REMEMBERING OR MORE? FATHER S DAY. A little while, and you will no longer see me, and again a little while, and you will see me.

Transcription

1 REMEMBERING OR MORE? FATHER S DAY Scripture Lessons: 1 Corinthians 3:16-17 John 14:15-20, 25-28; 16:4b-7, (06/17/12) A little while, and you will no longer see me, and again a little while, and you will see me. (John 16:16) Today, as you know, is Father s Day. It is a day to honor fathers. It is a day to give them presents like the latest Stephen Hawking book and bluegrass cds and to take them out to dinner. Fathers shouldn t have to work today. Families should let them watch the ball game and bring them a cold beer when they ring a little bell. I can read my wife s lips. That s of the advantages of having the choir facing forward; she can t say things behind my back. She just said, In your dreams! I suspect that s true. Fathers Day always falls a little short of my expectations. Perhaps this is because my expectations have little or nothing to do with the true meaning of Father s Day. This past week, as we approached Father s Day, I found myself thinking of my father. I found myself thinking of him in relation to the theme we have been exploring in our Sunday morning adult Bible study of the Gospel of John and our post-easter reflections in worship: the disciples experiences of Jesus after his resurrection, the ways that Jesus continued to live on after his death and resurrection not only in the disciples memories but as a real and living presence to them, albeit in a different form. One of the parts of the Easter story that I find both puzzling and fascinating is the passage in the Gospel of John that describes Mary Magdalene s experience of the risen Christ by the tomb on the first day of the week following his death. What I find interesting in this exchange is Jesus request that Mary not cling to him. I think Jesus is telling Mary that she should not try to hold onto him in his human form. Jesus human form is dead; it has dissolved. If she tries to cling to this form, if she is attached to it, she will not only experience the suffering of unbearable grief, she will miss the point of his dying. As we heard this morning, in the passage from the 16 th chapter of John, Jesus tells his disciples that it is to their advantage that he die. How could this be to their advantage? I m sure it didn t feel that way to his disciples. However, I believe that if Jesus postponed his death by 1

2 leaving Jerusalem and avoiding the showdown with the religious and secular authorities, the disciples would continue to have him in his human form, but they would not discover or experience him in a new way, as the risen Christ, as the Holy Spirit within them, a presence from which they could never be separated. I believe that Jesus dialogue with his disciples about the spiritual benefits of his death and his admonition to Mary beside the tomb call us to consider the deeper meaning of death. From a physical perspective, death appears to be the end, the cessation of the human form. From a spiritual perspective, however, Jesus tells us that death is an agent of transformation. It leads to resurrection, to rebirth, to incarnation in a new and different form. The Law of the Conservation of Matter and Energy, articulated by Albert Einstein in 19087, tells us that nothing is ever lost to the universe; it is only changed in form. This was true of Jesus. I believe it is also true of our loved ones. In my sermons, I try to use a passage of scripture to help us understand God and ourselves more fully, to help us relate to God and ourselves on a deeper level. As I write the sermon, I often think of one or two members of this congregation who would benefit from grasping the deeper meaning of that passage. I have to admit I am a little disappointed when I step into the pulpit on Sunday only to find that the persons I had in mind are not present. I hope they will eventually read the printed version of the sermon and realize it is speaking to them. This past week, perhaps because of the memorial service we held for Barbara Masterman, I found myself reflecting on how many of us in this congregation have lost loved ones. So I hope these passages of scripture might speak a word of hope to many of us if not all of us, for sooner or later everyone s life will be touched by loss. We all know how important it is to let go of our loved ones when it is no longer possible for them to remain with us in human form and when, in fact, it might be quite painful for them to do so. We know how important this is, even in relation to a beloved pet, but this does not mean it is easy for us to let go. There is a natural tendency to cling, to hold on, especially when our attachment to the other is the attachment of love. However, our scripture lessons this morning suggest that if we see more deeply, we might discover a totally unexpected source of comfort. We might come to realize that, like Mary and the disciples with Jesus, we can rediscover our loved ones who have passed away in a new and 2

3 different form. We might come to realize that, like Mary and the disciples with Jesus, our loved ones live on in more than just our memories. This morning I would like to share an experience that I m sure I have shared before, an experience that led me to this conclusion, an experience I had approximately six years after my father s death. My father and I were very close not only when I was a child but throughout most of my adult life. My father s core values, the values out of which he lived his life were (1) religious faith; (2) family; (3) work; (4) life-long learning; and (5) athletics. Like father, like son (at least in some cases). Here I am a Christian or Christian/Buddhist minister with a wonderful family, someone who not only loves his work but loves to work, a life-long learner who played baseball and lacrosse at the college level and who holds a black belt in karate. You can see why my dad and I were so close and why we enjoyed each other s company. My dad lived in a relatively small world. He never finished high school. Other than his service in the Navy during WWII and the year our family lived in California, he did not travel. He never read the books or had many of the experiences I had, experiences like living in Germany, studying in Switzerland, and traveling around Europe with my family, experiences that he helped to make possible in many different ways. My dad loved to have me tell him about things I experienced or learned. In a sense, he saw parts of the world that he could not experience through my eyes. It wasn t that he was living his life vicariously through me. In his small world, he had a rich and fulfilling life. This was possible because he was an introvert and because he had a deep spirituality. He just liked to hear about what Darlene, the children, and I were doing. When Darlene would tell him about a little child who had recently come to this country and who felt alienated and confused because she didn t know a word of English, my father would tear up. He had an amazing amount of empathy. It was like he was really there with and for that little child. In 1999, Corey and I embarked upon a trekking pilgrimage through Nepal and Tibet. The first week we trekked in an area that our Sherpa guide referred to as the foothills of the Himalayas. To a sedentary middle-aged minister-psychologist who was not in great physical condition, any trail that takes you up over 18,000 feet should not be described as a stroll through the foothills. It was a difficult trek, especially since I was sick for the entire trip. But that isn t the point. The point is that while I was there I thought about my dad, who had died six years 3

4 earlier. I wished I could have shared this experience with him. Since it would have been impossible for him to do this trek with us, I wished I could have told him what I experienced when I returned. As Corey and I walked along the trail with our little trekking group, groups of little children from remote mountainside villages would run to greet us. Make no mistake; these children were poor. Their families eked out a meager existence growing barley and raising animals in very rugged terrain. Having already been exposed to beggars who were living under truly heartbreaking conditions in India and Nepal, we were prepared for the children s pleas. It was obvious that they had been waiting for us and for the opportunity to implore us to share what we had with them. And indeed they did. Now you might think, as I did, that these children would beg for money. Pocket change for us was a year s income to them, for they had little opportunity to obtain the currency that would allow them to buy the things like clothes and shoes that they couldn t make. You would think they would beg for money. But they didn t. So what did they ask for? Their supplication was at first puzzling, then deeply touching. These little children ran toward us at full speed along the narrow mountain pass and importuned us to give them a pencil, a pen, and some paper. They didn t know many words in English, but they did know how to say, Got paper? Got pen? They also knew how to say please and thank you. It took me a couple of minutes to realize that these little children, who had no schooling or very limited schooling, were begging, not for material possessions, but for a pen or pencil and some paper on which they could write, on which they could draw. I was dumbfounded and overwhelmed with emotion. The most important thing in these children s lives was not food for their stomachs and warm clothes for their backs, but the opportunity to learn. They wanted an education. The drive for creativity within them was stronger than any other drive. When Corey and I would stop and write out the English alphabet for them, giving them the pen and paper so they could practice later on their own, they were absolutely thrilled. Their dirty little faces were absolutely beaming. Corey and I walked away realizing how much we take for granted. 4

5 After one of these encounters, as we continued along the trail I thought about how much I would have liked to share this experience with my dad. He would have loved to hear it. He would have cried, just as I would have cried in telling it. I wanted him to be able to experience this through my eyes, through my experience. But I couldn t. He had died six years earlier. Then all of a sudden I started to cry. I must have cried for two straight hours. I have never cried so much or so deeply in my life. At first I thought it was an expression of my grief because I had not cried at the time of my dad s death or even when I did his memorial service. I got choked up, but I didn t cry. All of a sudden I realized it wasn t grief I was feeling and expressing; it was joy. I realized my dad was actually seeing and experiencing the encounters with these little Nepalese children through me. I was serving as his eyes after his death just as I had before his death. I suddenly realized that he was actually on the trail with me, that he was actually within me, not just as a memory but also as a presence, and that everything I saw and experienced was seen and experienced by him. This is why I am not sad about my father s death. There are times when I think of him and miss him. I miss our conversations. I miss his droll sense of humor. But I don t miss sharing my life experiences with him because I do it every day. I know he is living right now through me. Now you may think that this way of thinking is nothing more than a defense mechanism against the pain of grief and loss, a psychotic defense against the terrifying reality of death. You might be right, but you might not be. I don t have the feeling that I have all this pain stored up inside me and that this is a way of protecting myself against it. I am also not particularly afraid of death. I have a feeling that this is what is actually happening. I think this is what Jesus meant when he told Mary and the disciples that soon he would no longer be with them but then he would once again be with them. What we are talking about here is incarnation. I don t know where my dad is right now. I don t know where we go after we die or even if the word where makes any sense. I am pretty sure that he does not have a body, since that was cremated. So my dad lives on, is incarnated or embodied in me. 5

6 I wonder if this is what God s incarnation in Jesus was all about. I don t know where or in what form God is, or even if the words where and form make any sense. If God is spirit, as Jesus told us, then I have a hunch that God doesn t have a body. So creation is God s body. God sees, hears, feels, and experiences through us, through all sentient beings. This is why all sentient beings are holy, a spark of the divine, a unique and sacred incarnation of the Spirit of God. If this is true, and I think it is, then we are all incarnations of God. We are not only God s hands, the means through which God brings healing to the world; we are also God s eyes and ears. What we feel goes straight from our hearts to God. Think about it. This is part of why God became incarnated in Jesus of Nazareth. In Jesus, God learned what it feels like to suffer. He also learned what it feels like to love. This means that we are all incarnations of that Great Spirit in the world of space and time, whether we are white or black, homosexual or heterosexual, animal or human. If we could see each other as incarnations of God, we might be more disturbed by all the suffering in the world. It might bother us that children in sub-saharan Africa are dying of starvation or that Native Americans on a bleak and impoverished piece of land called a reservation suffer from the highest rate of poverty, alcoholism, school dropout, teenage pregnancy, and unemployment of any ethnic or racial group in America. It might bother us when people suffer from prejudice or discrimination. Remember, when we do it to one of the least of these, we do it to God. Think about the implications of the post-resurrection experiences in terms of incarnation. Think of yourself as an incarnation of God and see how this will change your feelings about yourself. Consider the possibility that God is living in our world of space and time through you, that God not only sees what you see, everything you think and feel registers with God. This is why it is not a good idea to indulge in anger, in selfishness, to harbor a cold and unfeeling heart. Finally, think of your loved ones who have passed on to the other side. It is true that you have lost them in one form, a human form, just as Mary and the disciples lost Jesus. If you open your eyes and your heart, however, you may not only discover them in new and different ways in the world; you may experience them living in the world through you, delighting in your experiences, continuing to share in your life. 6

7 So today, on Father s Day, let us not only remember our fathers and loved ones who have passed on. Let us try to open our eyes, our ears, and our hearts that we might experience them in our midst, just as Mary and the disciples did with Jesus. Then I think we will truly grasp the dissolution of the categories of life and death that Jesus came to teach and to embody, the sense of presence that comes with the realization that we are all contained within the Great Unity of God, the sense of presence that is the greatest comfort of all. A sermon preached by the Reverend Paul D. Sanderson The First Community Church of Southborough June 17,