Honoring Our Dead

Memorial Day Sunday is a time for honoring sacrifice, especially the sacrifices that our men and women in the armed forces have made throughout our nation's history. How can we honor them adequately? My sermon considers this question.

Since just after the Civil War, Americans have set aside a day – now called Memorial Day – to honor those men and women who have given their lives in the service of our country. But even as we honor them, we seldom stop to think about just how many men and women have died. It began with the sacrifices of the American Revolution. During the 8 years and 5 months of that war that made us a free nation, almost 4500 people were killed. Losses continued through the War of 1812, the Mexican-American War, and the Civil War. Over 350,000 soldiers were killed during the Civil War on the Union side alone; and the number of Confederate casualties probably doubles that number. The Spanish-American War and two World Wars added to the total. Over 400,000 troops were killed during World War II alone. In the 70 years since the end of the last world war, we have experienced the Korean War, Vietnam, the Persian Gulf War, Iraq, and Afghanistan. Casualties in those conflicts have been fewer, but still total just over 100,000. If you total those numbers, you find that since our nation was established, the total number of men and women who have been killed in battle is more than one million.

That kind of number boggles the mind. Over one million casualties of war in the past 239 years! How can we honor a sacrifice that great? What can we possibly do in honor of all those brave men and women? Of course, on Memorial Day we do all kinds of things. We organize parades in our local communities. We hold religious services in our cemeteries, and place small American flags on the graves of military veterans. We even set the day aside as a day of rest, a secular Sabbath when we remember their honor and bravery. But on I often wonder… What if all these dead could speak to us? What would they say about the way we remember them? How would they want us to honor their sacrifices?

Back in 1915, in the middle of the First World War, a poem imagined that the dead did just that. In Flanders Fields speaks for the casualties of that war. It begins like this:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

between the crosses, row on row

that mark our place; and in the sky

the larks, still bravely singing, fly

scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago

we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

loved and were loved; and now we lie

in Flanders fields.

After that introduction, the dead issue a challenge to those who remain in this life:

Take up our quarrel with the foe!
To you from failing hands we throw
 the torch; be yours to hold it high.
 If ye break faith with us who die
we shall not sleep, though poppies grow
in Flanders fields.

“Take up our quarrel with the foe.” If we can believe this poem, that’s what our men and women who have been killed in battle ask of us – to continue the fight on their behalf. No one wants to make a sacrifice in vain; and so, to continue the struggle towards the goals for which they fought is only appropriate! But it begs the question: what are those goals? What were our dead fighting for, anyway?

In its day, World War I had a nickname: “the war to end all wars.” When that war was fought, people sincerely believed that defeating the militarism of Germany would end wars once and for all. That’s why the dead in Flanders fields sacrificed their lives. They hoped that by giving their lives, their children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren wouldn’t have to give theirs. Today, it’s easy to scoff at that kind of innocence. We know all too well that ending war once and for all is a dream that will never be realized – at least, not in this world. But in the end, isn’t that always what our men and women in uniform are fighting for? In an ironic way, we wage war in the service of peace. When we take up arms, it’s often because someone, somewhere, is oppressed and abused; and we want those people to enjoy the freedoms that we believe God intended for every single human being. Now, we can disagree about how much diplomacy to use before we use military force; and that’s an appropriate conversation to have. But very few of us would say that war is never necessary. Sometimes it is.

The prophet Micah offers us a vision of the day when war will be no more. On that day, the nations may still disagree, but God, not opposing armies, will settle their disputes. We won’t need any more tanks or destroyers or bombs. In Micah’s vision, we’ll turn our swords into blades for a plough, and we’ll transform our spears into shears for the garden. Everyone will have enough – enough food, enough clothing, enough shelter – and no one will have to be afraid of anything! Of course, it’s not a reality yet. Our men and women in uniform are still stationed around the world so that they can respond at a moment’s notice to a threat to our own country or to one of its allies. But war isn’t our goal. The peace imagined in Micah’s vision is our goal. And the brave men and women that we honor today sacrificed their lives to make that vision a reality.

Listen to the close of the poem In Flanders Fields one more time.

If ye break faith with us who die
we shall not sleep, though poppies grow
in Flanders fields.

Sleep well, brave soldiers. We will honor you by continuing to pursue the goal of peace for which you sacrificed everything. We pray that one day, war will end, and Micah’s vision will be a reality. Sleep well, all of you who died in battle on our behalf. We will never forget.

Note: The poem "In Flanders Fields" was written by Lt. Col. John McCrae in 1915.

 

Good Housekeeping

What do you think of when you hear the words "spiritual sacrifices"? Do you think of great sacrifices made by the saints of old? Maybe for us, spiritual sacrifices look quite ordinary! In this sermon, I consider the everyday work of the church as spiritual sacrifices.

It is always gratifying to receive a compliment. After all, we all like to hear that we are doing something well! This letter from Peter contains all kinds of positive statements about the Christian community to whom it was sent. They are called a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation. They are God’s own people, and they personally belong to God himself. You can’t get a higher compliment than that! And, although we are living nearly 2,000 years later than this early Christian community, that compliment applies to us, too. We are God’s holy people, no less than these first Christians to whom this letter is addressed. But we can’t rest on our laurels, sitting back and relaxing in the glow of being God’s people. This letter reminds us that we have responsibilities that go along with our status. As we live into our calling as a royal priesthood, we are supposed to be offering “spiritual sacrifices” to God. And we’re a new kind of priest; the old priesthood is gone forever. They’re the ones who killed bulls to offer on the Temple altar in an effort to please God. Well, they’re all are out of a job! The kind of sacrifices that God really wants, says this letter, are spiritual sacrifices.

I don’t know what image comes to mind when you hear the phrase “spiritual sacrifices,” but I think of some of our spiritual ancestors. I think, for example, of spiritual giants like Julian of Norwich, who lived in the early 14^th century. After experiencing visions of God as a young adult, she spent the rest of her life as a hermit, living in a solitary room attached to the church in Norwich, England. She wrote about her visions and what they had taught her about God in a book that survives to this day. So, are we supposed to be like that? Does God expect us to behave like the saints of old did? Should we all run out and get a subscription to Sainthood Today? I don’t think so. After all, this letter isn’t addressed to a group of spiritual giants, but to a community who are very much like we are. If you read the rest of the letter, most of the advice in it is very ordinary. “Be shepherds of the flock that is under your care,” it advises the congregational leaders. “Be an example to them.” (I Peter 5:1-3) “Love each other, and offer hospitality to one another; and use whatever gift you have to serve others.” (I Peter 4:8-10) That’s advice that applies to anyone, not just to spiritual giants who see visions of God!

So, what kind of “spiritual sacrifices” should we be offering to God as a “royal priesthood”? Maybe the sacrifices that this letter is talking about are really very ordinary ones. Maybe these sacrifices are the ones that all of us make when we’re members of a household. After all, our congregation is like a household in several ways. We take care of one another, we keep our house clean, we welcome guests, and we pay bills. Maybe instead of taking out a subscription to Sainthood Today, what we Christians should be reading is Good Housekeeping! Being a part of a household does require sacrifices. After all, a lot of work goes into maintaining a household. We mow the grass, and in a few days, we have to mow it again. After the family eats dinner, they get hungry again. After we mop and dust and vacuum, the house gets dirty again. And every month, we have to pay the bills for heating and cooling the house, running the water, and being able to turn on the lights. Even though we’d like to sit in the recliner and watch ESPN all day on the TV, that’s not possible if we have a household to run!

And all these activities require sacrifices of time, talents, and finances. We sacrifice to keep our own households in order; and we have to sacrifice to keep the church in good order. But it all works out. The members of our congregation have a variety of gifts and talents that they can use for the good of the entire church. Some of us are able to do the physical work of maintenance. Those folks can cut the grass, plant the flowers, and trim the trees. They help us keep our house clean and attractive. Others of us are good cooks. They help to feed the family. Does anyone want to skip all the wonderful dinners that we have here? There’s a reason why our Facebook page has a picture of a plate of food right at the top of it! Still others are organizers. These folks make sure that things get done. They organize the dinners and the clean-up days and the mission activities. When one of them says, “Oh, I don’t do much,” don’t you believe it! And all of us can share our material gifts. Putting a check in the offering plate may seem to be routine, but it’s very important when the electric bill is due. While some of us are able to give more than others, it’s up to all of us to share something.

Now, you might wonder why I’m calling all these activities “spiritual sacrifices.” After all, people who aren’t spiritual do them every day as they maintain their own households. They seem to be very unspiritual kinds of activities! But we do them because we want to be faithful to the mission and ministry of the Church. We need a place to gather as we listen for God’s word, and we need a place to care for one another. We need a place where we can welcome others into our midst. We need a physical place to do the things that physical creatures do. And because we do them in the name of Jesus Christ, they become spiritual sacrifices of the very best kind! They may be routine and unspectacular, but they are a response to our call as members of the Body of Christ.

So let’s not worry about whether or not our spiritual sacrifices are as spectacular as those of bygone years. We are God’s royal priests not by seeing visions or living as hermits. We are a royal priesthood because we take care of this little corner of the Church the very best that we can in service to Jesus Christ, using the gifts and talents that God gave us. There is no saint who ever did anything more important than that!

Like a Mother in Israel

Having biological children is the least of what makes a woman a mother! This Mother's Day sermon uses the Old Testament judge Deborah as a model for what it means to be a mother. I hope that you've had many mothers like Deborah in your life!

What do you think of when you hear the word “mother”? It’s a good question to ask yourself on this Mother’s Day. What image does the word “mother” conjure up?

I’m sure that some of you think of a mother like June Cleaver. (She was the mother on the 1950’s TV show Leave It to Beaver, for those of you who may not be old enough to remember it.) Despite raising two active boys, June always wore a fashionable dress accented with a pearl necklace. She was never tired or cranky; she always had a hot meal ready at the end of the day; and she always saw right through the flattery of teenager Eddie Haskall. If you don’t remember June Cleaver, you might remember Carol Brady of The Brady Bunch or Olivia Walton, the mother of the clan on The Waltons. They were all women who fit this traditional image of a mother.

But if we turn to the book of Judges, we will find another kind of mother. Her name is Deborah; and she is more comfortable in army fatigues than in a pearl necklace. In fact, she led the Israelite army into battle! And she was a mother? Yes, indeed – the text calls her a mother. But she is a very different kind of mother than June Cleaver. Let’s take a look at Judges 4-5 and meet Deborah up close and personal.

We first see her sitting under a palm tree. She sits there so often, in fact, that the tree is named for her: “Deborah’s palm.” When we meet her, she appears to be a judge in the traditional sense of the word. The text tells us that “the Israelites came up to her for judgment.” But just one verse later, she trades her judge’s robe and gavel for a helmet and bayonet. She calls a man named Barak and gives him instructions from God. He is to go to war, war against Sisera, the general of King Jabin’s army – the same King Jabin who has been oppressing Israel for 20 years. She even instructs him in the military tactics that he should use. Sisera will be lured into an ambush by the Wadi Kishon where Barak and his troops will be victorious over them! After reassuring Barak that she will go along as God’s representative, he does indeed go to war. The result is a complete victory for the Israelites! “All the army of Sisera fell by the sword,” says the text. “Not one was left.”

Deborah certainly doesn’t fit the traditional image of a mother, does she? We think of mothers as “sugar and spice and everything nice.” But they aren’t always, not according to the epic poem in chapter 5 of Judges. That poem calls Deborah “a mother in Israel.” And it’s not because she had children of her own. She had a husband named Lappidoth; but Judges never mentions that Deborah had any children at all. So how can Judges call her a mother? Deborah was a mother not to her biological children, but to a whole country. She cared for Israel the way that the best mothers care for their children. She watched out for them. She helpd its people get along peacefully. And when they were threatened with harm, she led them into war. What was the image that Sarah Palin used during her vice-presidential campaign? She acted like a mother grizzly bear! Yes, that was Deborah, all right!

Not all mothers have children. Deborah is the model for women like that – women who become mothers to more than just their immediate families. Down through history, women have embraced whole groups of people who are in need, and have intervened on their behalf.

Sometimes women have worked quietly behind the scenes. That was what Clara Barton did. She mothered wounded soldiers during the American Civil War, distributing provisions, cleaning field hospitals, applying dressings, and serving food to wounded soldiers on the front lines. Her life was frequently in danger. On one occasion, a bullet tore through the sleeve of her dress and killed a man to whom she was tending. Not content with working only with the wounded of the Civil War, she founded the American Red Cross which responds quickly to humanitarian crises around the world.

Other women have used the political process to further the cause of those they cared about. Susan B. Anthony comes to mind. She worked tirelessly for the rights of women, especially the right to vote. With her good friend and co-worker Elizabeth Cady Stanton, she founded the American Equal Rights Association and the National Woman Suffrage Association. In 1878, she introduced the Anthony Amendment into Congress, which, if ratified, would have granted women the right to vote. In 1920, it became the Nineteenth Amendment to the Constitution.

And some women, like Deborah, have even gone to war to protect their people. Joan of Arc is probably the most famous example. She lived in France during the 1400’s. After seeing visions telling her to free France from English domination, she went into battle with the French. You all know the consequences. She was captured and burned at the stake as a traitor and heretic by the English.

None of these women were married. None had biological children. Their children were the people they loved and worked to protect. And isn’t that what a mother is called to do? They are mothers in the fullest sense of the word!

Now, we all have biological mothers. Some of them are still living, while others have gone ahead of us into glory. And I’m willing to bet that all of us had mothers like Deborah, too. Oh, they may not have worn armor and gone into battle! But they stood by us and helped us and believed in us when we didn’t even believe in ourselves. They are our mothers, too. Who are your mothers?

Maybe one of your mothers was a teacher who encouraged you to reach for the stars. She gave you extra help after school, suggested activities that you might be interested in, and told you over and over how much potential you had. Oh, yes, she was a mother to you.

Or maybe you had a Den Mother or a Girl Scout leader. She took your scout troop on camping trips; and while the hobo stew was simmering over the campfire, she taught you to sing “Kumbaya” and “Home on the Range.” She wasn’t paid to do that. She did it because she cared about you.

And there are millions of other women all around the world who act as mothers even though they may not have any children of their own. They are camp counselors and Sunday school teachers, tutors and social workers, mentors and advisers. One of them might be your next-door neighbor.

One of them might even be you!

They come in all shapes and sizes, all colors and religions, all countries and all social groups. But they share one thing in common: all of them are blessings sent from God. Like Deborah, they act on God’s behalf, ministering to those who are in need all around the world. Those needs are many. Men are thrown into prison every day simply because of their political opinions. Women are denied proper medical care because they are considered to be second class citizens. Boys are forced to work in sweatshops of the Far East for pennies a day. Girls are sold to be unwilling wives, prostitutes, or even slaves. And wherever there are needs like these, brave women will become mothers, working on behalf of others with courage and love. So on this Mother’s Day, let’s not limit our thanks to only our biological mothers. Let’s honor brave women everywhere who rise up like Deborah, a mother in Israel, and become mothers to all those they hold in their hearts!

 

What Now?

We've all had days when we felt that we didn't know how to move forward. The disciples probably felt like that, too, especially if John chapter 21 can be believed. How could they move forward when Jesus was gone? My sermon considers just that situation.

“What now?” That’s the feeling we get when life has permanently changed, and we’re just not sure what to do next. We get a taste of it every year on the morning after Christmas. When we wake up on December 26, something is missing. On the radio, Christmas carols have been replaced by pop music; the gifts that were so carefully wrapped yesterday are scattered across the living room floor; and the holiday magic that we have lived with since Thanksgiving has vanished like so much melting snow. “So, what now?” Sure, we’ve all felt like that.

Jesus’ disciples felt it, too – and in their case, it wasn’t just because the thrill of Christmas was over for another year! For the disciples in the 21^st chapter of the gospel of John, their entire last week had been absolutely overwhelming. On Sunday, they had watched Jesus ride into Jerusalem while the crowds acclaimed him king. On Thursday, they had shared the intimacy of a special evening meal. And then, in the span of just 24 hours, they had witnessed the unexpected betrayal of their master in Gethsemane, his arrest, a mob screaming for his death, and finally, his bloody execution. The disciples must have been numb with shock and grief. On top of that emotional overload, they had heard news of an empty tomb, and had experienced resurrection appearances that had to be seen to be believed. Is it any wonder that the disciples needed some time and space to process what had happened?

After experiencing an emotional roller-coaster, people seek comfort in all kinds of familiar activities. Some disappear to a mountaintop cabin where they can be soothed by the wind murmuring through the trees. Others lose themselves in television, reach for a big bag of chocolate, or spend long hours wandering the stores in the local mall. And many people seek the security of their job, whatever it is. Going to work is, after all, familiar territory. “What now?” Why, we go to work to do what we’ve always done! That must have been why, after Jesus’ resurrection appearances, Peter abruptly announced, “I’m going fishing!” and why several of the other disciples went right along with him. In the middle of world-altering events, Peter’s old job offered him comfort and security. Everything else in his life may have been topsy-turvy, but fishing was something in Peter’s life that hadn’t changed a bit.

But as Peter found out, the ordinary and routine in his life wasn’t ordinary and routine any longer. After a long night of unproductive labor in the boat, the disciples caught a glimpse of somebody on the beach. In the thin light of dawn, they couldn’t quite make out who it was. They heard him well enough, though, when he called out, “You don’t have any fish, do you?” No, that was true enough. They hadn’t caught as much as a sardine. “Why don’t you try the other side of the boat?” the man on the beach suggested. It sounded like something that Jesus would have said. When the disciples followed his suggestion and caught so many fish that the nets threatened to break, they realized that it was Jesus. Even in the middle of an ordinary day of fishing, Jesus was there.

Well, that was an awkward situation. Do you remember the last time that Peter had a private word with Jesus? It was on Maundy Thursday, the night that Jesus predicted that Peter would deny him, and Peter, for his part, insisted that pigs would fly before he ever denied his master. Peter, of course, did deny Jesus. And now, here he was, standing on the beach not 100 yards away from Peter – who wasn’t exactly dressed for the occasion. The gospel is very clear that Peter was as naked as the day he was born. Maybe it would be better to say that he was as naked as the day he was reborn. Peter, who had every reason to be ashamed of his own behavior, might have rowed with all his might in the opposite direction. It would have been easier to run away from the one he had denied. Instead, Peter was so eager to get to Jesus that he threw on some clothes and jumped into the ocean. By the time that the other disciples had reached the beach in the boat, dragging their net full of fish behind them, Peter was already there.

Don’t you wish we knew what Jesus said to Peter during that encounter on the beach? Did he scold Peter for his behavior? Did Jesus demand an apology from him? Maybe Jesus embraced Peter, and welcomed him like the prodigal son. We’ll never know exactly what happened between Jesus and Peter on the beach that morning. But we do know that by the time the other disciples arrived at the beach, Jesus had a meal ready for them – bread and fish cooking over a charcoal fire. Jesus invited them to join him for breakfast as casually as though he were hosting a tailgate party before a noon kickoff. It’s a funny thing about that charcoal fire. The last time that we saw one of those fires in John’s gospel, it was in the courtyard of the high priest, and Peter was denying Jesus next to its warmth. The disciple who had denied Jesus in the light of a charcoal fire being fed with a breakfast that Jesus had cooked over one! That’s an unexpected turn of events, and more than a little ironic!

Perhaps the biggest irony is that these disciples who wanted nothing more than to get away and think through what had happened to them ended up being fed by the very one who was the cause of their emotional roller-coaster in the first place! Jesus welcomed them, filled them with the food that they needed to survive, and nudged them back into the community that they thought they had left behind. I don’t know about you, but I hear Psalm 139 whispering in my ear: “Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there. If I make my bed in the depths of the underworld, you are there. If I take the wings of the morning and fly to the farthest reaches of the sea, even there your hand will guide me and your right hand will hold me secure”

We all feel like the disciples from time to time. We all ask “What now?” every now and then. Some folks, I imagine, are asking it right now. Some of us are asking “What now?” because the great celebration of Easter is behind us for another year. We’ve been to church on Palm Sunday and Easter – and maybe even on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday – and now that Holy Week is over, the same old worship routine seems almost boring. “Can’t we just skip it until next year; or at least until Christmas? What do I do now that Easter is over?” Others are asking “What now?” because their life has changed somehow. Maybe chronic health issues – their own or that of a loved one – have meant that life isn’t the same any more, and will never be the same again. “What now?” means learning to live in a way that is very different than it was yesterday. Still others are asking “What now?” because they have been bereaved. A loved one has died; and they are dealing with grief on a day to day basis. “What now?” is a question that they face as they adjust to a life with a big, empty hole right in the middle of it.

“What now?” Well, that answer will be different for each one of us. If you’re asking it now – and I know that some of you are – here is what I hope you remember from this sermon. First, it’s OK to get away to think things through. The disciples needed to process what happened to them; and sometimes we need to do that, too. Getting away can help us to pray and meditate without our usual distractions. Read the gospel of Luke sometime and take note of how many times Jesus went off by himself to pray! If Jesus did it, we certainly can do it, too! But don’t ever believe that by getting away from things, we somehow leave Jesus behind. Jesus is always standing right next to us, offering us what we most need to cope with whatever life is throwing at us. Just as the disciples met Jesus on the beach that morning, we meet him, too, in the most unlikely places and at the most unlikely times. Finally, don’t stay away too long. Sure, we all need to get away now and then; but it’s also good to come back into our community of faith. While Jesus meets us on the deserted beaches of our lives, he also meets us in the love and support of other people. Come back real soon! In the words of one commercial, “We’ll leave the light on for you.”

“What now?” I can’t answer that question for you. But I can tell you who will be right next to you helping you answer it. It’s the one who stood on the beach waiting for the disciples, and the one who waits for us today. It’s the one who fed them bread and fish, and the one who still feeds us today. It’s the one who has always been and will always be the answer to the question: “What now?”