwhelming obstacles, for the delight she derived from her family and her enjoyment of life, for the times when her husband, Owen, and other family members and friends could share her burdens or smooth her road or ease her pain, these thoughts and memories are precious to us, O God, and we speak our gratitude for all that we have shared with “Enne.”

 Help us, O God, to know that “Enne” is safe in the loving embrace of your everlasting arms, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, and that she is at peace now and forever.  Through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

Larry Paul Wakefield

NOTE:  I received a telphone call during supper yesterday asking if I could conduct a funeral service this morning for a beloved member of Central Christian Church, where I served as an Interim for two years.  The congregation's pastor, Johnna Mansuetto, was in the hospital and the caller was hoping I could cover for her.  The rest of the night consisted of a visit to the funeral home to check in with the family, a visit to the hospital to speak with Johnna about her insights for the funeral service, another visit with the family in the home.  The rest of the night was spent in writing this witness.  That I hadn't had much contact with Larry since leaving Central Christian became a hindrance in knowing what to say.  Fortunately, Johnna's perceptions and information helped to bridge the gap across the intervening years.  I guess this episode illustrates how in the midst of sudden circumstance changes, resources are sometimes available to fill-in, and what is needed is provided.

Larry’s pastor, Johnna Mansuetto, was admitted to the hospital unexpectedly yesterday and is undergoing medical testing today.  Surely, we are all concerned about her and pray that whatever her medical circumstance, it will be resolved without complication and she will soon be able to return to work.  She did ask me to convey her deep regret at not being able to be here for this celebration of the life of Larry Wakefield, and to let you know that her thoughts and prayers are with Margaret Ann and the others of you closest to Larry.

            Because of Larry’s faithful involvement in the church, which is where I knew him and came to appreciate him, the opportunity to have a part in this time of commemoration is gratifying.  Probably the characteristic that stood out most for me about Larry was his unpretentious, pleasant manner.  He was a man who had accomplished much, a person who traveled to more places than probably most of us here, and maybe a man who gave much more of his time and resources to worthwhile causes than any of the rest of us, but you would never have known that from spending time with him.  Only after his death did I learn the extent of his achievements and largess, which were considerable.

            His generous spirit was expressed in many ways including sizable donations to service organizations, establishment of college trust funds, a significant donation to the WVU Children’s Hospital, taking individuals who could not afford it to Mountaineer ball games, working as a paramedic with the Marion County Rescue Squad (a few moments ago I learned that Larry always reported for work at the squad wearing a white shirt so heavily starched that the creases were sharp enough to scratch your skin; yet, he didn’t shy away from the worst of scenes that first responders encounter, getting down in the sometimes messy business of saving lives).  Larry also volunteered to transport veterans to the VA Medical Center in Clarksburg.  These are just a few examples of Larry’s generosity.

              He was supportive of his church.  Most Sundays you could find him, Margaret Ann and “King” sitting together in the same pew where they always sat.  Larry could always be counted on to help out with the Christian Men’s Fellowship activities.  Quite the cook and baker, many are the times when Larry prepared sumptuous dishes and baked goods for church functions, and during one long stretch lasting several months, he provided made-from-scratch muffins, cakes, cookies for the Sunday coffee hour.  It’s no wonder that somehow Larry became in charge of keeping the church kitchen in shape, somewhat mystifying really that such a responsibility was wrested from the women.  (Makes you wonder just how thorough the women’s care of the kitchen was.)

            So an attribute that stands out for me when thinking of Larry is his generous spirit.  Larry and Margaret Ann could have lived far more lavishly, but they chose a simple lifestyle, perhaps so that resources could be conserved for where they can do the most good.

            Larry was also a lover of life, of nature and all things beautiful.  One of his favorite spots was Ascension Island, located near the equator on the Atlantic Ocean, half-way between the African and South American continents.  He was captivated by its wildlife, vegetation and clear waters and enchanted by its simple splendor.  His enjoyment of nature also included his own flower pot garden and an herb garden.  In the last days at Tygart Center, he received a gift of hand-picked flowers from a church member’s garden, but because his immune system was severely compromised, the staff placed it on the opposite end of his room.  Larry immediately ordered it brought closer so that he could see the colors better, and besides, he said, there was no need now to worry about his immune system.  His love of beauty took precedence over pointless medical routine.

            Larry was a man of his time musically, resonating with the rock and roll sounds of the Sixties and later.  Actually he was a Mick Jagger “groupie,” and he along with Margaret Ann and often their like-musically-minded friends traveled far and wide to attend Rolling Stones Concerts.  I must admit that imagining Larry, who to me was a pleasant, soft-spoken, quiet kind of guy, at a Mick Jagger concert is kind of jarring.  But it says something special about Larry’s zest and zeal for the expressions he found meaningful.

            Perhaps the most significant characteristic of Larry’s life we need to recall today is his deep devotion to his wife, Margaret Ann.  Because Larry’s work included extensive traveling for extended periods of time, he arranged it so that Margaret Ann could travel with him, and the two of them could continue their life together without long periods of absence.  Fortunately, Larry’s employer was enlightened enough to help facilitate such an arrangement, and Larry and Margaret Ann shared experiences of traveling together.

            Consequently, the two of them have forged a relationship that enabled them to face together the changing circumstances of their lives through the years.  And the quality of that relationship has been nowhere more obvious than in these recent years of overwhelming illness for both Margaret Ann and Larry.  Their devotion to each other through really life-altering developments has been inspiring to observe.  Indeed, Pastor Johnna reports that near the end, she asked Larry what one thing he wanted the world to know, and his response went something like this: “How much I loved my wife, and how much I want her to be cared for when I’m gone.”

            There is a time to be born and a time to die, wrote Ecclesiastes.  There is a time to resist death with all our being, to not go gently into death’s dark night.  Certainly, Larry did that.  He raged against the darkness of his worsening condition as long as he possibly could.  But there is also a time when death is welcomed as a friend; where it is a threshold one must cross to get to the other side, where death is a transition from life to life, a completing of the life lived to a new beginning in God’s continuing love and grace.  And Larry did that as well.  He told Pastor Johnna that he knew the end was close, and he was ready.

            It is not good that Larry suffered so long and died, but it is good that his suffering is over, and it is very good that he lived.  We have witnessed the goodness of God in the life of Larry Paul Wakefield, and in his death we can be thankful.

PRAYER

Gracious God of love, we praise you for the goodness we have sitnessed in the life of Larry Paul Wakefield.  The years slip through our minds like minutes when we think of him, and remembering the days we have had with him, we thank you for the providence that let us call him husband, brother, uncle, neighbor and friend.  For his love of people and faithfulness in relationships and his genuine care for others, for his devotion to his wife and other members of his family, for his unwavering service to the church and to other helping, healing agencies, for his steadfastness in the surging flood of daily duties and his unswerving perseverance in the face of overwhelming obstacles, for the delight he derived from the beauty of creation and for his enjoyment of life…that there were times when members of his family and his friends could share his burdens or smooth his road or ease his pain, these thoughts and memories are precious to us, O God, and we speak our gratitude for all that we have shared with Larry.

            Help us, O God, to know that Larry is safe in the loving embrace of your everlasting arms, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, and that he is at peace. Through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

Sermon: Parting Words

Parting Words

Romans 5:1-5; Psalm 8; St. John 16:12-15

A Sermon Prepared and Delivered by James E. Norton, Guest Preacher

Vance Memorial United Presbyterian Church, Wheeling, WV

Trinity/Memorial Sunday, May 26, 2013

 

Doris, a beloved mother and grandmother, was in the hospital when suddenly her situation deteriorated rapidly, and the family was called in to be with her.  Sometimes we find it very difficult to accept what is happening to our loved ones.  During that critical time, family members were encouraging her to eat, but she just didn’t feel like it.  One of the family even said, “You made us eat all the time!” as if to suggest it was okay to do the same to her.  As loving families are wont to do, they were trying to stave off the inevitable, fussing over their Mom.  Finally, Doris had had enough and she shouted, “Sit Down and Shut Up!”  They did.  And a few hours later, she quietly slipped away, without saying another word.

Ancient Church tradition says that when a person is in extremis or dying, it’s very important to pay close attention to what he or she says, because in that stage of life it was believed that the individual was as close to God as one can be on this side of life.

Often we recall the last words spoken after a loved-one has died.  A man perhaps known to some of you, Dr. Bill Roberts, a Teaching Elder and official for many years in your own Presbytery, was friend, colleague, mentor, more like a brother really, to me.  The last words I heard him say the last time I saw him were: “You have been a good friend, Jim.”  Do you think I will ever forget those words?  No doubt, in the aftermath of the Oklahoma Tornado or the Sandy Hook shootings or Hurricane Sandy, loved ones of those who lost their lives have been reliving the moments shared and the words spoken before the tragic parting.  This Memorial Day week-end, set apart to honor those who have died in military service, likewise, will evoke cherished memories of final moments spent with the departed.

The Gospel Lessons in the worship services of most of our churches for the past five weeks have been coming from that portion of John’s Gospel known as the Farewell Discourse.  Jesus is in the Upper Room with his disciples sharing a Last Supper.  Jesus spends this time expressing his heartfelt hopes and prayers for his closest companions before he dies.  He assures them that everything will be okay and that while they too will face times of suffering, they will never be without God’s abiding presence and care.  The Spirit of Jesus will continue to be as close to them as their very breathing, strengthening them in the knowledge that they will always be in God’s good hands.

This morning’s portion of Jesus’ parting words to his disciples includes this line: “I have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now.”  Jesus knows that his followers will face new situations in the future and new tests of their faith that will require from them new ways of thinking and doing that they cannot possibly imagine in the present.  There will be things happen that Jesus cannot prepare them for ahead of time.  Jesus can teach the disciples nothing more.  He must let go of them and let them go in the hope that after he is gone, the Spirit will live on in them to lead them in ways of truth throughout the changing circumstances of their lives.

If only things didn’t have to change; if only everything could remain just the way it always has been.  No sooner does that yearning cross our minds than we realize how ridiculous it is.  Life moves on!  There is no way to stop time and space from their relentless rhythms of light and dark, joy and pain, good and bad.  Rather, we face the future with its wide range of possibilities in the hope that God’s sovereign presence is always for us and with us.  “I have yet many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now.”  But when you come up against it in the days to come, you will learn what you need to know in a way that will enable you to respond as Christ did, courageously and graciously.

I am not dead, obviously, or I would not be standing here.  So my parting words have yet to be uttered.  But, in a sense, we all die many deaths before the last one.  Recently, I retired after 46 years of serving congregations as pastor.  That’s a kind of death, though in all honesty, retirement feels like I’ve died and gone to heaven.  Life among heaven’s people on earth is not always heavenly.  Indeed, my very first church as a student pastor began the second semester of my first year at West Liberty.  There was a woman in that small congregation whose name was Clara and whose mission in life seemed to be as troublesome to fledgling student pastors sent to serve her church as she could be.  Not since those days of serving that first church has anyone ever tested my right to be a pastor in ways that she didn’t think of first.  Complaining, condemning and caviling Clara was my epithet for her personality.

But one Sunday I arrived at the church earlier than usual and Sister Clara was the only other person there.  Surprisingly, the two of us somehow found ourselves in one of those rare conversations where the tone was decent and non-disparaging.  It was then that Clara revealed a part of her story that I never knew.  Her son was killed in the Korean Conflict and in listening to her story what really stunned me was how she described her reaction the day she received the dreaded news: “Killed in Action.”  She proudly stated: “From that day to this, I have never shed a single tear over my son’s death.”  Intuitively, I learned an invaluable lesson.  When people are being particularly aggravating, often their announced reasons are not the real reasons, and their so-called righteous indignation or other grievances may have more to do with more deeply imbedded issues.

Well, that was my first exposure to life as a pastor.  One would think that the sane thing to have done after that would have been to drop this whole ministry idea.  But then, there was the prospect of going to seminary, and surely after completing seminary things would be different.  Graduating from a reputable school of theology would convince people that I had earned the right to be their pastor, and there would be no obstacles once I had obtained my credentials.  Then ministry would be one grand procession marching onward and upward, and life in the church would be like basking in love, love, love.

Do I need to tell you that all 46 years in the ministry have included obstacles, failures, shattered dreams, misunderstandings, unjust accusations and even threats of bodily harm?  To be sure, there have been the other kinds of experiences as well—genuinely good times of mutual sharing, wondrous conversations, meaningful worship, heightened awareness, life-changing growth and heart-warming laughter; times when my sense of calling was confirmed and I knew that significant differences were taking place.  Had I known, however, when I began in the ministry that there would be the kinds of contentions and disappointments that have also been a part of the reality, I might have looked for some other way to fulfill my sense of calling.  So, Jesus’ words, “I have yet other things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now,” make sense.

And, thank goodness, at those times when the way was unclear and the difficulties hard to bear, there was my wife, Polly, or a trusted colleague in ministry (one of whom is present in this very worship service), or a caring member of the congregation gently tapping me on the shoulder and out of care speaking some suggestion or offering some encouragement or other word that pointed me in another direction.  Because the spirit of Jesus was present in others, I could hear and follow their suggestions to cut my losses or adapt or shift gears or forgive or exercise greater courage than ever before.  What I wasn’t prepared to hear before, I could do so now.  It came at those points where I desperately needed to know, and God’s modern-day messengers provided the new ways of seeing and acting that before I hadn’t imagined possible.

Jesus was close to the disciples; God grants us the gift of close companions in our lives.  But the day comes when we have to let go.  The time came when Jesus realized that he had to let go of his closest companions and that there was nothing more he could teach them.  And that day necessarily comes to us all, whether we move away or retire or bid farewell to loved ones in death.

“Sit Down and Shut Up!” was the outburst of one woman who knew there was nothing more she could do or that others could do for her.  The time had come when all that could be done was to sit still and simply be present.  Doris was absolutely correct.  Her final word says that when all else is finished, silence and loving presence are all that is needed.  And the affirmation of our faith is that we are always surrounded by that kind of love.  Thanks be to God.

Morning Prayer

For genuine gratitude for all the ways we experience life’s goodness because of one another, whether family or friends, through the miracle of dialog, the touch of flesh upon flesh, the gracious gifts of warmth and care, mutuality and intimacy,

  God hear our prayer: AND IN YOUR LOVE ANSWER.

For all who suffer from hunger and neglect, for refugees and those who are homeless, for children who do not know what it is to be loved, for those who suffer because of the insanity of war, for unemployed and underemployed persons, for those who are uncertain and apprehensive about the future, for those afflicted with illness and pain,

  God hear our prayer: AND IN YOUR LOVE ANSWER.

For the dear friends and family members whose faces we see no more, but whose love is with us forever; for those in the military, for first responders, and for all who have sacrificed themselves, our brothers and sisters who have given their lives for the sake of others,

  God hear our prayer: AND IN YOUR LOVE ANSWER.

For ourselves as we are forever crossing the boundary between endings and beginnings, that we may enter what is to come with thanks for all that has been, the joys and pains woven into our life together, and that whatever our fears and uncertainties about the future, we may know that we can face each new day confident that your strengthening presence is always with us and for us, and that we will know what we need to know when the time is right,

  God hear our prayer: AND IN YOUR LOVE ANSWER.

 

Eulogy: Doris Hawkins

Doris Jean Barnes Hawkins

            She was a plain-spoken, down-to-earth woman.  If her tiny stature caused some to view her as demure, they were deceived, for she was a woman of fantastic strength, a forthright person who always spoke her mind, a hard working woman who was not about to be defeated or dehumanized.  Doris Jean, or “Mimi” as she was affectionately called by her family, was one of those persons whose presence made a difference in ways that matter.

            She was the kind of woman whom others sought out when they needed not only someone who would listen but someone who would understand, expressing her opinion only when she was sure you were ready to hear it.  While she rarely asked help for herself, she was always among the first responders in the neighborhood to recognize when others needed help and to act in practical ways. 

            Sometimes those practical ways included gifts of homemade baked pies, chocolate cakes with caramel icing, and cookies.  Sometimes it was her quiet, reassuring presence simply being there ready to lend a hand.

            A giver at heart, she wouldn’t ask for help when such would have been beneficial, but instead resorted to her own ways of coping.  In her seventies, the Hawkins’ boys tried to hire help to mow the lawn, but when the lawn service arrived, she wouldn’t let the mowing equipment be unloaded, insisting she could take care of her own lawn.  When the kitchen sink wouldn’t drain, she said nothing and resorted to washing the dishes in the bathroom.  (There was an automatic dish washer in the kitchen, but that was where she stashed all the baked goodies she made to keep her family from eating them—some secret hiding place—that’s the first place the grandkids looked when they came by to hang out.)  So without a kitchen sink and a dishwasher available, at a time when her husband was struggling with overwhelming illness, unable to do any repair work, dishes were being washed in the bathroom.  Had her husband, “Poppy,” not “spilled the beans” about what Mimi was doing, that kitchen sink might still be clogged up.  One of her sons, Gary, was driving past his mom’s house and there she was, a woman in her seventies, on the roof smearing tar to take care of some leaks.  It’s a wonder she wasn’t using duct tape to stop those leaks, because that’s what she used to fix nearly everything else, even her sunglasses.

            Doris and her husband, William, were partners in everything, even in business.  They jointly owned the Reliable Express Trucking Company; he was the head mechanic and she was the CEO, handling all the administrative and financial details of running a business, and sometimes she was the extra set of hands her husband needed in the garage, mostly at night when the other employees had gone.  Rosy the Riveter would have found her match in Mimi the Mechanic.  Mind you, this was in addition to raising a family of three boys.  One has to marvel at how Mimi and Poppy could combine both business and family roles without caving into chaos.  Yet one neighbor was overheard referring to the Hawkins’ household as a place where three boys who became successful themselves were raised by two happy parents.  Amazing!

            The happy Hawkins home actually was a gathering place for others beyond the family.  Many of Gary, Eddie and Bill’s friends found a second home at the Hawkins’ abode, a safe place to hang-out in an atmosphere of genuine welcome and warmth.  Most of the time, that is.  One time a friend, named Dave, was banished from the home for an entire week.  He and Bill made the mistake of staying out past curfew, and when they finally returned, Doris, who was convinced that her boys could do no wrong, blamed Dave, even though Bill was the one driving the car, and told him not to come back for a week.  The week passed, and Dave did return, and everything was restored to normal.

            Doris found much delight in active and social pursuits.  She belonged to a bowling league and a canasta club.  She followed the Pirates and the NASCAR races.  One time when she was driving the Corvette, the person riding in the car with Doris became alarmed at how fast she was going.  When asked to slow down, she asked why—the car was only going 30.  She was reading the tachometer.  Barney Oldfield had been outdone that day.

              So many wonderful memories of a beautiful life lived; so much for which to be grateful.  The family gatherings on Friday evenings after the boys had grown and begun their own families, the many luscious desserts, even the small cinnamon pinwheels whenever pies were made, the many greeting cards and other clippings stored away in nooks and crannies around the house, remembrances of appreciation from children and grandchildren over the years.  So many cherished memories!  One of the sons expressed it this way: “They gave us a lot; they went without for us boys.”  What a fitting tribute to a worthy Mom and Dad!

            Among the clippings that Doris saved are two items that reveal much about who she was.  One is a very old children’s Bible lesson picture card containing the gospel passage that Andrew read for us earlier, a lesson having to do with those hoity-toity folk who assume the places of honor in any gathering.  Obviously Doris didn’t think much of people who push their way ahead of others.

          

         The other piece carried something of the same lesson and is entitled “What Is Class?”:

“Class never runs scared.  It is sure-footed and confident in the knowledge that you can meet life head on and handle whatever comes along.

“Class never makes excuses.  It takes its lumps and learns from past mistakes.

“Class is considerate of others.  It knows that good manners are nothing more than a series of small sacrifices.

“Class bespeaks an aristocracy that has nothing to do with ancestors or money.  The most affluent blue-blood can be totally without class while the descendant of a Welsh miner may ooze class from every pore.

“Class never tries to build itself up by tearing others down.  Class is already up and need not strive to look better by making others look worse.

“Class can ‘walk with kings and keep its virtue and talk with crowds and keep the common touch.’  Everyone is comfortable with the person who has class because he is comfortable with himself.

“If you have class you don’t need much of anything else.  If you don’t have it, no matter what else you have, it doesn’t make much difference.”

            Sort of sounds like Doris herself, doesn’t it?  Never one to assume pride of place or station in life, she was a woman whose skill in managing detail and whose care for others created a climate where people could become the best they knew how to be.  She was a take charge kind of person, but that attribute was always directed to others’ well-being.

            The last few years of her life brought difficult physical impairments that meant she needed to be in a place where she could receive specialized medical care.  Then the day came when her situation deteriorated quickly, and the family was called in to be with her.  Sometimes we find it very difficult to accept what is happening to our loved ones.  During those last hours, family members were encouraging her to eat, but she just didn’t feel like it.  One of the family even said, “You made us eat all the time!” as if to suggest it was okay to do the same to her.  As loving families are wont to do, they were trying to stave off the inevitable, fussing over their Mom.  Finally, Doris shouted, “Sit Down and Shut Up!”  And a few hours later, she quietly slipped away.

            Ancient Church tradition says that when a person is in extremis or dying, it’s very important to pay close attention to what he or she says, because in that stage of life it was believed that the individual was as close to God as one can be on this side of life.  “Sit Down and Shut Up!”  It’s true, isn’t it?  There are times when the best we can do is to be still and simply be present.  Doris did that for so many others, and her final word says that when all else is finished, silence and loving presence are all that is needed.  And she was surrounded by that kind of love.  Thanks be to God.

PRAYER

           Eternal and gracious God, in death you hold us in life.  When life ends you bring us to new beginnings.

           We thank you for Doris Jean Barnes Hawkins, and for all the qualities in her life that fulfilled your purpose for her, and that made life richer because of her having lived.  We thank you for her commitment to family, friends and the larger community.  We thank you for her courage, persistence and straightforwardness in facing the obstacles that life sent her way.  For love given and love received, for defeats mastered and tasks well done, for faithful friendship, for the class and graces of soul and character that endeared Doris to those who knew her, we speak our deep gratitude.

            Grateful for this life you have given us, help us now as we now must take our leave of her earthly remains.  We give her not to death but to You, who being the Lord of Life are the Lord of death as well.  Help us to know that Doris and all whose faces we see no more are in your care and keeping.

            And draw those of us who remain in this life closer to one another, make us faithful to serve one another, and give us to know that peace and joy which is eternal life.  Through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

What if....

As mentioned in earlier blogs, the end stage of life, after retirement and one’s work is mostly done, leaves room for reflecting on the life lived, including the unsavory as well as the wholesome and the in-between events.  Out of the deepest recesses of wherever memory resides (medical science has not yet been able to locate memory storage banks in the brain) surface long-forgotten episodes.  Perhaps, the concluding life is trying to make sense of all that has been in a way that can find acceptance and move on toward whatever destiny awaits us all.

As is inscribed on a tombstone in a very old cemetery on the east side of Wheeling, West Virginia:

      “Stop stranger as you pass by here,

       As you are now, so once was I,

       As I am now, so you shall be,

       So prepare for Death, and follow me.”

Despite our attempts to avoid the inevitable, our minds one way or another will prepare for dying, even if we kick and scream in rebellion against it, and the reemergence of repressed memories is one of the ways it happens.

It happened again last night with a carry-over to this morning.  I attended a brilliant concert featuring the Petar Jankovic Ensemble.  The careful precision and flawless harmonic dynamics of two violins, a viola, and a cello led by a guitar blended with the acoustics of St. Peter’s sanctuary to produce an evening of authentic musical reflection.  This amazing ensemble, comprised of musicians from Indiana University, simply must rank among the top musical geniuses in the world.  So captivating and articulate was their performance that I felt again an indescribable stirring that comes when the soul is touched, a rare occurrence.

There was a flip side to the experience, however, and that resurfaced this morning.  Ah, memory, you are a bedeviling beast!  I know without the slightest doubt that I was meant for music, and was progressing at an early age in the pursuit of singing and playing the piano.  But then what proved to be a determinative event around age of eleven helped to stymy further development in musical directions.

Succinctly, an older teenager in the neighborhood, named Dirk (the third letter in his name should have been “c”), cleverly through seemingly innocent games like “Truth or Consequences,” introduced me to certain “carnal” ways that proved powerfully irresistible.  This was back in the days of barbarism when certain matters were never discussed, especially with parents for fear of reprisals, leaving most children at the mercy of their perpetrators.  Fortunately, today’s children are carefully instructed about how to handle would-be abusers, and the advent of instantaneous communications increases public awareness in a way that deters some of the behavior.  (So much for the idealized 50s.)

Those who study such realities as abuse have known for a long time that among its consequences on youngsters are confusion and obstruction of normal development.  Had such occurrences not happened, instead of quitting piano lessons because “only sissies played the piano” (at least in the culture where I grew up), my identity as male might not have been threatened by such things as music endeavors.  The positive affirmation about my musical accomplishments were not enough to dissuade the confusing factors of abuse, probably because most of those came from women, which inadvertently compounded the problem.  Male authority figures in those days seem to value only “he-man” activities, and the guiding role models for boys then were the John Waynes and Charles Atlases of the world.

Our life choices are never clear-cut.  My decision to enter Christian Ministry was a natural outgrowth of my being raised in The United Methodist Church.  In many significant ways during my childhood and adolescence, the church was my second home, and some of its adults were my adoptive parents.  While the road to music turned out to be the road not taken, it may well be that the church provided a way that promised safe protection from the onslaught of a testosterone-crazed domination system, however unrealistic that promise became.  If some elements of my decision to enter the ministry were influenced by that unrealistic promise, then it is no wonder that disappointments and frustrations prevailed.  The church can be just as abusive as any other segment of society.

The ministry, however, did provide many enriching opportunities to guard others against abuse and to be with still others as they worked their way out of abusive patterns, and such memories are gratifying.  Instead of doing unto others as I had been done unto, somehow I did muster up something of the Christian vision that I hope contributed to the constructive development of others.  And who knows, maybe that’s what destiny had in mind in the first place.

 

I again picked up the practice of piano and organ playing after marriage, and in spite of having only three years of formal instruction as a child, I did master on my own many of the hymns of the church (the ones I liked, which did not include “How Great Thou Art” UGH!), some of the Bach Little Preludes and Fugues, other baroque period pieces, some choral anthem arrangements, etc.  Much of that fluency and dexterity has declined in recent years because of aging and failure to practice.  But the love of music continues to make me wonder, what if….

Litany for Good Friday

NOTE:  I accepted an invitation to write a concluding litany for a Good Friday Service that was developed around a Cantata, "Return to Me" by Terry W. York and Taylor Scott Davis.  This new, unusual composition centers around nine Stations of the Cross and is a cut-above most music written for churches (especially today).  Utilizing cello, piano and choir, its mysterious melodies, haunting harmonies and carefully crafted text combine to speak powerfully to the meaning of the Crucifixion.  A web link to a demonstration performance of the cantata can be found at http://read.jwpepper.com/i/97579 .  May this offer some light in the darkness.

JimN

Good Friday Prayers

In the shadow of the cross, we see love shared in companionship around a table, but then broken, made bloody, by greed and hate and war—that we may remember how quickly and easily injury is inflicted through mean-spirited and loveless tendencies, God hear our prayer:

Response:  And in your love answer.

In the shadow of the cross, we see all too often how goodness is subjected to bullying, derision, taunts, jeers and even death, (Mahatma Gandi, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Rosa Parks, Medgar Evers, a teenage girl in Steubenville, Ohio, and all victims of violence)—that we may resist going along with the mob that mocks, insults and hurts others, God hear our prayer:

Response:  And in your love answer.

In the shadow of the cross, we see Pontius Pilate yielding to popular pressure instead of doing what he knew to be right—that those who have power over life and death may administer true justice impartially and with mercy and that we may be just and fair, even when it would be easier to cave into what we know to be wrong, God hear our prayer:

Response:  And in your love answer.

In the shadow of the cross, we see Simon of Cyrene, an African, compelled to carry the cross, to share the shame and pain and burden of the death of Jesus—that we will remember all who suffer because of color, race, creed, gender, sexual orientation, disability, social or economic status, and that God may find us lovable and free from resentment and prejudice, God hear our prayer:

Response:  And in your love answer.

In the shadow of the cross, we see the women who loved Jesus, following behind and grieving for him—that with Jesus we may remember women everywhere who have to watch husbands, sons, daughters, sisters brothers, friends, or lovers go to war, for those who mourn loved ones killed or wounded in violence not of their own making in such places as New Town, Connecticut, Aurora, Colorado, Hurricanes Katrina and Sandy, Iraq and Afghanistan, and all the times when daughters and sons die much too early, God hear our prayer:

Response:  And in your love answer.

In the shadow of the cross, we see Jesus, stripped naked, hung on a cross between two common thieves, despised, shamed, degraded, yet a man who could and did say, “Father, forgive them; they know not what they do.”—that we may know that same dignity and humility when we are made to suffer indignities, God hear our prayer:

Response:  And in your love answer.

In the shadow of the cross, we see the good, sacred, beautiful and true persecuted and put to death—that as we too face times when love is broken, we may discover and know the ways that God is near, feeling the pain and loss, God hear our prayer:

Response:  And in your love answer.

In the shadow of the cross, we see overwhelming darkness covering the whole land and the veil of the Temple ripped in two and the death of hope—that such emptiness and pain faced with honest courage may be the womb for a new tomorrow, God hear our prayer:

Response:  And in your love answer.

In the shadow of the cross, we see Jesus’ body wrapped against the cold and laid to rest—that the dead, especially those we have known and loved, those who have influenced us for good, may have rest in God’s warm embrace, waiting for that day when all things will be made new, God hear our prayer:

Response:  And in your love answer.