Sermon for the Funeral of Edith Smeltzer

Preached at Canadochly on November 7, 2018
Preaching text: Ephesians 6:1-9, Revelation 7:9-17

We talk about God as a mystery, that there are always things unknown about his nature. This means that as we learn more and more of this mystery, our faith, our religions evolve. New ideas are introduced. Old ones fade away.

Why do I mention this today? Because there was once a time when the worshipers of God did not believe in a life after death. They did not know this was a gift that God was eager and willing to offer, a gift he was planning to give via the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. The ancients believed instead that the best blessings God could give were a long life and many many children and grandchildren.

Well, the ancients may have been somewhat short-sighted, but they weren’t wrong. Many years of life and a prosperous and numerous family are still blessings in these days. And they were gifts granted to Edith in abundance.

That will likely always be my memory of her. I visited her at home numerous times throughout my service as her pastor, bringing conversation and communion to her after she could not come to church on her own. Which, I should add, she did well into her 90s. Anyway, I would come into her bedroom, there at the front of her house, and the whole right-side wall was covered in photographs: wedding pictures, graduation pictures, family portraits, school photos. You name it, it was up there and it all her children and their children and their children. I’d look at those photos every time I was there. We’d often talk about them, about the people in them and the things they’d accomplish in life. Edith was proud of her family.

And I also know her family was proud of her.

When Gene called me about planning this service, he selected a passage from Ephesians that highlighted the loyalty he and his family showed to Edith and the love they had for her. I saw that first hand. Edith would always talk about the fact that pretty much every day, one of her children would stop by to see her. Sometimes, that would even happen when I was there. This was a tight knit family. A family that loved one another, who cared about and for one another. And yes, that truly is a blessing.

It occured to me when I was thinking about how the ancients thought about the blessing of family, it made me realize something. There’s a fringe benefit for God when he showers that blessing on someone, because it’s an opportunity for him to show more of his love. When we look to the future of God’s family, seen by John and recorded by him in the book of Revelation, we see that great host of people of all tribes, nations, colors, and languages. I am reminded again of Edith’s wall. Perhaps not quite so diverse or expansive as John’s vision, but her wall of photos has something in common with that vision. They are both bound by love and loyalty.

I also believe that the people on that wall are among those John saw in his vision. And that is also a blessing.

That’s, of course, because of Jesus and what he did for his family. The family of humanity, of which, of course, Edith was a part. Jesus came to this world, the Son of God incarnate, to reveal to us part of that divine mystery. To show us God’s love for humanity. And he showed that by blessing children, showing hospitality to strangers, and healing the sick. Not coincidentally, all the same things that good loving mothers and grandmothers do for their family. Things that Edith did for many in this room.

Jesus went one step further though. He loved the world so much that he gave his very life for it, dying on a cross for the sake of humanity, for the sake of Edith, for the sake of all of us. And then he rose again to show us that death would have no true hold over us, that eternity awaits those that God loves.

That’s a gift that Edith now has. Another blessing upon her many years and many children.

But that’s also not a gift that she alone receives. It’s here for everyone in this room (everyone in this world technically). I did mention on Sunday that I would bring this up, but that world beyond death belongs to all of us thanks to Jesus. And there will come a day when we will step into that world, and I can pretty much guarantee when that day happens, there’s going to be a big old family reunion for the Smeltzers and Edith will be there waiting.

Until that day, we continue our journeys in this world. We will remember Edith, celebrate our memories of her and grieve her loss. And we will look to the hope of standing before God’s throne with that great mass of people John saw in his vision. Edith will be there. So will we. And nothing would make her happier. Amen.

Funeral Sermon for David Kline

Preached at Canadochly on November 18, 2017
Scripture text: Acts 9:36-42

I’m still trying to figure out if this is going to be the easiest funeral sermon I’ve ever preached or the hardest.

Easy, because, well what more can you say about David and his life. Eulogizing one of the best people on Earth is easy, simple. He was a giant, a man of virtue, compassion, generosity, creativity, and deep faith. He was a hero of mine, simply put.

David might be a bit embarrassed to hear all these accolades, but when you live your life the way he did, you’re going to impress. He had a dream and he lived it, founding his own business. A business that brought a dying art back to life and shared with so many. This sanctuary alone is testimony to how widely it was shared. We sit on his weavings in these pews and see them on the altar behind me. I wear a stole he made. And if that wasn’t enough, go in most any ELCA church in our synod and you’ll find them there. Grace church in North York where I also serve has his work on its altar at this very moment and plenty of other places too. Of course, that’s not counting the historical sites where his work is found. Or the many films it has appeared in. You know you’ve impressed someone when Hollywood production designers say “I want David Kline’s work in my historical film.”

It never went to his head though. He was always a humble man. Deeply generous; I don’t think I ever stopped by the shop without walking out with some freebie he’d given me, probably much to the chagrin of the more business-minded in his family. He wasn’t just generous with me. All of us have experienced it and many more beyond. I remember how passionate he was when we were debating here on how we would dispense the moneys this church had come into and how David wanted it to go to help people in need here in York county and elsewhere. Justice was a huge passion of his; he wanted the world set right and a fairer shake for all people.

That’s a reflection of his faith. I shared the story of Tabitha from the book of Acts in our readings because was another like David who gave and gave for the sake of others. David got it. He understood what this God stuff is really about. It’s about God taking care of us so we can take care of others. David did that, believed that, trusted in that. There was no fear in him as death approached. He knew God would be there, because he’d always been. David’s job was not to worry about that. David knew his calling was to live for others.

And then there’s all of you which is further proof of that calling. All those who he lived for. Carole, Pat, Julie, all the grand-children, all the great grand-children, all of the friends and admirers. All of whom David loved and appreciated, respected and adored. You are a part of his legacy too, the stories you can tell of who he was to you and how his presence in your life impacted you.

You see, easy. Easy to preach. Easy to talk about. David made it easy by the man he was and the life he lived.

But then there’s this simple truth that our friend, our husband and father, this man of immense quality is gone now. Words fail to convey the emotions that unpleasant truth bring about in each of us. The world is quite dim in these times and with David’s passing it has become dimmer still. One of its brightest lights has gone out.

And that hurts. It makes me angry. It makes me sad. It makes me feel all sorts of things right now, things I am desperately trying to hold inside so I can get through this homily. Things that you’re feeling too. Things that many of you are also trying to hold inside in order to get through this funeral.

And that part isn’t so easy. That part is hard. My friend is gone and I don’t know what to feel about that.

But if David could speak right now, I am certain he would point to the central truth of his life. To God and his love, his compassion, his mercy, and his salvation. The things that sustained David in this life, and more than that, drove him to be who he was. God took care of me, he might say, he’ll take care of you too.

Remember the story of Easter and what it means. Why seek you the living among the dead? God has made Christ alive once more, the first of all of us. And while we look upon a casket and a body before us now, David is alive through Christ’s promises, through his resurrection, through his Easter.

What stands before us in this place and time is temporary. For there will come a day when God will fulfill the same promises he made to David to us as well. When we will be taken care of in the moment of our death and life will come again through the resurrection of Christ. And David will be there, with that quirky little smile on his face that always seem to have when he got one over on you. “See, told you so.” I can imagine him saying, ever so fond of correcting any of us when we got it wrong. I’ll take it so I can see my friend again. And so, I’m sure will all of you.

Hold to that hope in this hard time. David lived his life in that hope and shared that hope in so many ways. That’s his legacy too and we who honor him today can do no better than to share in it also. God is good. God is love. God is life. David knew that. So can you. Amen.

Sermon for the Funeral of Joan Dietz

Preached at Etzweiler Funeral Home on Saturday, August 26, 2017
Preaching Text: Acts 9: 36-42

I met with Jim and Jason on Thursday to discuss Joan and her life. And since I arrived here about an hour ago, I've heard even more stories. Stories of her sense of humor and, of course, a picture tells a thousand words and there are many of those gathered here as well. Pictures of vacations, birthdays, weddings, and other family events.

I have to admit thought I could have lived without seeing Jim's audition photo for the 1970s comedy "Chico and the Man." Rocking that "Disco 'do" as he was. Still, Joan would have liked a bit of playful teasing. She would have liked a bit of laughter in this midst of this moment, because that's who she was.

But the stories that have stood out the most are those of her kindness and compassion, stories of how she’d make food for people in need, of how she’d do anything for anyone who needed help. As those stories are told, we've discovered new ones; of a time when she paid the down payment on a house for a couple in need, a story unknown to her family until just a few minutes ago.

People express their faith in different ways. Each one of us here has our own personal theology and practice when it comes to what we believe. So too with Joan. She was not, as Jim reminded me, much of a church-goer. But her faith was clearly very important to her. Her church was charity. Her worship was compassion and generosity to others. Her prayer was service to people in need.

Honestly, the kingdom of God could use more people like her. Folks who put their money where their mouth is. People who DO the work of God. I know I am blessed as a pastor to have Jim and Amy among my flock, folks who are clearly carrying on Joan has taught them.

But as I was listening I realized that Joan was of a type hardly unique in the life of the greater Church. She reminded me very much of Dorcas, whose story from the book of Acts I just shared with you.

Here again, many centuries ago, was a woman in much the same mold as Joan. Self-sacrificing, kind, generous, a “sweetie” to the many widows in the city of Joppa. Dorcas’s talent was in sewing, so she made clothing for those in need. But then, rather suddenly, she took ill and died. Hearing that St. Peter was in a neighboring town, they sent for him. Peter traveled the distance between the towns and came to where Dorcas was laying. There, he laid his hands on her and commanded her to rise. And she did.

John the Evangelist, who wrote the fourth Gospel, calls all of Jesus’ miracles “signs.” He uses that word very intentionally, as he sees the miraculous as something that points to the truth of God’s kingdom, in much the same way a road sign will point a traveler towards a particular destination. You want to see what God’s kingdom is like? Look to the signs.

And while this is a miracle of Peter’s rather than Jesus, I think it still proves true. This is a sign of the kingdom and it is a sign for us here gathered today.

You see Jesus came to this Earth to show us a kingdom of God where life rules, where kindness is the order of the day, where sorrow and pain no longer exist.  He came and he told his followers to tell and to SHOW others what that kingdom looked like. That’s what Peter did with his miracle, but it’s also what Dorcas did with her charity. AND it’s clearly what Joan did throughout her life.

ALL of them knew that God’s kingdom is our hope. Peter’s miracle is proof of that. He brought back from the dead someone we might think was gone forever. That’s the kingdom. That’s what Jesus came to do. And on the cross and through the empty tomb, he won that kingdom for us.

Joan has received her reward. She has entered into the fullness of the kingdom she proclaimed with every kindness and act of charity of her life. This is God’s gift to her. And God’s gift to us is the same thing. We too are given this kingdom, this place of kindness, peace, harmony, where death and sin and sorrow are no more. A place of joy and celebration.

So, in this moment here and now, I know many are full of sorrow. Joan will be deeply missed. But her life was a sign of things to come, a world beyond ours where all of God’s promises will be fulfilled. Be like Joan. Trust in those promises. Share those promises. And hope for a better tomorrow. Amen.

Sermon for the Funeral of Betty Bitzel

Preached at Grace on July 29, 2017
Preaching texts: None

Unlike Betty, I am not a lifelong York county resident. I grew up in the mountains of West Virginia and only moved here about 5 years ago. But one of the things we mountain folk like to do is find ways in which we’re interconnected with one another. Oh, you like that music. So do I. You know so-and-so? How cool. Me too.

As Sharon and I were talking on the phone Thursday night about her mother and her life, I had to chuckle inside. Because, as we were talking, I came to realize that Betty and I had a lot in common. We were both fanatical dog lovers; Betty even took her dog Bebe into the home with her after she sold her place on Canal St. Dogs show us that sort of loyalty; it’s nice to hear of someone who returned the favor.

Each week, I gather with friends to play games. Betty, her husband Roger, and all his union buddies would gather together frequently to play cards. I didn’t catch if they had a favorite game… But I’m sure those were good times.

I also know Betty was very dedicated to this congregation. She grew up here at Grace, raised her children here at Grace, worshiped her Lord here at Grace. Having been here these past 9 months now, I understand where that loyalty comes from. There is something special here.

Every one of us is a unique creation. We are created unique from the substance of our parents with God’s guiding hand. The circumstances, events, and experiences of our lives are all unique and yet put two people in a room together and, with a little bit of time, they will find something they share together. We are unique and yet we are all the same.

We all desire a good and decent life, not merely for ourselves, but also for those that we love. We want a good job (Betty had several of those), a loving spouse (almost 50 years with Roger), as little hardship as possible. We want our children to grow up strong and self-sufficient (the evidence of that is here before us today.) We want to know our lives mattered.

We are a bundle of emotions right now. Betty, our mother, our friend, has died. What does that mean? How are we supposed to feel? Those are questions that come into our hearts often without words. We feel sorrow, anger, confusion. We can feel relief that she is free of her Alzheimers. We can feel guilty because we feel relief. We feel trepidation and fear. Is she okay? With mother gone, I am rapidly becoming the eldest generation. My time is short. What happens to me when this moment comes?

No matter how vigorous our faith, moments like these can shake us to the very core.

But I know that Betty and I have something else in common. And it’s something that you also share with her, beyond all other ties of fellowship and blood. Betty was loved intensely passionately by her savior, Jesus Christ. In fact, Jesus loved her so much that he went to a cross and died upon it so they could be together in eternity. He rose from the dead on the third day so that death would have no true hold upon her. He did all this for her…and for you and for me.

One of my favorite authors, Brennan Manning, often said that “God loves us so much that he’d rather die than be without us.” In Jesus, we see how true that is. That’s how much Betty means to our Lord and how much you and I do. This is the whole Christian story. This is what it’s all about. It’s what drew Betty time and again back to this place to hear it anew. Of how God so loved the world (and her), that he gave his only Son to save them.

My friends, none of that has changed in this moment of grief. God remains steadfast. He loves Betty; He has saved Betty. God loves you; He will save you. It’s really that simple. This grief is but temporary. This parting brief. The day will come when God will fulfill his promise of salvation to you and I just as he has with her. And she will be there waiting for us, with Roger and Bebe at her side and probably with a pack of cards in her hand, ready to deal you in.

That is God’s gift to us. Remember it. Hold fast to it. I will not say do not cry, because I know this hurts. But we need not cry forever. We will see her again, thanks to the one in whom she put her truth her whole life long: Jesus Christ. Amen.

Pastoral letter on the life of Mike Wanbaugh

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ,

I regret deeply being unable to be there earlier today. You know me. You know if it were possible, I'd have been present. But life has given me a series of curve balls of late as well, as you well know. But I did not want this day to pass without sharing some of my own thoughts and reflections on Mike, his life, and his impact on my own. I also did not want to discredit or preempt the contributions of my colleague, Pr. Tom McKee, who I am grateful was able to be present with you on this day. I am certain he shared with you the Gospel truth of the resurrection, a truth we all need to hear in the midst of such things.

But, regardless, here now are my reflections on Mike Wanbaugh.

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It was Monday afternoon. I had just finished office hours and was on my way home for lunch. As had been my habit for the past several working days, I took a detour on the route home to swing by Yorkana to stop in and see Mike Wanbaugh. I arrived at the house to be greeted by enthusiastically by the dog (He was good at announcing my presence.) I stepped inside and there was Mike, lying as he usually was on the sofa, surrounded by his family and friends. I slipped in, greeted him and began my visit.

I had not intended to stay long, knowing Mike was low in stamina at this point. He was a shadow of the man that I had known and yet, there was still his spark. Still his heart. Still his soul present in that broken down body. Still, I didn’t want to overtax him. But Kathy did offer me some lunch, namely some of Chuck Van de Water’s notoriously delicious pulled pork BBQ.

Well, I wasn’t going to say no to that. So I made myself a plate and sat at the table to eat. But the whole time I was watching things in that living room. I saw Kathy, after a few moments, slump into the recliner in tears. Sensing a moment, I jumped up to console her. I took her in hand, offered some words of comfort. But then Mike caught my eye.

He was still were he had been, but he was watching the two of us. And then, with a smile, he flashed me a weak “V” sign with his fingers from across the room.

It was a simple gesture. Identical to the one I often jokingly give in church as my “long distance peace.” Was that what he meant by it?

Perhaps. It would be something fitting. No one had any clue was about to happen to me. Within 24 hours of that visit, I would find myself in the hospital in the midst of a desperate battle with a condition I had no clue I was battling. A week long stay, five of which was in ICU. Had the Holy Spirit given Mike the foresight to see what I was to face and was he doing what Mike always did? Caring for others in whatever way possible?

Because that’s who he was. Monday afternoon would hardly have been the first time he’d done that sort of thing for me. I remember sitting in my pulpit on that All Saints Sunday where I’d spoken about my friend Dan who had died unexpectedly. After I finished preaching, emotion overtook me and I burst into tears as we were singing the hymn. Mike came up to console me.

When I could barely stand in the sanctuary due to the pain of my colitis last May, it was Mike who comforted me. It was he who drove me home that day. That’s what he did.

And not just for me, but for so many of us. For Freddie during his battle with cancer. For others at the cancer that he provided rides, conversation, and support. For those who will one day benefit from the knowledge doctors gained from his experimental treatments. For many of us here at Canadochly. Our brand new chair lift was his final project for us. I’ve said several times, to Mike himself among others, that he gets it. God loves us so we can love others. God takes care of us so that we can take care of others. He personified that Christian ethos as well as any soul I’ve ever met.

I envied him that, in some ways. I always want to do better on that front. I wanted, to borrow an advertising phrase from a few years ago, to “be like Mike.”

So maybe that’s a takeaway. Keep up the good fight. Keep on taking care. Let the work continue. Let God’s people continue to receive what they can of our bounty, our skill, our talents, and our love. Words of encouragement, all wrapped up in a simple gesture. A v-sign.

But there’s another way this gesture can be read. Past generations know that the V didn’t just mean peace. It was the symbol proudly flashed by Churchill upon the defeat of tyranny two generations ago (as evidenced in the picture above). It means also victory.

Was that what it meant for Mike? I don’t doubt that. Because he did have victory. He knew. He never doubted where this was going to end. Jesus had claimed him in baptism, held him in his arms all these long years, and now was going to take him home. Of that, he had total and complete confidence.

Would I be able to say the same in the face of such a tragic and unexpected end? Would any of us? I don’t know, but we can. Those promise he received, we’ve received. That embrace? That adoption through baptism? Those are ours. God will not let us down. All that we’ve ever needed he’s provided. We belong to God and neither death nor life, nor things present nor things to come will ever be able to snatch us from his grasp. I may not know what the future holds, but I know who holds the future. GOD WINS!

And that victory he shares with all of us. His victory is our victory. His empty tomb is our empty tomb. His resurrection is our life eternal. I want to be like Mike. Thanks to Christ and his resurrection, we WILL BE because we too will have the victory.

Of my friend, I will miss him terribly. Writing these words, knowing that my present health issues will prevent me from saying these things from the pulpit, hurts me deeply. But things are what they are. I know Mike would understand. I know that he loved me and I loved him. And as the tears flow as I sit here, I know also that I will see him again. God be praised. He was a blessed man and he was a blessing to so many. And a blessing to me. I am so grateful to have known him. He’s the sort of person I aspire to be. The person I hope to be. He was a hero to me.

All that he was can really be wrapped up into that one gesture he flashed to me that afternoon. Do not forget what this means, he seemed to say. Do not forget this truth, this peace, this victory. It’s mine and it’s yours and it’s all of ours. Do not forget. Amen.

Funeral Sermon for Vale Welsh

Preached at Canadochly Lutheran Church on September 10, 2016
Scripture text: John 14:1-6

It is said that “only the good die young,” implying that people who reach great age in life may have an ornery streak or two. I don’t believe that and the reason why I don’t believe that is because I got to know Vale Welsh. Vale was a good person in every way that can mean, and at 90 years old, she’d had a lot of times to go a different way and she never did..

My favorite story of Vale is probably my first real encounter with her as her pastor. Rewind to four years ago. I had just started here at Canadochly and many of you may recall that it was an interesting few months. The first Sunday I was here, for instance, the air conditioning system in the building broke down. So we had our worship services in the fellowship hall. We got the AC fixed, moved back into this sanctuary, and I’d bet it was the first or second Sunday we were back in here when Vale took a fainting spell in the middle of my Sunday sermon.

We stopped the service, got the paramedics here, and got Vale taken care of. Here I am, all nervous and worried, “Is she going to be alright? I should have noticed sooner that something was wrong.” But Vale, as she was being wheeled out the door, looked at me. “Don’t worry. This happens all the time. I’ll be fine.” in her typically nonchalant way of talking.

Little did I know that she was absolutely right. That was just her way. Life would send Vale a rough patch and she’d just sort of laugh it off. “Happens all the time. I’ll be fine.”

Vale, her family, and I have been through a lot together. I buried Paul, her beloved husband, a few years back. I remember when she fell and broke her hip some months ago. After each setback, she’d pop back into church with a smile on her face. She had the prettiest smile. She just glowed and would just fill the room with her light. Everywhere she went she just brought this aura of positivity. “Things’ll be alright. I’ll be fine.” She made you believe it.

I know I did. I never really worried about Vale when something would go wrong. She was strong. She was spunky. She would bounce back. She always did.

Things didn’t seem so fine when I went into the ER to see Vale two weeks ago. We knew she was very sick. A couple surgeries later and she was still sick. But I think all of us still sort of believed in Vale and her optimism. “She’ll be fine. She’ll pull through. She always does.”

It was a punch in the gut to all of us when she didn’t this time.

The brightness of the world has dimmed considerably, because one of its lights has gone out. I will miss her smile. I will miss her spunky attitude. I will miss her positivity. I will miss how she could make you feel, no matter how bad things might seem, that things were going to work out.

I know I’m not alone in these thoughts and feelings. Many, if not most, of you knew her better than I. You got to experience the person she was as mother or friend in far greater capacity. Now she’s gone and it hurts. It hurts a lot.

One of my favorite verses from Scripture is from Hebrews. We had it in one of our lessons just a few weeks ago, although I did not preach on the text. It goes like this. “Do not hesitate to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing so, you may have entertained angels unawares.” It always reminds me that angels, God’s messengers of grace, do not always appear the way we think they should.

In a very real sense, Vale was an angel in our midst. Not some supernatural being, I don’t mean this quite so literally, but as a messenger of God’s holy grace. What is the core lesson we can take away from our Scripture texts today? God loves us. God will take care of us. Not even death will truly harm us because God has claimed us as his own.

We have the dedication and the love of a God who went to die on a cross for our sakes. We have the promise of the empty tomb that where Jesus has risen again so too shall we. You’ve heard these promises in our funeral proceedings today. You’ve heard them from this and many other pulpits throughout your lives. And I would argue that you have heard them and seen them lived out in the life of Vale Welsh.

“No big deal. Happens all the time. I’ll be fine.” Do you hear the confidence in that? Do you hear the strength? The faith? Can you hear it still in the midst of this dark time? Because I believe in my heart of hearts that if Vale could speak to us all here, one last time, that’s precisely what she’d say. And she’d say it with a big grin on her face because she knows the promises are fulfilled. Everything God had told her has come to pass.

And not only is she going to be fine, but so are we. Because those promises weren’t just for her alone, they’re for all of us. Everyone here has a God that has offered you the salvation of the cross and empty tomb. Everyone of us has a God who loves us so much that he’d rather die than be without us. Everyone here has a God who has declared “I have put death underfoot. It cannot harm you.” and I have done this because I LOVE YOU so much that it spans this universe and beyond.

Vale lived those promises. Vale proclaimed those promises to everyone she encountered. Another favorite quote of mine is attributed to St. Francis, “Preach the Gospel always. If necessary, use words.” That was Vale. She proclaimed the Gospel with a smile. In her own way, she taught each one of us truth of a loving god who seeks to save his own.

Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Thank you, Vale, for that constant reminder. And thanks be to God that because of his cross and empty tomb, we will, in fact, be just fine. Amen.

Funeral Sermon for James Schlag

Preached at Canadochly Lutheran Church on June 16, 2016

I’m going to begin with a confession. I was, to quote St. Paul, “one untimely born.” I was not a part of this community when Jim was in his prime. I did not know him in the way most of you did. I will confess to feeling some intimidation about standing before you today.

Sunday didn’t help. After worship on Sunday, there were a number of us gathered in the hallway chatting. Many of you were talking about how Jim was your Sunday School teacher. You were sharing memories of his long-time association with our congregation, telling tales of times long past. I was not here for any of that. I did not know him that way.

But let me tell you what I do know. My first point is this, and it has to do with those conversations in the hallway on Sunday. Many of us go through life wondering if we’ve mattered. Have we made a difference? Did we do our part to make the world a better place? All of us, at some point in our life, wrestle with those sorts of existential questions. I’ve no doubt Jim did too at one point or another.

But for him, there is an answer and it’s right here before us. Did he matter? Did he make a difference? The proof is here in this room. What a legacy he’s left. How many Christians did he nurture throughout his life? How many faith journeys did he guide? From his children to so many of the stalwarts of this community, he had an impact on so many lives.  What a gift he’s given the world.

I know for my part, as pastor, I owe him a debt. Here I am, the shepherd of this flock, benefiting from the teachings he’s instilled in so many of you who are here today. I am grateful for the impact Jim Schlag has had on your lives. He was a special man and will be missed.

That’s the first thing I know. For the second, I’m going to repeat much of what I’ve been saying in my sermons of late. I’ve been driving home the idea that God loves us. Period. End of story. It’s such an elementary thing, a core teaching of the Church that Jim undoubtedly drove home himself. And yet, it is so often so hard to believe.

Especially in times like this and circumstances like this. Alzheimer's is such a terrible disease; you watch the one you love slowly fade away and forget even the most precious things of their life. They forget the spouse they loved. The children they raised. In what sort of world could such a thing exist? It’s easy to question whether God loves any of us if he allows this to happen to us.

But we do not have the full picture. There is so much of this life that is beyond our understanding. What we do have however is what God has said to us, lessons echoed to us in our Scripture readings today. How God will erase the sting of death from this world. How he will wipe away our tears and take away our sorrow. He will replace death with life and bring us all to our own glorious resurrection.

To bring all that about, God set in motion a plan at the beginning of the ages. A plan involving a Chosen people from whom came a Messiah. A Messiah who taught and showed us just how much God truly cares for us. How much he loves us. A Messiah who died on a cross and then rose again on the third day for our sake.

This whole plan, every bit of it, was so that God could be with the ones he loves. It was so God could be with Jim, his beloved child. All of it, for him...and for us.

It may be hard to imagine that we are truly the greatest desire of God’s heart. We’re what he wants the most. But it is true. God wants nothing but joy and happiness, hope and salvation for us. That’s what this is all about. And now it’s come true for Jim. The promise has been fulfilled and they are together at last. And Jim is his whole self again, his mind and body restored to what they meant to be. His healing has arrived.

For those of us who grieve, that seems unfair. He has everything we could have wished for him, but he is not with us. But there’s still more to this promise. The same love God showed to Jim he shows to us, to you and to me. And God wants us to be happy and joyful. He loves us with all the passion he can muster and he wishes to wipe away our tears, including the ones on our faces as we speak. So there will come a day when all death is put asunder, when tears are dried, and all grief will pass away. A day of joy and wonder. And on that day, we will see Jim again.

This I know, because this is what God has promised to us all. It is our hope on this day. Our faith. God loves each of us beyond comprehension. And he shall bring all of us to himself and there we shall live. All of us, you, me, and Jim, in the glory and the joy of God’s eternal kingdom. Amen.

Funeral Sermon for Fred Halbach

Preached at Canadochly Lutheran Church on April 21, 2016
Scripture: Romans 8:31-39, Luke 24:1-12

It just won’t be the same.

Of course, it never is when a prominent and beloved member of the church dies. But the way things change is always different for each one. I’ll miss swinging over to that side of the church each Sunday during the peace to make sure to greet Fred and share God’s peace with him. Usually accompanied by some compliment on whatever colorful shirt he was wearing that day; something I’m told Sandy is mostly to blame for. Either way, I envied his style. There I said it.

And it won’t be the same at the mall either. When Emily would drag Sarah and/or I along (required, since Em can’t drive yet) on her weekly pilgrimages to Hot Topic, it was not an unusual thing to see Fred there in the food court, hanging out with his buddies. It was also not unusual for him to wander off and chat with us too. His friendly presence at the mall was always a welcome sight.

It seems like he was always around. Constantly here at church. Out in the community. And he was, up until things got worse with his Kennedy’s Disease over the last year or so. Before that, he seemed like a bad penny. Always around and you couldn’t get rid of him. But that was a good thing. You want good people around. They make the world brighter by their very being. But today, the world is a bit dimmer as one of its lights has gone out.

Yeah, I’m going to miss him too.

In the years to come however, of all the things I could remember about the Fred Halbach I knew as his pastor, what will, no doubt, stand out the most in my mind were his last moments here on Earth. Sandy texted me on Sunday, asking me to come in to the hospital and I drove over as quickly as I could. Fred had asked to be taken off the ventilator and he knew. He knew what that meant. He knew what would happen.

After the breathing tube came out, he took Sandy in hand and said to her, a couple times if I remember correctly, “I’m not going to make it.” He was right. It was maybe another 10 minutes and he was gone.

There aren’t many times when a person could be said to have had a “good death,” but Fred came as close to that as I’ve ever seen anyone come. He faced his end with courage, dignity, honesty, compassion, and faith. He knew what was coming and there was no fear. His last thoughts were on those he loved, Sandy in particular. He was preparing you for what was coming. He didn’t want you to worry or be afraid. He knew he’d be all right.

And he was right about that too.

Sometimes we pastors wonder if anything we say up here gets through to people. We talk and talk about how God takes care of us, about how God loves us enough to send Jesus to live, die, and rise again for our sake. We talk about how we don’t have to fear even the most frightening things when God is on our side. All the things you heard in our lessons today. If God is for us... Why seek you the living among the dead? He is not here. He is risen. All that and more. This is what I and others like me have said from the pulpits of churches like this one.

Fred got it. He understood. He believed it and I know that in my heart of hearts by the love, compassion, and courage that he showed in his moment of death. He knew he had nothing to fear because Jesus has taken care of everything. And his last energy in this life he dedicated to reassuring us who are left behind, it’s alright. God’s taken care of him.

God takes care of us so we can take care of others. I’ve said that line countless times. Fred understood that. Fred believed that. Fred lived that.

His faith and confidence in that truth is something we can all take to heart on this day. For what was true for him is true also for us. God will take care of us. God loves all of us to send Jesus to live, die, and rise again for our sakes. We don’t have to fear even the most frightening things in life because God is on our side. All that is true for us this day.

And because it is true, this parting that we have with Fred is only temporary. As the Scriptures tell us, God promises a day when the dead will rise and we need not seek the living among the dead ever again. A day when Easter comes for all of us. On that day, Fred will be with us again. That’s what God promises. It’s what Fred believed. It’s how he lived and it’s how he died, safe and confident in his savior’s arms.

Alleluia. Christ is risen!

And because he has arise, so too shall we. All of us. Amen.

Sermon for the Funeral of Freddie Kemfort

Preached at Bethlehem United Methodist Church, Dallastown, PA on December 18, 2015
Scripture text: John 14:1-6

“This sucks.”

On Sunday afternoon, I was having lunch at Taco Bell in Shrewsbury, on my way to a meeting, when I got the phone call. Freddie’s in a bad way; you need to get to the hospital. So I finished my food and rushed back up. I walked into his room with him and Lindsey and his nurse. Freddie was trying to get comfortable in his bed and he just couldn’t. He was moving and fussing, and you could tell he was hurting. And he looks up at the nurse and said aloud “This sucks.”

I know that kind of language isn’t terribly proper for a church setting, but sometimes proper language just doesn’t cut it. Our emotions are raw right now. We’re angry. This isn’t fair. People aren’t supposed to get sick. Healthy and strong men like Freddie aren’t supposed to die in their 30s. We’re confused. This isn’t supposed to happen to good people and Freddie’s as good as they come. We’re afraid. He was only 36. If it can happen to him...what about me? What about the others that I love? We’re sad. He leaves behind two lovely children and beautiful wife, a whole host of friends and family. It’s not fair.

So let’s just be honest; This does suck. This whole thing is wrong.

And then there’s the whole timing of it all. It’s Christmas. We’re only a week away. We’re not supposed to be sad at this time of year. We’re supposed to be merry! Well, we’re not merry. Not by a long shot.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Everything about this just ain’t right. It truly does, in Freddie’s own words, “suck.”

But, while we are in this honest moment and expressing our sincere and intense anger and sorrow and confusion, let us also remember another truth. We are far from alone in looking upon this with those emotions. We are not alone in assessing this as wrong, that it’s unfair, that it should not be.

I believe with every fiber of my being that not only is God here present with us in this moment, but he feels as we do. He’s angry about this. He’s upset. He’s hurting. He’s feeling it too. He’s been feeling it, ever since the world began, because every time life goes wrong like this, he feels it.

All of us are God’s precious creation. You, me, Freddie, everyone here. “Fearfully and wonderfully made” the Psalmist once wrote of us. We are God’s joy, the reason a smile crosses his face. In much the same way that Freddie looked upon Lindsey or Zoey or MaKenzie, God looks at us, all of us. He loves us beyond words. He did not create us to suffer. He created a good and just world in which we could thrive. But something went wrong, and because something went wrong, this is what happens.

People dying far too young. The nightmare of disease. A wife left widowed and children without a father. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. But God isn’t going to leave it like this. He’s put in motion a plan to fix what has gone wrong.

The Bible tells us that his plan began with a man in ancient times called Abraham. God said to him “I’m making you a promise. I’m going to make your family something great and from them, I’m going to bring a blessing that will be for everybody. All the families of this world will be blessed.”

And God fulfilled that promise in the birth of a child, born to Abraham’s line. That birth we will celebrate one week from today, the birth of Jesus Christ.

That baby didn’t stay a baby, of course, but he grew up and taught us about God and God’s purposes for the world. One of those lessons is the passage of Scripture I just read from the Gospel of John. Jesus teaches “Look, I’m going to prepare a place for you. I’m going to ready a place away from all this pain and torment. And then I’m going to take you there. I’m going to put right what went wrong in the world. I’m the way that’s going to happen. I’m the solution to all the world’s problems.”

It’s not long after this teaching that Jesus puts his money where his mouth is. He goes from here to Jerusalem, where he’s arrested, put on trial, and nailed to a cross. He dies so that the world may live. So you and I and Freddie may have life abundant, life eternal. And as if to demonstrate just how true that is, he rose again on the third day. Easter had come.

We all know the world’s got problems, and the biggest one is right before us today. Death. But God is doing something about this. God has done something about this. Jesus came and told us he was going to fix this. And he did. He went to cross and rose again on the third day. “It is finished!” he cries out from the cross. God keeps his promises, and in that moment, the promise was fulfilled.

It may not seem that way right now, but the world is moving in the right direction. It’s hard for us to wait for that day when Jesus finally says “All is ready.” We’re not there yet and we know it. But we can be confident that that day is coming.

And on that day, as the Bible tells us, the dead will rise and they will have life again. And we will all be together: us, God, and those we’ve lost. On that day, the promise God made through Jesus will be fulfilled. “Where I am, there you will be also.”

Until then, here we are. We will cry. We will scream at the sky in rage. We will hold one another and offer words of comfort. And life will continue. We will be there for one another, but we will also keep hope. Hope that the day God promises is coming soon. The day when the world will be set right and all this pain will go away and we will see those we love again.

Freddie will be there on that day. He will be waiting for us, waiting to welcome us into the world that is meant to be. And he’ll hug and kiss Lindsey and his girls with a smile on his face. And he’ll tell all of us “This...this does NOT suck. This is what we’ve waited for. This is what God promised us. It’s here at last.” Amen.

Funeral Sermon for Susan Mathias

Preached at Canadochly Lutheran Church on Saturday, October 24, 2015
Scripture texts: Job 19:23-27, Isaiah 40:28-31, John 11:25-26, 32-44

Well, here we are again.

I can imagine what you’re thinking, because it’s probably the same as what I’m thinking. This isn’t right. This can’t be happening. It was just 5 months ago that we were all gathered here to say good-bye to Millie, Suzy’s mother, who also died of cancer. Cancer that came on so sudden and so quickly. We’re all taught as children that life isn’t fair, but why does it have to hurt so much?

Suzy was one of the first people to invite me into her home to visit after I was called as the pastor here three years ago. At that time, it was Jim, her husband, who was on borrowed time from cancer. (This story is becoming nauseatingly familiar.) But as I got to know Suzy, I came to realize what a gem she really was.

Sometimes, it is very easy to become cynical as a pastor. We preach and preach and we wonder if ever make a difference, if anyone is ever listening to us up here. Suzy was one of those who proved that, yeah, people do. She got it. All of it. The Gospel, the call to love one another, to live life caring for others. That’s who she was. That’s what she did. I couldn’t go three sentences into a conversation with her before she was wondering how I was doing and what she could pray for in my life. She was an amazing human being, one of the kindest, most compassionate, most generous people I’ve ever met. She was among the best of us.

There is a scene in the sixth chapter of Revelation where the souls of the suffering cry out to God, “How long, O Lord?” In many ways, that’s my prayer today. “How long, O Lord, must we sit by and watch as the best of us are taken from us? How long must we put up with losing the ones we love? How long?” It’s a prayer of anger and frustration, because that’s how I feel right now. And I know I’m not alone.

Suzy’s death has stirred all sorts of emotions in all of us. We’re shocked, stunned, angry, hurt, confused, and just about everything else. Our feelings are raw and real right now. None of this is right and we don’t quite know how to feel or how to respond. We’re flailing about in the dark in many ways. Lost in our grief.

So what are we to do now?

Suzy herself may give us the answer. As a tireless proclaimer of the Gospel, both in word and deed, the Scriptures that she loved give us guidance in this time. The words of Job “I know that my Redeemer lives.” Suzy never questioned that. She never doubted it. In my conversations with her in these last weeks, she expressed time and again that no matter what happened, she was safe in God’s hands. As are we.

The words of the prophet Isaiah, from that beloved chapter 40 which we will soon be quoting frequently as we enter into the time of Advent before Christmas. “Comfort, O comfort, my people” because “those who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings like eagles.” A passage that was the origin of a hymn beloved of one who was very influential in Suzy’s life, her mother. But those words call to us today, counseling patience in the midst of our sorrow and confusion. God is at work even now, even in this moment of tragedy.

And what is that work? The Gospel of John speaks to that in a powerful way. Jesus’ friend Lazarus has died. He comes to his grave, surrounded by the heartbroken members of Lazarus’ family and he is heartbroken himself. He weeps. He is moved in spirit. He is hurting. He is hurting because one that he loves has died. But he is not just a mere mortal; he is the Son of God. And with a mighty word he commands Lazarus to come forth from his grave.

John calls Jesus’ miracles “signs” in Gospel telling because they point to greater realities and truths. The raising of Lazarus is the most powerful of those signs because this is what Jesus came to do. He came to conquer death and to bring life to his people. Though his life, death, and resurrection, that is what he did. That was his answer to what we see before us today.

Suzy believed that with ever fiber of her being. She trusted those promises that God gave to her in her baptism. And if she was here now and if she could speak to us from other side of the veil, I have no doubt that these are the tales she would tell. She would call us all to remember what Christ has done, not only for her but for all of us.

I said a few moments ago that I’m angry about this. I’m angry because it’s not fair that Suzy was taken from us. I know some of you feel the same. But we’re not alone in that. God’s angry too. When we say this isn’t right, God agrees with us. That’s why Jesus came. That’s what the whole story of God’s plan for the world is about; putting this right. It’s why the promise was given to Abraham. It’s why Jesus came. It’s why he died on the cross. It’s why he rose again on the third day. The covenants, both old and new, were God’s answer to what we see before us.

“How long, O Lord?” Well, it’s not yet. But it will be. Suzy lived her whole life believing that, knowing that God would one day put right what is wrong in this world. She gave us an example to follow. Trusting in the word of the one who will bring life from death, just as he did for his Son. Amen.

Sermon for the funeral of Donald Tyson Sr.

Preached at Canadochly Lutheran Church on August 4, 2015
Scripture readings: Isaiah 25:6-9, Revelation 21:1-6, John 14:1-6

Sometimes life just goes wrong.

Consider Donald for instance. I’ve known Donald Tyson now for three years. I’ve been his pastor, visited him at the hospital numerous times. The impression I always have of him is this giant.

I’m not a small guy, but it always seemed to me that Don just towered over me. That strong body served him well in life. He was a man who worked with those strong hands and strong legs. Yesterday at the viewing, I heard again sort of a quintessential Don story, of a time when there was an accident at work. A big heavy piece of steel came down and landed on a worker and Don, in a burst of adrenaline, pulled it off of him. Hundreds of pounds tossed aside. Don probably saved that man’s life.

But that’s who he was. He was a giant, but also embodied that old phrase of the “gentle giant.” He was a man of kindness and loyalty and love. He was loyal to his church; it seemed every Sunday there he was in the choir, ready to sing. Loved his family, especially his wife. Loved his country. Served for a number of years in 101st Airborne, one of the most storied and prestigious unit in our armed forces.

Don was a good man. But sometimes life just goes wrong.

Those strong hands stopped working. Those strong feet began to stumble. The giant of a man that he was was laid low by neuropathy and sickness. Suddenly, he couldn’t do anything anymore. A nightmare come to life for him. He couldn’t sing in the choir. Couldn’t work. Couldn’t drive. Couldn’t walk. Couldn’t even feed himself even. It was awful for him. He hated every minute of it.

Life just goes wrong sometimes.

I know the conversation over the past few days has been to the effect of “Donald is in a better place now. He’s not suffering.” I know that sentence has been said more than once and it is true. But if you want to talk about life going wrong, there’s the best example of them all. When death is best of all possible options, something truly has gone very wrong.

We have come here today to bid our farewells to Donald and to hear a word of hope. But to understand that word of hope, we must be honest about the nature of things. This world has gone wrong and our proof is in front of us. A beloved husband and father and friend and a good man lies before us, his life taken away by age and disease. And one day, likely under different circumstances, that’ll be each of us in that place. Death will come calling and life will go wrong that worst way it can.

But this is also what our faith is about. God giving answer to what we see before us today. This is not how it is supposed to be. Our God is a god of life and when he created us he created us to be creatures of life, ones who live with him and thrive in his goodness and grace. But that’s not the world we live in; things went wrong.
But God has refused to leave that as it is; he’s been working, from the dawn of humanity up until now and beyond, to fix what has gone wrong with the world. To set right what sin and death has done.

It was a long plan, put into place at the very beginning of civilization. It involved a promise to a man named Abraham that he would be the father of a great people, that from which would come a blessing that would set right all that was wrong in the world. Untold generations passed through time from Abraham to a little village of Nazareth, but from one of his descendents, a girl named Mary, came Jesus Christ. The Messiah, the Savior, the Son of the Living God, God incarnate in the world.

He came among us and shows how things are meant to be. Showed us how to be kind to one another, revealed a kingdom where the things wrong in this world are set right. And Jesus, as if that were not enough, made the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of the world, dying on a cross and then rising again on the third day.

All this he did for Donald and for you and for me. All this he did for the whole world. And Donald believed that, trusted in it. Even as his body broke down and things began to fall apart, he trusted in the one who had said to him, “One day, I will put it all right again.”

Donald died in that hope and it has not disappointed him. Those promises have been fulfilled in ways we left here behind can scarcely imagine.

Sometimes life goes wrong. Well, that’s the price we pay for living on this side of the veil, in a broken world marred by sin and death. But we have the same hope as Donald that there will be a day when it will all be set right. Scripture gives us vision of that day, with stories of feasts and tears being wiped away at last. Scripture also tells us of the promise that will make that all come to pass. “Where I am, you shall be also.” A promise beyond time, made in love and compassion for people God believes should something better than a world gone wrong. They should have life with him, as it was meant to be. Amen.

Sermon for the funeral of Millie Gross

Preached at Canadochly Lutheran Church on April 18, 2015
Scripture texts: Isaiah 43:1-3, John 19:28-42, 20:1-18

It is never easy to know what to say in a moment like this. It’s not always easy to know what to feel. There is a certain shock to all this. It’s too quick. It’s not what we expected. It’s not the way we thought life would play out.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

I know those thoughts have been rattling around in my head and I’m only Millie’s pastor. I am not her child or husband or grandchild. I am somewhat detached, so if I am feeling confusion and anger and sorrow and fear at her passing, how much more must those who knew and loved her best be feeling.

On Good Friday morning, I got a phone call from Kathy. She asked if I could come over to the house and visit, share some Scripture, bring sacrament, because (in her words) “It just didn’t feel like Easter.” You were right. It didn’t. It still doesn’t.

Millie’s supposed to be at home when Ken walks in the door. She’s supposed to be sitting...right about there in our sanctuary on Sunday morning. She’s supposed to be in Bible Study and with her daughters and grandchildren and a whole lot of other things. She was supposed to get better. But she didn’t and so here we are trying to make sense of things.

“It doesn’t feel like Easter.” Maybe that’s because, in one sense, it isn’t Easter yet. We are still on Good Friday. We are still standing at the foot of the cross looking up and wondering how such a terrible thing could happen. That’s where we are.

Of course, for us, it is not a cross, but a casket. But the wonderment is still the same. The emotions are still the same. How could this terrible thing have happened? What does this mean? What will we do now?

I took Kathy up on her invitation. I came over, sat with Millie, and read to her and all those present that afternoon, the very passage of Scripture you just heard from the Gospel of John: Good Friday and Easter. It is the central story of our faith, the cross and the resurrection, and I am convinced that it wasn’t just because of the calendar that I was drawn to read that text that afternoon. No, I think the Holy Spirit compelled me to that text because it holds the answers to all our questions this day.

Three things are said over the course of those verses. Three lines of dialogue that speak most poignantly to us right now. The first are Jesus’ last words from the cross in John’s account: “It is finished.” What is finished? What has been accomplished?

Well, it’s the whole plan of salvation, drafted by God before history. The plan that brought a promise to Abraham, that he would be the father of a Chosen people and from him and his offspring would come a blessing for all the world. A plan that guided those chosen people to a chosen land and a chosen destiny, with kings and judges and prophets to keep things on course. And then, when the time was right, the plan also brought a Messiah: God incarnate, born of the virgin, into the world. Jesus himself.

Jesus came to take on the greatest foe the human race has ever faced: Death itself, the power and the price of sin. To do that, he took upon himself the sins of the whole world and went willingly to a horrific death on a cross. He did what he came to do. His words from the cross are words of triumph. It’s done. It’s accomplished. It is finished.

But for whom? The answer to that is the second bit of dialogue and for those of you here present who heard my Easter Sunday sermon, you already know where I’m going with this. It’s one word, just one amazing word: “Mary.” Jesus comes to one of his most devoted and calls her by name.

I called it a wondrously intimate moment and it is that. Here is God incarnate, the God who created the universe, the God who went to the cross and died, now come to one he loves and calls her by name. It’s hard to imagine that and yet it is so.

And who is it that he calls? Not just Mary, but Millie also and you and me and all of us. Isaiah gives testimony to that. “I have called you by name. You are mine.” God lays his claim upon us in the waters of baptism and he did so for Millie. She was brought to a font like this and God placed his mark upon her. She is his, and nothing will snatch her from his hand. Not even what we see before us now.

All this is because Christ has won. He done it. He has died. He has risen again. And Mary gives witness to this. “I have seen the Lord.” That’s our third line, our third bit of dialogue. And I believe that if Millie could speak to us now across the veil, she would tell us the same thing. She has seen the Lord because she is with him. All his promises to her have been fulfilled.

This is our word of hope on this day. This grand plan of God’s to call each of his by name, to claim us as his own, it has all come to pass for her. But one day, for each one of us, it will come to pass as well. And on that day, it won’t just be the Lord we see (although that certainly holds much excitement), but also all those who have gone before us and have received the fullness of his promises.

The story of Easter is not the story of an end, but the story of a new beginning. The cross, the casket before us, this is not where the story ends. There is an empty tomb beyond from which our God will call us by name.

“It doesn’t feel like Easter.” Well, for us, we’re not there yet. But we will be. Christ has seen to that. As an old black preacher once said, “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s a coming.” We stand before the cross, but the empty tomb awaits. Millie has received hers, but so too shall we. Amen.

Funeral Sermon for Jim Dietz Sr,

Preached on January 12, 2015 at Etzwieler Funeral Home, York, PA


Death is part of life, we are often told. And while this is certainly true, it is also an unpredictable part. Capricious, chaotic. There is nothing convenient about death. It often comes when it is least expected and when it is least welcome. It throws our lives into disarray. It leaves us scrambling to figure out what will we do next. How will we adapt? What are we going to do now?

I know these questions are on many minds today as we say farewell to Jim Dietz Sr. I did not know him, but I know his one son and he and his brother came into my office this past Friday to share a small portion of the man they knew as their father. Told me a bit about his life. It is never an easy thing to sum up any one of us in just a few short words, but there were impressions that I got from the picture they painted.

And one of those words that comes into my mind is “dependable.” There is particular constancy in James’ life. You could rely on him. His work relied on him to fix the machines and printing presses at Motter, not merely here but just about everywhere. He was there for his country when he served in the USMC. He was there for his family, for his children and grandchildren. And in particular in these recent years, he was there for his wife, taking care of her, learning to do the things around the house that men of his generation weren’t accustomed to doing.

Another image that came to my mind, another word for Jim is “passionate.” He was passionate about his sports and his bluegrass music. He loved to fix things: TVs, cars, and (of course) that was his job. He loved his family, his wife (59 years of marriage!), his children, and grandchildren.

In many ways, his dependability was fueled by that passion. The two are interconnected and related. Passionate is about love. Dependability is about trust. Love drives us to be trustworthy. Passion leads to dependability. And in many ways, you cannot have one without the other.

There is another man in whom those virtues were paramount. And he is as important to our proceedings today, if not more so, than Jim Dietz Sr. The man I am speaking of is Jesus Christ. He too was passionate. He too was dependable, although we would more likely use a different word. We would call him faithful.

And again, in Jesus, these two characteristics are intertwined and interconnected. Jesus loves his people. He loves Jim. He loves all of us. He loves us so much that once, many many years past, he came to this Earth, born of a human mother and lived as we do. He taught his ways, healed the sick, embraced the outcast, and loved his people face-to-face as one of our own. He loved his own so much that he endured the most horrific death imaginable on a cross for our sakes and then rose again from the grave on the third day.

Now by his death and resurrection, Jesus did something for Jim and for all of us. He made a promise. He made a promise that we can count on. A promise we can rely on. A promise Jesus will one day fulfill for everyone of us. And we’ve heard that promise multiple times in our worship today already. “If we have been united with him...” from Romans. “Where I am, there you will be also.” from John. “I will wipe away every tear...” from Isaiah. Over and over again, the Scriptures proclaim this promise. The promise that death, for all its fearful disarray and unexpected coming, does not have the last word. God Almighty does and his word is life.

That promise is dependable. That promise is given in love, a love so great it endured the grave for us. Jim may not have been a church going man, but his life is an example of this very truth: love drives us to faithfulness. That’s a good life. Jesus takes it one step further for all of us. Love leads to faithfulness and that leads to salvation.

The promise is sure, my friends. This is not the end. Not really. Amen.

Funeral Sermon for Dennis Herbst

Preached at Canadochly Lutheran Church on Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Sermon text: John 8:31-36

This is wrong.

Everything about this is wrong. He was too young. Fifty-four is much too young to pass away. The circumstances of his death are wrong. A heart attack while driving on the road home. The timing of it is wrong. We're a week away from Christmas. Bad things aren't supposed to happen at Christmas time.

Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!

Of course, there's a lot that's wrong in our world. We see on the news each night of something else that's gone wrong. War, disaster, disease, poverty, hunger. All wrong. Even within ourselves there is much that is not as it should be. We treat strangers as enemies and those we love most we too often take for granted. Our lives are far too brief. Our loves too fragile. We are not honest with ourselves or with others. We cave into our fears instead of doing what is right and necessary. We do not appreciate what we have. We obsess over those things we desire most.

All of it has gone wrong.

We are trapped in many ways by the wrongness of this world. Imprisoned by it, and no proof of that is more powerful and more conclusive than what brings us here today. We are gathered to mourn the death of a beloved friend, brother, son, and husband. We are here to mark the death of Dennis Herbst, a death that is, like so much else in our world, wrong.

Why? That's always a difficult question, especially when there was so much that was right in Dennis' life. He was a good man, hard working. Loved his wife. Loved his family. A man of the earth, ever comfortable tending his garden or being out in the woods. A quiet but thoughtful man. It was a simple life, but a good one. There was nothing in it that merited it being cut short so early. Nothing in it that one can point to that says he had this coming.

But deserve has nothing to do with it when the world has gone wrong. And it has. It went wrong a long time ago. And the fact that it has is something that God has busied himself with ever since.

You see, God has been wanting to fix what has gone wrong. He's wanted to fix the ways in which we mistreat each other. He's wanted to fix the brokenness of the world around us. He's wanted to make it so that none ever need gather like this again, bound together in grief, bound together by death.

Death and sin are what have made things so wrong in our world. But God has a solution.

It may seem wrong for Dennis to have died so close to the Christmas holiday, but there is something fitting and right about our gathering together now, at this time. You see, that's the solution. No, not the day itself, nor all the human traditions that we've built up around it.

It's that baby that's the solution: Jesus, the Christ. God incarnate and come down to Earth. Here to fix what has gone wrong.

That's why he came. And all of Jesus' life he shows us how he's going to fix everything. He came among us and taught us that love is greater that hate. He showed us that even those society abandoned were people of immense value to God. Those broken by the world, those who infirm or diseased, he gave them healing. Those burdened by guilt, he forgave. He fixed what had gone wrong for them.

But those handful of examples were simply that: examples. What Jesus really came to do, he would do for everyone. And so to fix everything, he handed himself over to death. And we, the very people he came to help, nailed him to a cross and left him to die. And die he did. But it was a death with purpose; it seemed wrong, but it was not random or meaningless. No, he died for us. God died so that we could live.

It may be hard for us to wrap our brains around that. But it is that truth that sets us free. It is the truth that sets right what has gone wrong. You see the story doesn't end for Jesus on Good Friday. It doesn't end at the cross. There's more for him and for us.

What await Jesus after the cross is the empty tomb of Easter. He returns. He is resurrected. Life emerges where death once held fast. And what has happened to our Christ is what he now promises will happen to us.

St. Paul writes of this promise in that wonderful passage that I read from Romans at the beginning of our worship. “If we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like this.” That's how this works. That's how everything that is wrong becomes right. Dennis, you, me, all of us just as we will see death, we will also see resurrection thanks to Jesus Christ.

It's why he came. That promise is sure. It is sure for Dennis. He will live again. It is sure for you and for me. We will live again. Death has been defeated. What was wrong in the world is now made right in Jesus Christ. Amen.