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Dr. George A. Purnell
May 9, 2010
“Remember and Rejoice”
John 14:23-29
Sarah, my youngest child, was the only one of my four children to grow up in a parsonage in small town Indiana. My older three children were 11, 13, and 14 when I was ordained – and they lived part of the year with their mother – so they really were not a preacher’s kid in the way Sarah was.
Sarah lived in the church owned house, next door to the church, with her dad, the Methodist preacher. She went to the church pre school, was in Sunday school and worship weekly, and was often at the church at other times because her mom and dad were there for meetings and she was too young be left home alone.
The town we lived in when Sarah was young was so small that it didn’t have a stoplight, so her identity as the preacher’s kid was impossible to hide. Her peers bugged her about being little miss church.
Some preacher’s kids react to this by rebelling. They act out in ways that ‘prove’ to their peers that they are just as wild and crazy as any one of them, and they make unconventional life choices. Young people are searching for an identity that fits them. They want to be seen as individuals, and individuals defy labels.
Sarah’s way of rebelling was to ask serious questions about the faith she was being taught by her Sunday school teachers, beginning as a young child. She upset them with her sometimes unorthodox and usually penetrating questions.
And she didn’t let her dad, the preacher, off the hook. She pressed me with questions. (Young children are the best theologians in many ways, because if something doesn’t make sense to them, they are often unwilling to accept platitudes from a parent or preacher. They want an answer they can understand.)
One of the questions Sarah asked as a young child, and that she still asks today, is directly relevant to today’s gospel lesson…
John’s gospel gives us the most extended conversation Jesus had with his disciples found in the New Testament. This conversation takes place the night of the Last Supper, and encompasses the entirety of chapters 13 through 17 of this gospel.
This conversation ends with the last verse of chapter 17, and the first verse of chapter 18 reads: “After Jesus had spoken these words, he went out with his disciples across the Kidron valley to a place where there was a garden, which he and his disciples entered.” We then read how Judas had it set up for the soldiers to arrest Jesus in the garden, and the passion of Christ begins.
This five chapter conversation (called the ‘farewell discourse’) gives modern readers tremendous insight as to how Jesus loved his closest friends on this last night of his life; how he prepared them for his imminent death with words of encouragement and instruction, before closing with a chapter long (17) prayer for the disciples and for those “who will believe in me through their word” (17:20).
In today’s reading, Jesus promises the disciples that God will send the Holy Spirit to them, who “will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you.” Jesus goes on to say that he will leave his peace with them, a peace the world cannot offer, and he tells them to not be afraid.
Jesus then says: “If you loved me, you would rejoice that I am going to the Father, because the Father is greater than I. And now I have told you this before it occurs, so that when it does occur, you may believe.”
Sarah questions surfaced at this point, even as a child. She found no ambiguity in Jesus’ words here.
Sarah would see me saddened by the death of people in the congregation. She would see me tear up at news of a death. She went to more funeral homes than other children, because of my profession. We often could not leave her with a sitter, so Diane would take Sarah to the ‘showing’ and sit with her while I talked with the family, and then I would sit with Sarah while Diane talked with the family. In these rooms, Sarah would see people in mourning. The feelings of loss filled these rooms. She would see people cry and hug each other.
We would get home, and Sarah would ask me, innocently and honestly, ‘daddy, why are people so sad if this person is going to be with God?’ I would do my best to answer her in ways that were age appropriate. But she didn’t buy many of my answers.
Essentially the matter boiled down to belief. Jesus, after all, said to his disciples: “And now I have told you this before it occurs, so that when it does occur, you may believe.” Sarah wanted to know why church people in general, and her dad the preacher in particular, were so sad about something that Jesus said we should rejoice about.
We are sad when someone we love dies, because the person will no longer be with us physically. We prefer the tangible to the ethereal. We know this life and this world. The next life and the otherworld are mysterious, and we wonder if they are real.
Today’s passage from John is familiar to us, in large part because it is a common reading in a funeral or memorial service. Indeed, hearing these words this morning might have reminded you of the service remembering someone’s life that was dear to you.
As I said earlier, Jesus used this final conversation with his disciples, only hours away from his arrest, to prepare them for his death by offering words of encouragement and instruction. He tells them that the Holy Spirit will come to teach them and remind them of all that he had said to them. And, although he knew that he would be crucified the next day, he told his disciples to not be afraid.
(I think it is important for us to remember that Jesus knew fear on this night. We read that Jesus went “about a stone’s throw” from his disciples in the garden and “knelt down and prayed: ‘Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet not my will but yours be done.’” (Luke 22:41-42) “In his anguish,” we read, “he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down on the ground.” 22:44)
So, Jesus taught us some lessons on this night before his death. He taught us to encourage those who will survive us. He taught us to be at peace, and through our example help those who love us be at peace. Death is a mystery, and the unknown can cause fear. Jesus shared his faith and his hope with his disciples on this last night. He took his fear to God in prayer. By example, I think he is teaching us to do likewise.
Our statement of faith this morning concludes by saying: “In life, in death, in life beyond death, God is with us. We are not alone. Thanks be to God! Amen.” Jesus faced his final hours with that assurance. The fear he had was overridden by his confidence in God.
We all leave legacies. Some people donate money to a university and have a building named for them. Great servants of the public have monuments named after them or have their faces imprinted on our currency: Washington, Lincoln, Hamilton, Jefferson, Grant (I don’t go higher than a fifty J) Picasso left his art. Shakespeare his literature. Mozart his music…
Most of us will not leave millions to a university, or create art that lives forever or be elected president. So what will our legacy be?
Jesus did not leave any money. He did not write a word of poetry or prose. He left no musical masterwork. He held no public office. Yet his life has influenced lives for twenty centuries.
One important legacy he left, I believe, is this lesson of how to face the end of life with the grace and faith that allows others to not live in fear of death.
Anthropologists, mental health professionals and others comment on how pathological the fear of death is among Americans. We are a culture that does everything we can to deny death, to hide it from view, to discourage anyone from discussing it.
I can tell you from 23 years of ministry that it is rare for anyone to have given thought to their death. When I receive a call about a death in the congregation, the survivors are almost always at the funeral home making arrangements. Important (and expensive) decisions are made during a time of emotional stress without benefit of forethought.
And anything about the funeral service is left to me, since I am the professional religious person.
(This is true, of course, but the service would be so much more meaningful if a favorite Bible passage of the deceased were read…and hymns important to the deceased’s faith were sung…and the parts of the deceased’s life that embodied his or her most deeply held values were included in the message.)
But for this to be possible, the person who has died would have had to have planned for this day, and death is not something we will plan for. (Many people won’t even execute a will, another indicator of our fear of acknowledging that death is a certainty.)
As I have grown older, I have begun to include some things in correspondence and conversation with my children and others that could be considered a farewell discourse. I want people to remember things about me that were vitally important to me in life.
One of the primary ministries of the Christian Church has always been to affirm the importance and the power of memory. We gather to remember our faith story. We retell elements of the story each week. We recite the historic statements of faith. We offer the Lord’s Prayer and other prayers. We sing the timeless hymns. We reenact the Lord’s Supper. We rejoice in what has been made known to us.
We are impacted by the legacies left by people whose lives powerfully touched our own. I will close today with a legacy left to me by my mother, whose funeral was 25 years ago today. On the night before her death…a Sunday night…I called her.
Mom had been in poor health for years, but her death did not seem imminent. There was an unusual calm and optimism in mom’s voice that night. Near the end of the conversation, I summoned the courage to ask how she was feeling. This was a question I hated to ask, because her answer and her struggle for breath always left me sad when I hung up.
Her answer on this night was succinct. I am going to be all right, George, she said. She was found dead in her bedroom the next morning by my sister. When I received the news, and collected my thoughts, and remembered these words, I rejoiced for my beloved mother. Amen.
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