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Shepherd of the Mountains Lutheran Church, ELCA |
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Pastor Dan Mangler's Sunday Sermon |
"Cemetery" GraduatesLuke 7: 11-17 |
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| June 10, 2007 |
The thought of becoming a pastor was suggested to me by a lady in our church in California when I was a young boy about seven years old. So I asked my parents, "What do you have to do to become a pastor?" They answered, "You have to go to seminary." And, in fact, there was a Lutheran seminary (PLTS) not far from where we lived and they said that if I wanted we could go there sometime to visit.
Earlier that summer, while visiting my aunts and uncles and grandparents on my mother's side in Michigan, we had gone to see the grave of my Dad's mother, my paternal grandmother. That was my first visit to a cemetery. Well, to a seven-year-old (and to some much older), seminary and cemetery sound a lot alike. And so when I heard that one had to go to a seminary to become a pastor I had this strange mental picture of a lot of young men (it was only men then who could be ordained ) of a lot of young men sitting around tombstones reading the Bible and discussing theology. It seemed to me strange that one would have to graduate from a "cemetery" to become a pastor. But, in due course and after some time, in May of 1973 I became a "cemetary" graduate and was ordained into the Gospel ministry the next month.
Well, you know that pastors don't graduate from cemeteries; pastors graduate from seminaries. But a case can be made that Jesus calls all Christians to be graduates of cemeteries. To be a Christian is to be called out of death to life. And that makes Christians a cemetery graduates.
The great protestant preacher Peter Marshal said “Jesus broke up every funeral he ever attended.” The Gospels give us three cases of literal cemetery graduations (four if you count Jesus). There are three occasions in which individuals were dead and Jesus came and brought them back to life. There is the daughter of Jairus in Luke 8; there is Lazarus, the brother of Mary and Martha, in John 11; and there is the son of the widow of Nain in the gospel reading this morning from Luke 7.
In today’s reading two groups approached the gate of the city: Jesus and the crowd that followed him; and the funeral procession headed by the widow of Nain and the stretcher carrying her dead son. Courtesy in that time demanded that Jesus and his followers yield to the funeral procession. But Jesus would not yield to death. This time death would not have the final word. Luke tells us: “When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, ‘Do not weep. Then he came forward and touched the bier, and the bearers stood still. And he said, “Young man, I say to you, arise!” The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother.”
It is not always easy to preach on these miracles because these seem to be the exceptions rather than the rule. The only reason that this widow was spared her grief is because Jesus happened by, saw her sorrow, and had compassion on her. What does one say to today's mother who, amidst great sorrow and grief, tearfully accompanies the casket of her son to Estes Valley Memorial Gardens? Where is Jesus when she needs him? Or the countless others who accompany deceased loved ones to the cemetery? This miracle seems to be hollow to those whose grief has not been spared.
But if that is the case then we have mistaken who we are in this story if we are seeking the same miracle. We are not the widow whose grief is spared because her dead son is given new life. We, rather, are the dead son who is given new life. If we are seeking Jesus to repeat this miracle it is not for a dead loved one to be brought back to life. But rather we are the widow's son who was dead and is now alive. We are the ones whom Jesus has plucked from death and given new life. We are cemetery graduates.
Paul Tillich refers in his book The Shaking of the Foundations to a story told at the Nuremberg war-crimes trials. A witness appeared who had lived for a time in a cemetery in Wilna, Poland, with other escapees from the gas chambers. This witness wrote poems, one of which was about a young woman who had given birth in a grave assisted by an 80-year-old gravedigger. Wrapped in a linen shroud and hearing the first cry of this baby the old man prayed, "Great God, hast thou finally sent the Messiah to us? For who else than the Messiah Himself can be born in a grave?" Can you picture that scene? Surrounded by the dead and into the environment of death a new life began.
Christian faith began in a cemetery. Christianity began when Mary came to anoint the body of Jesus and, instead, encountered the resurrected Lord Jesus. The Christian faith began when life intruded on death.
The Christian faith continues to begin in the grave. In a sense that is where all Christians begin in faith. Paul writes in Romans 6:4; "We were buried therefore with (Christ) by baptism into death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life." Baptism, everyone's entrance into the Christian faith, is a dying and rising; life intruding on death.
But in another sense death is where Christianity is most lively. Jesus is the most active when he encounters death. Nothing moves Jesus more deeply than death. And it is there that he does his best work.
You live with and experience death every day. Sorrow, disappointment, worry, hurt, and failure are all kinds of little deaths. Every loss you suffer is a death experience. Sorrow comes from the death or loss of a companion. Disappointment is the loss or death of a dream. Worry is the loss or death of security. Hurt is the loss or death of emotional well-being. Failure is to lose or experience the death of self-image or confidence. It is into these both small and large death experiences that Jesus walks to give life, not always by taking them away but by giving us the strength to overcome them.
For years Byron Janis, proclaimed as one of the world's great piano virtuosos, has been fighting the effects of crippling psoriatic arthritis. His struggle, though offering no easy answers, is inspiring.
He cannot make a fist. The right wrist’s motion is limited to 40%. The little finger on the left hand is numb, partially paralyzed and scarred from a childhood accident. The joints of the other nine fingers are fused. There is mobility in only one distal joint, that of the middle finger of the left hand.
"Learning to live with pain," he says, "or live with a limitation can give an intensity to life. I thought I had nothing. Now I know I have everything. I'm saying to others, 'If I can do it, so can you'""
Janis lists the various means he sought to help him, ranging from medical doctors to acupuncturists, but adds, "What helped me the most I can't explain. I developed a very personal relationship with God. I think prayer is important. I think the belief in God is healing." And then he said something wonderfully profound. He said, “I still have arthritis, but arthritis doesn't have me."
That makes Byron Janis a cemetery graduate. In the midst of great loss he has found new life, and the difference is the presence of Christ. It is possible, too, for you and me. It is to say, "I have sorrow, but sorrow does not have me." "I have disappointment but disappointment doesn't have me. I have hurt but hurt doesn't have me. I have worries, but worries don't have me. I have failed, but failure does not have me...all because Jesus has walked into my deaths and given new life, and has made me a cemetery graduate. Amen.
May the peace of God that passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. Amen.