Grandpa Jacob's Funeral, 8/29/05

I'm currently on the east coast for my Grandmother's funeral. And one of the things we found... was the sermon I did at my Grandfather's funeral, 8/29/05.

As I read through it, I laughed.

It's funny-- I can point out exactly which professor taught me every piece that makes it in this sermon-- each part of my theological training on death and resurrection. I remember I had just finished a class tiled "resurrection" when my Grandfather died and all that class knowledge slipped right into this sermon. But that's all it is, knowledge-- and maybe a little shock as I try to process how that class knowledge is going to fit into this new experience.

And so I also laughed because it seems to have absolutely no base in experience whatsoever. This was before I had a son, before I took my first church, before I took my second church, before I wrote sermons every week, before I edited books, before I wrote articles and published chapters, before I burried anyone or walked with people through grief. This is my early, early work-- and it's packed with knowledge and very little leadership experience.

And it's funny-- because it really wasn't that long ago and yet I've changed so much in style and perspective because of where I've walked and the people I've particpated in life alongside. And yet-- I haven't changed at all theologically-- a lot of what I said here makes its way into Grandma's funeral service too. I simply figured out how the head knowledge works its way into real life.

But I decided I'd post this naive sermon here (on my blog)-- because it does have some good theology for grief. I didn't change anything in this copy-- I didn't make it flow better with my current writing style or anything. It's just as it was when I spoke it as a young, idealistic seminary student 5 years ago.

___________________________

Grandpa Jacobs Funeral, 8/29/05

Death brings pain.
We feel it here today.
Our hearts rip apart because of death.

Death brings us face-to-face with our own mortality.
We ask ourselves: Who am I? And—whose am I?

On normal days we “strut our stuff” and try to impress others with our self-confidence—hoping to actually be what we pretend. But death brings us face-to-face with the questions of “who am I? and “whose am I?”

Thankfully—we don’t have to live with death’s questions. We know WHO we are because of WHOSE we are.

We are God’s and we are safe in the arms of God.

Death isn’t the last thing we’ll stare in the face. Because we are God’s—we have hope.

It is because God raised Jesus from the death that (in our pain and sadness) we can hope for the resurrection of the dead.

Death is the last enemy of God.

And we have hope—because God has defeated it already.

Jesus’ resurrection was a first fruit of what will come for those who follow Christ.

We, as followers of Christ, in our sadness- have hope.

Today is a celebration of that hope—because we know WHOSE my Grandpa is. He is God’s and he is held safely in the arms of God.

Therefore, we have hope.

As you’re faced with death today—do you know WHO you are and WHOSE you are—or is the presence of death suffocating you?

If “whose we are” is merely a slave to ourselves, economic advancement—or whatever else… then the answer to “who am I?” is fairly bleak and hopeless.

My Grandpa would want me to tell you that you don’t have to settle with bleak and hopeless answers.

There’s hope.

If you ask “who am I” and “whose am I” and are unhappy with your answers—then all you need to do is let go, and let God.

So often we heard the story of Abraham and Sarah.

God told Abraham they would have a baby—even though they were way past child-bearing years.
And Sarah laughed.
She laughed because she saw there was nothing she could do.
She laughed because she realized how incapable she was for her to make this happen.
She laughed.

To find the hope of knowing WHOSE you are as you stare death in the face today—we must laugh with Sarah.

Laugh and realize there’s nothing you can do.
Let go and let God.

Because the hope we share in Christ is so peaceful—we can celebrate today.
The last enemy, death, has been conquered—and we hope, in God’s power, it will be conquered again.

This IS the Christian hope.
Paul says—Christianity stands or falls on the resurrection of Christ.

Do you sense this hope as your heart breaks and the tears flow?

My prayer for all of us is that we sense the deep love of God, closer than the pain we feel.

Let’s pray together:

Lord of all life, giver of hope, and one whom we trust—

We come before you with our hearts breaking within us. We hurt.

With death staring us in the face today, we are confronted with our own mortality and questions of who we are.

We admit that all too often we walk confidently—hoping we actually are what we self-force and make ourselves out to be.

Save us from this so that we might laugh with Sarah and know that death’s answers aren’t up to us.

May we give up ourselves to you and let you take care of us.

Remind us of the hope we have in Christ—for it is because you had the power to raise
Christ from the dead that we have hope now.

May we truly be the community of faith as we love each other in this time of pain.

And may we step back and let this man we know as husband, father, friend… and Grandpa rest in the arms of God.

For it is in the arms of God where we also find ourselves.

Amen.

Grandma Jacobs Funeral Service, 5/15/10

Here is the sermon I'm planning on giving at my Grandmother's funeral service, 5/15/10:

___________________


So often, at funerals, we speak of the Kingdom of Heaven. We say things like “We know she’s in heaven” or “we have hope for an eternal heaven.”

But today—because of the amazing woman we honor today… I want to talk about the Kingdom of Heaven my Grandmother brought to us—here and now, in this place.

Sure—she is held in the arms of God in the Kingdom of Heaven…
But today I call out the times Ruth Miller Jacobs became the arms of God here and now. The arms that now hold her are the very arms she became- for us.

I can remember my Grandmother embodying the Jesus she followed. She did not simply claim to be a Christ follower—she became the kind of person who was the answer to people’s prayers to the Christ she followed. It is one thing to tell people you’re praying for them. It’s an entire other thing to actually allow your life to become the answers to people’s prayers. My Grandmother became the answer to my prayers more times than I can count… and I’m confident for most of you as well.

My Grandmother became the kind of person she called us to be. She lived a life of love and hope.

Ruth Jacobs very life redeemed creation. Her entire life was an offering to God—renewing and restoring the brokenness and darkness around her.

She sent cards. And even mastered email and facebook (thus making her a 91 year old rock star). :)

She donated money. She supported missions.

She loved people.
Church kids would give her big hugs and she loved on them—becoming the very presence of Christ to each child she touched.

She played music- she sang.

Her eyes were always fixed on her Lord.

She read her bible—knew most every line.
Her heart was shaped by that Word.

Ruth Jacobs was the matriarch—the pillar, the stronghold of the family. She lived her life on her knees before the Lord and her heart before her family.

She emptied herself—giving up all of who she was—to become who Christ was calling her to be (and who she was created to be).

She became redemption.
She lived out renewal.
She embodied restoration.

I don’t know about you—but people like my Grandmother cause me to want to live the same.

I look around the world and I see destruction. I see pain. I see abuse. Sin and selfishness have destroyed everything.

I feel sorrow. I hear sobs and tears. The world is a mess.

People are hungry. Starving. Suffering.

Masses are lonely. Hurt. Rejected.

I, myself, have experienced extreme trauma—(like many of you, I’m sure).
I know darkness. I am well acquainted with the depths of despair.

But women like my Grandmother did too.
Her college roommate was killed in a car wreck.
She lost her parents.
She buried her husband.
My Grandmother breathed in the stench of pain and suffering.

But- she chose to live differently than the pain and suffering around her. She chose to live a life that called forth the Kingdom of Heaven here and now. A life that breathed back out—hope and love.

My Grandmother lived redemption.

And today—as we celebrate her and say goodbye… we watch as her life is offered before God.

What an offering!

Some may give money. Some may give time.

This woman’s whole entire life was a beautiful offering to God—a life lived in a way that called forth life from the ashes.

I want to do the same.
And I call all of you to do the same too.

Live redemption.
Call forth restoration for the destruction here and now.
Become the Kingdom of Heaven.
Let your arms become the arms of God for the world.
Breathe out hope.

The same arms that hold Ruth Jacobs—are the arms you can become.
For God needs a body here on earth—and you can become that body.
Love the hurting.
Support the weak.
Become the answer to people’s prayers.

Follow the example of my Grandmother—
Who followed the example of her Jesus.

Become who you were created—too, just like we saw Grandma become.
So when you find yourself no longer breathing in the stench of the world’s pain—you might be able to have those who love you say your life was an offering—hope and love breathed out on the world.

I know I am who I am—tenacious and strong as I am—clinging to hope and love as I am…
Because of this woman. Her prayers—her embodiment of Christ—her presence.

And with her gone—t he world needs the rest of us to pick up that spirit- that gift- that hope… and keep on breathing restoration, redemption, and renewal.

This woman didn’t just love—she became love.

Go and do the same.
When you suck in the stench of a destroyed creation with the effects of sin burning your nostrils… breathe back out hope.

Choose to become the answers to people’s prayers.
Nothing else would honor this woman more than to continue the legacy of her life and choices.

So let’s go from this place- proud.
She got it right.
I can hear her Lord whispering “well done,” “well done.”

May we hear that same whisper on our lives.
And may we too—bring the Kingdom of Heaven here and now.



Let’s pray together—
Lord God—
In your great mercy—hear our prayers.
Be honored by the amazing life of this woman.
Breathe life, love, and hope on us—where we feel absence and despair from losing her.

We’re not afraid o admit—we so desperately need you.
Our lives are a mess. Pain is overwhelming us right now. We miss her.
Minister to us.
May someone become your body for us—here and now, to hold us in your arms and whisper love.
We need your comforting Spirit.

And Lord—as you comfort—change us. Purify us. Make us holy—able to love—able to live redemptively like my Grandmother.

May (when we take our last breath)—people know we loved you and breathed your love and hope out on the world.
May we become who we were created to be and may our lives be an offering to you—of where we restored and called for the renewal and redemption… where there was only sin’s destruction.

We ask all of this in your name.
Amen.