Sermon - 5th Sunday in Lent - Year B

 

John 12:20-33                 

                                                    He Meant to Do It

     I don’t mean to get ahead of myself, but it is next to impossible to separate the two liturgies which will occur here within a couple of hours.  For the third time in eight days, the St. Michael community will assemble in order to acknowledge the death of one of our beloved.  The tone and tenor of this afternoon’s service involves holding in tension the grief of death and the promises associated with Resurrection.

 This afternoon we will read from John, chapters 10, 11 and 14.  This morning we read from John chapter 12.  Throughout all of these chapters, Jesus is trying to convince his listeners that even though what is about to happen should give them every reason to question whether he is who they hope he is – they should not lose their confidence in him.  Jesus is trying to assure them that even though they are going to be disappointed with the turn of events about to befall them, they should not loose heart.  They should continue to believe.

     Rather than condemning the disciples for abandoning Jesus, we need to remember that they were living through the events rather than reading about them.  Unlike the first followers of Jesus, we know the ending even before we retrace the beginnings.  Our churches are adorned with empty crosses.  Empty crosses designed to remind us that nothing, not even death, can stand in the way of the marvelous thing our God is going.  We are fortunate.  We know the ending to the story.  We have read and studied how it all works out.  This was not true for the first of Jesus’ disciples. 

 Jesus had to at least plant the thought in the minds of his twelve closest followers that his death was an interruption or disruption of what he came among us to accomplish.  

We have turned the cross into a beautiful piece of furniture or jewelry.  We set it in our homes or wear it around our neck.  We collect crosses from different parts of the world, and we make them look unique and nice.  But there is nothing pretty about the cross.  It was an instrument of torture.  And it was reserved for those who deserved to be publicly tortured and humiliated.  There were other ways of putting to death those convicted of capital offenses.  Jesus wasn’t simply condemned to die; he was condemned to death by crucifixion. 

I was in a bible study with a group of campus pastors.   The leader was trying to drive home the same point I want to make now.  He searched for some way to communicate to us the shame that went along with the death that Jesus suffered.  In the end, the best that he could up with was to say that it was as difficult for those who followed Jesus to hold their heads up high as it would be for those who thought that Timothy McVeigh was a national hero.  For his bombing of the Murrow Federal Building in Oklahoma City, McVeigh received this nation’s most sever penalty.  After his death, who would have had the chutzpa to stand up and say that he was their hero? 

Our bible study leader wanted to suggest that it took that much courage for Jesus’ followers to emerge from the shadows once their leader had been condemned by the Chief Priests and hung on a cross by the Roman Governor. 

Jesus didn’t just die.  He wasn’t merely executed.  He was paraded around and condemned.  He was lifted up as an example of everything that was despicable.  If his followers were going to continue to believe that he might indeed be their Messiah, they had to come to terms with the death that he died and the condemnation that he receives. 

In John, Chapter 12, Jesus is making his case.  “And what should I say – ‘Father, save me from this hour’?  No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour.”  Jesus wants to make it clear that in dying he isn’t being defeated; in receiving the most sever of all condemnations he isn’t being dethroned.  This is why he came, and this is what he meant to do. 

We know how the story ends, so we don’t find it so disturbing.  We have come to accept the cross; it no longer serves as a symbol of humiliation and shame. 

But we haven’t overcome the tendency to disassociate God from failure. 

Think for a moment about how we react to small, struggling congregations.  No one wants to be part of a congregation that is shrinking.  How do we respond to a coach who loses basketball games?  And what army, upon taking the field of battle, can overcome the temptation to claim that victory is ours because God’s will and our will is one? 

No less than Jesus’ first disciples we associate God’s favor with victory.  How are we to react when Jesus tells us that his way is the way of service and sacrifice? 

What happens to Jesus happens because those running the world wanted to make him look like a failure.  In order to prevent his disciples from losing heart and falling away, Jesus needs to disassociate himself from the ruler of this world and that ruler’s means for determining success.  

It is not an easy disassociation to make. 

Jesus had a lot of convincing to do.  If he was going to get the disciples to stick by him - he had an uphill battle.  It would be difficult for them to believe in his words even after everyone else had condemned him to die. 

He still faces quite a challenge.  Jesus has a long way to go, in rooting out from among us those who wear emblems of his victory as the last vestiges of the ruler’s deceit.  We want to be part of a church which serves – but we generally mean one that serves coffee after the 11 o’clock service.  We are eager to take up our cross and follow Jesus – so long as that cross doesn’t have splinters.  

Jesus meant to do that.  He meant to die on the cross.  He meant to say that “those who love their live will loose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.”  He meant to do that.  And he means for us to do it to. 

Amen.

Homily - Week 4 of our Lenten Gatherings

 Welcome:

Good to be with you all - and I do mean “with” you.  

Spoke first week about “Imagining”  Continue to do that - not imagine something which is unreal - but imagine the realities we can only see with eyes of faith or through the eyes of Jesus.

Imagine - we are together, we are in God’s house, we are God’s people.  Imagine you are a great artist - the best artist.

Each week - one aspect of what it means to be an Easter People.  Child of God; One with the whole of creation;  Part of God’s Chosen People.  Tonight - what those with such marks do - namely care for others.  

We care by feeding/housing/clothing.  We care for them by sharing ourselves - our time, our attention, ourselves.

What does it mean to be attentive to one another?  Image the gift of being present.  

Bit more complicated image - show you the finished product - even as we sing our opening hymn…

Sermon - Week 4

This evening, I am going to read from Paul’s letter to the church in Rome.  I will be reading from a part of Romans we don’t read as often.  Most of the time, we read from the opening or middle chapters.  Rarely, in worship, do we read from the closing chapters.

There is actually a bit of a debate as to which Paul would have considered the most important of his letter to the Church in Rome.  As is true for his other letters, the latter chapters of Romans are practical, pastoral advice.  When Paul writes, he writes to a context - to a particular group of people at a particular point in time.  We extrapolate from those personal letters that Paul would want others to overhear.  

The closing chapters of Romans follow that pattern.

The opening chapters of Romans are the only letters from Paul which read like a theological discourse.  Those who prefer the opening and middle chapters probably do so because these chapters are more about thoughts and ideas and convictions.  Found in those chapters are statements of truth and faith.

Some think Paul had to write this sort of stuff - not that he wanted to do so.  The other churches were getting a letter from an old friend and trusted pastor.  Paul had never met the folks in Rome.  So, he needed an introduction - maybe eleven chapters of introduction.

Not that Paul was opposed to a theological piece; he simply wanted any theological piece to be firmly connected to how we live our lives and how we serve our Christ.

Allow me to share some of Paul’s words from these latter chapters of his letter to the Church in Rome:

Romans 12-15

9 Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; 10 love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honour. 11 Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord. 12 Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. 13 Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.

14 Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. 15Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. 16Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly; do not claim to be wiser than you are. 

8 Owe no one anything, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. 9The commandments, ‘You shall not commit adultery; You shall not murder; You shall not steal; You shall not covet’; and any other commandment, are summed up in this word, ‘Love your neighbour as yourself.’ 

14Welcome those who are weak in faith, but not for the purpose of quarrelling over opinions. 

7 We do not live to ourselves, and we do not die to ourselves. 8If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. 

10 Why do you pass judgement on your brother or sister? …….

13 Let us therefore no longer pass judgement on one another, but resolve instead never to put a stumbling-block or hindrance in the way of another. 

15We who are strong ought to put up with the failings of the weak.

7 Welcome one another, therefore, just as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God. 

13May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

If you were with us for worship this past Sunday, you heard me tell a story about my brother-in-law.  I want to tell you a bit more about him this evening.

Doug has hearing problems.  Doug is practically deaf.  Years ago the audiologist told him that hearing not only involves the mechanics of the inner ear but is also a brain activity.  Getting hearing aids was only helpful when his brain once again learned to recognize the signals coming from the ear canal.  He didn’t listen.  He wouldn’t hear it.

Doug has spent his retirement years visiting.  He had a list of nearly a dozen folks he would see at the nursing homes, in their homes, sometimes at the hospital.  He also delivered Meals on Wheels - and came to know those folks well, too.  

He would often tell me he visited Bee Gantt or Clyde Thomas.  “How were they doing?” I would ask.  And he would report what he had seen.  But if I asked him for details, Doug was unsure how to respond.  We will never know if Doug just didn’t ask those kinds of questions, or if he didn’t hear the answers.

Doug also isn’t much for theological conversation.  I was with Doug on Tuesday.  I looked at the inside cover of his bible.  It is there he records each time he re-starts in Genesis to read to the end.  He is currently in his fifth read through of that particular bible.  He gleans great comfort from his reading;  but he admits he has trouble remembering.  Before her death, Carolyn and I would be in the room with Doug, discussing the impact of the reconstruction of the Tempe in the years of Nehemiah and Ezra.  Was not of interest to Doug.  He wasn’t even sure what we were talking about, even though he had read through the bible four times since I even last attempted to start in Genesis.  

While Madeleine has been drawing images of someone listening and caring, I have tried to portray an image of someone doing that.  And I picked my brother-in-law because he does this so well - and from him we can learn what it means to be present.

Can I confess to you that I am at times so nervous when I go to visit that I never shut my mouth?  Is it okay to admit that I am so fearful of what they might want to talk about that I make sure to keep the conversation going down the path I would prefer?  Rather than fall back on the opportunities I have had to study the bible I use what I know to fill the gaps where I might be asked a probing question.

My brother-in-law is much better at Christian companionship than I will ever be.  Aunt Lorraine and Faye Daniels and Tommy Richardson would light up every time Doug walked in the door.

One of the marks of an Easter people;  the trait of an Easter person we want to lift up this evening is the willingness and the ability to simply be present.  To side by the bedside of another and to share the marvelous gift of simply holding my hand.  Sometimes we are so worried that we don’t have anything to offer that we overlook the most important thing which could be offered.  

It isn’t the sophisticated responses to the angst of the human condition which gets me through the troubled days.  We survive - we preserve - when we know there is another by our side as we face what the morrow might bring.

I am going to run out of time before I run out of content.  But let me say just a few words about those we refer to as “Job’s Friends.”

You know those friends, in the book of Job?  They are the ones who keep trying to get Job to admit he did something to deserve all this.  We hear persons referred to as a “Job’s friend” when they give us advice that could only make sense in the twisted mind of someone more concerned with self-justification.  Well, those friends in the book of Job deserve some of the bad press.  They do turn out pretty bad.  Which is a shame.  Because they started out so good.  It is at the end of Chapter 2 that we read:   When they saw (Job) from a distance, they did not recognize him, and they raised their voices and wept aloud; they tore their robes and threw dust in the air upon their heads. They sat with him on the ground for seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great.  Job 2:12-13

If they had just kept their mouths shut.  If they had continued to sit there and let Job grieve.  All they had to do was to be with Job.  But they couldn’t.  They thought they ought to offer something more.  And when they open their mouths and begin to speak they stop being a comfort and a help to their brother Job.

Let’s pray that God will make us an Easter people.  Let’s ask for help in becoming the kind of person who doesn’t think we are smart enough or crafty enough to put the pieces back together.  Let us become generous with our time and our companionship.  Let’s worry less about what we might say and be better prepared to hear what others might say to us.

Let’s be present for one another.

Sermon - 4th Sunday in Lent - Year B

 John 3:14-21 

                                                  Light and Darkness

                       These have been difficult weeks for this community of faith.  Amid all the stress and strife of a global pandemic, we have had many illnesses among us - and three deaths.  Folks are in the hospital and cannot have visitors, injuries happen and travel limitations make it difficult to be there to help.  The homebound are lonely, as are the grandparents who must accept that visiting is just not a good idea.

             I have had lots of opportunity, these past several weeks, to spend considerable time with those who find themselves fearfully close to the edge.

             Let me tell you one funny story.  It is happened when my mother was in the hospital and it involves my brother-in-law – himself a widower.  My sister died seven years ago and on my way to the burial of Janice Castor I am going to pick up Doug’s car.  The decision has been made that he should stop driving.  But this is a funny story; and I want to share it with you. 

             My mother was in the hospital, sharing a room with a woman who sometimes needed help.  This woman had two daughters who came and went, but they didn’t spend the long hours in the room that we were there.  So she would often ask us if we would help her with this or that.  My brother-in-law found himself in the room, alone.  He noticed the woman trying to open the cellophane wrapper on a piece of candy.  We listened to him recounting the episode, including comments about how sorry he felt for this old woman whose hands were not nimble enough to open the wrapper.  Our interest turned to dismay as my brother-in-law told us how he had helped the woman open her candy bar.  “But Doug,” we shouted in unison, “the woman is in the hospital because she has diabetes and she won’t stay on her diet!”

             The woman did get to go home.  But it was a couple of days later than the family had hoped.  We didn’t mention the whole candy wrapper episode to any of her children and she certainly wasn’t going to say anything either.

             My presence, among all the sick and suffering, has forced me to reflect on exactly what it is that being a Christian does to change my life and my expectations about life.  I have had to ask myself how there could be so much hardship; such a great amount of trials and tribulations.  As one dear friend said to me, “God may not give us more than we can handle, but I sometimes wonder if God thinks I am as strong as he is.”  The load we are given can be more than anyone should be asked to bear. 

             My drive between this place and my home is about the same whether I take the interstate or drive through Easley.  Driving the interstate I get to avoid all those huge trucks.  But some do prove interesting.  I saw one with bible verses painted on all the sides.  A couple of the verses were somewhat obscure; others were taken from the parts of the Bible where God is angry and looking for someone to blame.  But right there in the middle of them all was the verse which adorns at least one banner in every end zone of every football stadium in America.   John 3:16.

             Driving on the Interstate, between one crisis point and another, I found myself wondering how we ever got to the point where the simplest, most affirming verse of the Bible could have ever come to be associated with anything vaguely resembling God’s wrath and judgement.  I am grateful that the owners of that truck that they choose to fill the empty space with a few words from the Good Book.  But the juxtaposition of verses did disturb me and pushed forward my consideration of exactly what it is that being a Christian does to change my life and my expectations about life.

             John 3:16 is spoken by Jesus in the course of a conversation with a man named Nicodemus.  Nicodemus comes to Jesus under the cover of darkness. He comes at night because Nicodemus wasn’t supposed to be there.  He was a member of a religious group whose leadership didn’t think very much of Jesus and Jesus’ message.  The feelings were mutual, Jesus spoke against the false piety and misplaced emphasis which characterized the Pharisees.  Pharisees considered themselves righteous before God and confident in their own salvation.  And yet Nicodemus, this Pharisee, comes to see Jesus.  He comes asking for guidance.

                       Jesus tells him, “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.”

             Maybe it is this mention of “eternal life” which provides the foothold for some sort of emphasis on making the mark or failing to do so.  The Pharisees had become overly focused on day-to-day obedience to the commandants.  Because of this fixation, they failed to see the larger picture.  With a somewhat similar fixation, we have become obsessed with the final manifestation of eternal life.  All too often, all we want to talk about is “Heaven.”  And so, we turn one of Jesus’ clearest affirmations into an admission test for getting into that place with pearly gates and streets of gold.

             Jesus isn’t talking about heaven – or I should say he isn’t talking only about heaven.  This whole conversation with Nicodemus has been about rebirth and life.  Jesus isn’t limiting his offer to some reward in the sweet by-and-by.  The reward of which Jesus speaks, should we receive it, is of eternal life.  But the eternal life which Jesus has in mind speaks to more than simply what is going to happen after our bodies wear out.  He speaks to Nicodemus of a gift of grace which begins now and is brought to perfection in the life to come.

             “For God so loved the world¼” this is how John 3:16 begins.  The 16^th verse is a continuation of the foundation which Jesus has been building for the previous 15 verses.  The goal isn’t to take us (nor Jesus) out of the world.  The aim is to give us a rebirth so that might live in the world.  Live, as God would have us live.  Live in such a way as to participate already in those things which are eternal.

             I told you a story of my mother’s stay in the hospital.  During one of those, she asked me one time why we were putting her through all this.  Why didn’t we just let her die.  The nurse who was attending to her at the time helped me.  She said to my mother, “Mrs. Heavner, you didn’t ask him if he wanted to be born.  You decided that.  Now it is his turn to decide.”

             The decision which Jesus makes is to enter into the world.  He comes here, to this place, with all its pain and suffering and hardship and illness and disease.  This grand entrance is made, not because the world is some god-forsaken sphere of stone.  Christ comes because “God so love(s) the world.”

             The exam – if there is one – is putting our trust in that love.  The litmus test – if you will – is determining whether we will trust in our own devises or if we will believe in God’s goodness and God’s graciousness.  The judgement, which has come into the world, is that there is this great treasure trove of God’s love and mercy - and yet many choose to trust in the workings of their own hands.

             The great irony of God’s grace-filled entrance into our world is that it ends with a horrible execution and death.  The One who came - the very emblem of God’s love - is hated, rejected and crucified.  This presents a stumbling block for many folks.  We are eager to talk about Jesus’ resurrection, about this eternal Kingdom in Heaven, but we try to skip over his death.  When mentioned, it is all too often used as a way to speak of evil actions and to admonish listeners not to succumb to such temptation.  But Christ does not avoid the cross.  He willingly takes it up and accepts that this is the way it is to be.

             God may be able to save us.  Christ may be able to liberate us.  But nothing can be done to change the limitations of our bodies.  Kidneys will cease to function, chemicals will get out of balance, cancers will develop, and car accidents will occur.  This is the world.  Such is the world which God seeks to love.

             At some point, a change comes over you.  It is a change birthed from one’s confidence in God.  It has nothing to do with a thought or a decision.  It has everything to do with seeing things through the light of Christ.

             This change creates within us a tremendous desire to see and to know.  It insists that the Truth be spoken and that personal interests give way to that which is pleasing to God.  This change brings with it an ability to believe.  An ability to trust.  An ability to hold fast even when swirling forces would pull us apart.  This is not of our “own doing;  it is the gift of God.”

             This is how being a Christian changes our lives and our expectations about life.  Not by removing us from the disease and deprivation, but by birth us into an existence which is eternal.  We are re-born children of God.  And as such we know that our lives have eternal and lasting significance.  Eternal significance.

 Amen.

Sermon - Janice Castor

I Corinthians 13:9-12          Luke 12:22-31                                               

                                                                   Through a glass dimly

     “I wish you could have known my mother, before all of this started.”  As one who often preaches at the funerals of persons whom I have only come to know in the waning years of life, I hear this too often.  And I agree with it.  I wish I had known – known them; known the family history; shared the celebrations and the valleys – it is regrettable that so little of that knowledge or history or cherished memory can be recounted and shared and celebrated and mourned on the day that we gather for a memorial service.

 “I wish you could have known…..”  There is so much to be known which will never be known and so much which cannot be shared.  This is not only true for Janice and you and I as we gather today, this is true for every man, woman, and child who walks the face of earth.

 My academic training was in theology but having spent thirty-three years in ministry to academic communities, I pick up all sorts of interesting tidbits from other fields of inquiry.  It always fascinates me when a laboratory exploration stumbles on something which is recorded in ancient sacred writings.  An instance of this is the cognitive science research which probes at the gap between what has been captured and stored in the brain and the information which the subject is able to recall and articulate.  There is a lot more going inside us than ever finds a way to be shared among us.  It is as if we do – indeed - see in a mirror – dimly.   Cognitive sciences are coming to affirm what Paul shared with the first century faithful.

 We will forever wish that we could have known or might come to know.  That completeness will continue to evade us, for as long as we remain captive to the body and brain of flesh.

 I arrived at St. Michael after Janice’s ability to remember and recall had diminished.  When we went to her home in December of 2019 I made a point of speaking to her and trying to explain who I was.  That was a silly thing – a selfish thing – for me to do.  Others in our group were much better in communicating to Janice who we were and why we were there.  In the strange and bizarre scene of a rag-tag group of off-key carolers – the only thing any could “fully know” was that someone was loved and appreciated and joyful.

 After the death of Charles, overpowering was desire to know how a loving God could stand by while such a horrific thing happened.  I have offered many replies to such questions, but never an answer.  The promise of Paul’s words in the reading from I Corinthians is that when I am on the other side of my grave I will see and fully understand.

 Till then.  We just sort of wait and hope and trust. 

 If I may, allow me to share another example of how powerful it is to wait and trust and hope – even when what we really want is to see clearly.  Janice was on at least one occasion confused as to the day and time for worship.  She was sitting in one of those chairs out there, a bit dim.  But it was there that she chose to sit, as she attempted to arrive at clarity.  Maybe those who find it impossible to hide that which we don’t fully understand are the ones who help the rest of us admit that we are befuddled and feel as if we are in the dark. 

  I wish I had known Janice before…. before she started her slide into confusion and before she suffered her heartbreak.  But the gift Janice gives, which I am attempting to bring into focus, is the awareness that we can never fully know or be known.  IF – what we mean by that is a complete knowledge or a warehouse full of significant memories.  Knowing is too often reduced to cognitive activity.  Knowing ought to be understood as something much more complete.

 Birds of the air and lilies in the field surely know something that we wish we could know.  Their absence of worry and stress and anxiety reveals how peaceful and calm existence is when we trust less in ourselves and more in the ones and the One who looks out over us.

 I would like to eradicate the notion that persons with dementia revert to a child-like existence.  What would it take for us to begin to receive from them instruction on the importance of the things which matter the most?  How might they teach us to forsake the insignificant pieces of the complicated structures we are so bent on preserving?  Rather than being labeled as one who has reverted to a lower of competency what if we received from them instruction on setting aside the agendas which stand in the way of profound and deep expressions of appreciation and love?

 Forgive me – for the simplicity of such a comment.  I do not want to be insensitive or naive about the realities of crippling diseases. 

 Those of us who falsely think we are shielded from such limitations might do well to learn from those cannot hide it any longer.  And all of us need to seek those interactions which honestly and fully share who we are and what we understand ourselves to be.  For as long as remain on this side of our own graves, we will see in a mirror dimly. 

 Thanks be to God for the invitation and the opportunity to push up against those limits and begin to anticipate the gift of full knowledge and complete understanding.

 Thanks be to God for the gift and opportunity to see clearly – as he has clearly seen us.

 Thanks be to God for the invitation to know completely – as we allow ourselves to be fully known by Him.

 Amen.

Sermon - Funeral of Joyce Tucker

 Philippians 1:18b-30, John 16:4b-16 

                                                                            I Must Go 

The first thing we need to say about Joyce Tucker is that she didn’t want us to have this service.  I am looking over at the kids – and Frank – for some acknowledgement or support.  When Joyce received the news that leukemia had taken hold in her body, she was aware and prepared for what this would mean.  I will leave open the possibility of quiet and private moments when she might have whispered something different to her beloved Frank or ever attentive children.  But in every reported conversation, Joyce was straight forward about how she would face this.  She would walk the path in front of her confident that this was the path which would take her to where she wanted to be.  

 “I am not afraid,” she told me.  And there was no questioning that she meant it. 

 There was also an unspoken acknowledgement that perhaps her confidence out shown that of the one pretending to be her pastor.  Perhaps like many of you, I know what the scriptures say about it being better to die and be with Christ.  But, maybe like some of you, it is difficult to embrace what we say and have no worry when it comes to our own death.

 But not for Joyce. 

 I wrote this sermon in advance and gave Frank a copy.  It can be tough for any of us to hear every word.  But I wanted these next words to make their way into his grieving heart. 

 The way Joyce talked about waiting and having one memorial service for the two of them exposed a reason why she was so confident.  Her life and her dying reminded me of the teachings of a seminary professor regarding the Beatitude, “Blessed are those who mourn.”  We mourn because we know we have been so richly blessed.  When we are aware of how graciously God has dealt with us our mourning is turned into rejoicing.  Seventy years of sharing life with Frank allowed Joyce to develop the confidence that God was good, and that life was good and that whatever God has for us after death must be good.

 This is what the scriptures tell us, over and over and over.  And this is what Joyce Hiller Tucker knew to be the gospel truth.

 Jesus is with his disciples in the section of John’s gospel we read this morning.  Jesus is about to leave them and they are worried and fearful.  Jesus sets aside their anxiety.  He tells them it will be alright.  Actually, he tells them it will be better.  That surely sounded ridiculous!  How could it be better?  It seemed to them an idle tale.  But it was better.  For them and for all of us. 

 St Paul writes to the faithful in Philippi.  He practically repeats the words of Jesus.  He speaks of being hard pressed between continuing to live or dying.  Another seminary professor preached a sermon in which he wondered about Paul’s sanity!  Like Joyce, Paul was prepared to walk that path which we too often see as a path being forced upon us.  They knew that the way too often dreaded and feared by others was the way of eternal life for God’s children.  It is the path to the fullness of God’s hope and promise.

 There may have been quite moments or whispers in which Joyce asked for a few more days or weeks or years to spend with her family.  I do not mean to discount or discredit that.  But I want to learn from her the ability to fear the grave as little as one would fear their bed.  And I would love for her witness to impress on each of us the call to live life in such a way as to instill that confidence in others.

 The number of persons present when St Michael (or St Michael’s) congregation was founded is dwindling.  Joyce was the last of that bunch who continued to come to this place in order to encounter her Lord.  She occupied an irreplaceable place in our history and in our midst.  It is totally inappropriate for an Interim Pastor to even try to capture what she and the others who have recently left us have meant to this congregation.  The best I can hope for is to point out the parallels between the words spoken by St. Paul and by Jesus and the moment at which this community of faith now stands.  Joyce is leaving us to be with Jesus.  And she is leaving the congregation she has loved and served in our hands.  She was among those who planted the seeds.  We will see how they grow.

 Not all of those seeds will fall or have fallen in the rich soil we would hope.  There have been rocky paths and thorns.  It is our opportunity to see what we will do with that which has been given to us and that which Joyce has left with us. 

 I am going to make one more assertion about Joyce and her saying there was no need for us to gather like this.  As is true for every good and faithful servant, she didn’t want to be such a fuss about her.  So, if she visits you in your dreams or accosts you in your visions, you can point out to her that while her passing from life to death to resurrection gave us an occasion, we gathered this day primarily to give thanks to the God who promises us eternal life and to thank God for giving us a sister who would help us learn this life-giving lesson.  While we will repeat the name of Joyce Hiller Tucker many times this morning it not only for her that we assemble.  We are here to be strengthen and sustained and encouraged and sent out into the world with the confidence and assurance which allowed this sister of ours to say, “I am not afraid.”

 Amen.