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.
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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.
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