Don't Forget To Remember
Sermon
When God Says, 'Let Me Alone'
First Lesson Sermons For Sundays After Pentecost (Last Third)
Don't forget to remember. I employ this line for purposes of emphasis. It is an emphatic utterance. Don't forget to remember!
I used to debate a certain subject, a subject first introduced to my thinking by my late father, who was a preacher. From time to time during my formative years, Daddy would say to me, "Son, if you had to make a choice between seeing and hearing, which would you choose?" An answer to such a query does not come easily, not even for a child.
Sight, you know, is such a wonderful gift -- the ability to look out on sweeping meadows, desert sands, rippling waves, and rolling hills; the privilege of gazing at the star-studded heavens; the moon in its silvery glory and the sun in its meridian splendor. I am thankful for the gift of sight.
Hearing likewise is a gracious endowment. It permits us to listen to rich sonatas, oratorios, and great anthems of praise. It does for words what the pen alone cannot possibly do. It accords one the blessed privilege of listening to children at play and the elderly as they reminisce. Hearing allows you to feel that which is implied in the words, "I love you."ÊI am thankful, mighty thankful, for the gift of hearing.
I don't really know which I would want to surrender if I had to choose between the two. But there is another endowment that I place above both seeing and hearing. There is one gift I never want to lose. And that is the gift of memory. The Alzheimer's plague has made all aware of the meaning of memory. I know of no faculty loss more tragic nor more sad. I have seen mothers and fathers afflicted by this malady who knew not their own children. I have talked with victims of this disease who can recall in detail incidents from childhood, but for whom this morning is a total blank.
God be thanked for an operative memory. So essential is it to meaningful existence that William Shakespeare in Macbeth called memory "the warder of the brain." Yes, the "warder of the brain" -- the watchman, the sentinel, the keeper, if you please. Some poet, whose name escapes my memory, described memory as "the treasure house where the monuments are kept and preserved." Another poet declared, "God gave us memory that we might have roses in December."
The meaning of that line was driven home to me years ago, when upon a visit to my maternal grandmother, then in her nineties, I said to her, "Grandma, how are you?" I will never forget her response. She said, "Son, I am making it on memory." Yes, it is a glorious privilege, when at the setting of the sun in a life long lived, one is able to reflect and muse and meditate on joys and delights far removed from the present. How good it has to be, this business of visiting one's museum of memories, and recalling with joy items out of yesteryear.
Conversely speaking, it is equally important to be able to forget. I have had people remark to me, "You have such a marvelous memory." And I sometimes reply by saying, "I also have a marvelous forgettery." There are some things I want to forget, some things I need to forget. And so it is with every one of us.
I am exceedingly Pauline at this point. You remember what the apostle told the Philippian Christians, "Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended, but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind and reaching unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark of the prize of the high calling of God, in Christ Jesus." Without a good forgettery, you will be plagued by the past, and submerged in the mire of the meaningless. You have to remember to forget. Now if you forget to forget, it stands to reason that you can forget to remember. And that is the area of concern in my message. Don't forget to remember!
Moses, in his address to Israel on the wilderness side of Jordan, issued a great word of warning. "Beware that thou forget not the Lord thy God, in not keeping his commandments and his judgments and his statutes, which I command thee this day." Usage of the word "beware" suggests that there are inherent dangers and consequences in forgetting to remember. Moses knew this crowd. He and God had labeled them stiff-necked and rebellious. It was a motley assortment of human beings, a congregation composed of some of everything. Time after time, they flunked the memory test. Their devotion was erratic, terribly inconsistent. They would wax warm for a season and then suddenly go cold. Essentially it was a memory problem.
Everybody who claims an affinity with the Almighty should pray for an active memory mechanism. For without such, three disastrous resultant effects are inevitable.
In the first place, without a good working memory you won't know where you were. And without knowing where you were you cannot really know where you are. Memory Lane ought to reach back to your beginnings, to your previous posture. No matter how humble, you have not always been where you are now. Most of the people I know once lived on "short grass." You have not always known the comforts you now take for granted. You have not always worn that nice suit, or driven that lovely car. You haven't always been well situated employment-wise. I don't care who you are, you have not always been educated and well read.
You need always the memory of where you were. And how pathetic it is when one forgets. Some years ago I was preaching in Seattle. I had dinner one evening in the home of a prominent couple in that city. It was a beautiful setting with a sweeping lawn, on which was situated a rambling ranch house. From where we sat at dinner, you could look out a large picture window and see snow-capped Mount Rainier in the distance. You could even view Puget Sound. It was a lovely setting, and the food was unusually good. It was pleasing to both the eye and the palate. All was going well; we were having an interesting and stimulating conversation when suddenly the lady of the house made this remark, "Please eat all you can. We never eat leftovers in this house." And I thought to myself, "What an arrogant assertion." I didn't say anything; I simply listened. She repeated that admonition. And then I felt compelled to say something. I said to her after her arrogance had lifted, "Tell me, my dear, where are you from? Originally, that is." And then with tongue in cheek, she said, "I'm from Meridian, Mississippi." Her accent was already gone. And as the young people say, "I forced her to let it all hang out." I kept probing and when it was over, I had discovered that she was one of ten children born to sharecropper parents on a Mississippi plantation. She was literally raised on leftovers. But now she says, "We never eat leftovers in this house." You need always to preserve the memory of where you were.
Without a functioning memory you, in the second place, will not know Who brought you. You will do a dangerous thing. You will affix the self-made label to your identity, and nothing is more inappropriate nor more perilous than the notion of self-sufficiency. Moses said:
You had better remember the Lord your God, lest when thou hast eaten and are full, and hast built goodly houses and dwelt therein, and when thy herds and thy flocks hast multiplied and thy silver and thy gold be multiplied and all that thou hast is multiplied, then thine heart be lifted up, and thou forget the Lord thy God which brought thee forth out of the Land of Egypt from the house of bondage, who led thee through that great and terrible wilderness wherein were fiery serpents and scorpions and drought, where there was no water, who brought thee forth water out of the rock of flint, who fed thee in the wilderness with manna which thy fathers knew not, that he might humble thee, and that he might prove thee to do the good at thy latter end. And thou say in thy heart, my power and the might of mine hand has gotten me this wealth.
With a working memory, you will have no doubt at all concerning who it was that brought you. You will regard every blessing as a sign and symbol of wealth. You will gladly declare, "All my help cometh from the Lord!" Don't forget to remember.
There is something else that a functioning memory does. It prevents another grave possibility. If you don't know where you were, and don't know Who brought you, you won't know Who to thank. People possessed of a viable faith and an active memory never have this problem.
Now, I am the first to admit that I get a lot of help from a lot of quarters. Kind consideration comes my way from many a source. So many contribute to my well-being. All of my life I have been the recipient of much from others. I cannot recall all the names. I told an audience somewhere not long ago that one of the great regrets that I have as I move toward whatever time I have left is that I cannot possibly live long enough just to say, "Thank you," to everybody who has been nice to me.
But in a real sense, this presents no real problem. For I am convinced that in every sense of the word, "God is the giver of every good and perfect gift." Every blessing enjoyed, every burden lifted, every hope in my heart, every dream in my mind, every bit of strength in my body, every step in my stride, every drop of blood within me, every bone in this mortality, every smile I encounter, every warm handshake, every well-wisher I know --Êevery one of these and a million more are sent by God Himself.
So I can't forget to remember where all my blessings come from. He made me a guest of existence. He watched over me as a child. He guided me as an adolescent. He brought me to maturity. He has led me throughout life. He has calmed my fears and settled my doubts. I can't forget what He has done for me. And when I remember my Lord's last request, I surely can't forget to remember. For in that Upper Room, he pointedly said, "Remember me. This do in remembrance of me." So, Lord, I will remember. Lord, I can't forget. Lord, I will never forget all You have done for me. You have been my way-maker, my rock, my sword, and my shield. You've been my wheel in the middle of a wheel. You have been my light in all the dark places, my total liberator, my constant friend. You are the sinner's best friend, the believer's trust, the strength for the young, and the leaning post for the aged. You are both Savior and Shepherd.
No, I can't forget. So then,
King of my life, I crown thee now,
Thine shall the glory be.
Lest I forget thy thorn-crowned brow,
Lead me to Calvary.
Lest I forget Gethsemane.
Lest I forget thine agony,
Lest I forget thy love for me,
Lead me to Calvary.
Isaac Watts
Lead me there so that I hear the hammer ring. Lead me until I see the blood come flowing down. Lead me! Lead me! Yes, lead me, Lord! And I tell you, keep memory alive. Whatever you do, don't you forget to remember. Remember where you were and remember Who brought you. And remember to Whom thanks is due. I will give thanks every day of my life. Early in the morning I will rise with thanksgiving on my lips. At noonday I will turn aside and say, "Thank you, Lord." When the evening shadows appear I will still be thanking Him, and if I happen to wake up at the midnight hour, it will be, "Thank you, thank you, thank you." I will remember to remember. How about you?
I used to debate a certain subject, a subject first introduced to my thinking by my late father, who was a preacher. From time to time during my formative years, Daddy would say to me, "Son, if you had to make a choice between seeing and hearing, which would you choose?" An answer to such a query does not come easily, not even for a child.
Sight, you know, is such a wonderful gift -- the ability to look out on sweeping meadows, desert sands, rippling waves, and rolling hills; the privilege of gazing at the star-studded heavens; the moon in its silvery glory and the sun in its meridian splendor. I am thankful for the gift of sight.
Hearing likewise is a gracious endowment. It permits us to listen to rich sonatas, oratorios, and great anthems of praise. It does for words what the pen alone cannot possibly do. It accords one the blessed privilege of listening to children at play and the elderly as they reminisce. Hearing allows you to feel that which is implied in the words, "I love you."ÊI am thankful, mighty thankful, for the gift of hearing.
I don't really know which I would want to surrender if I had to choose between the two. But there is another endowment that I place above both seeing and hearing. There is one gift I never want to lose. And that is the gift of memory. The Alzheimer's plague has made all aware of the meaning of memory. I know of no faculty loss more tragic nor more sad. I have seen mothers and fathers afflicted by this malady who knew not their own children. I have talked with victims of this disease who can recall in detail incidents from childhood, but for whom this morning is a total blank.
God be thanked for an operative memory. So essential is it to meaningful existence that William Shakespeare in Macbeth called memory "the warder of the brain." Yes, the "warder of the brain" -- the watchman, the sentinel, the keeper, if you please. Some poet, whose name escapes my memory, described memory as "the treasure house where the monuments are kept and preserved." Another poet declared, "God gave us memory that we might have roses in December."
The meaning of that line was driven home to me years ago, when upon a visit to my maternal grandmother, then in her nineties, I said to her, "Grandma, how are you?" I will never forget her response. She said, "Son, I am making it on memory." Yes, it is a glorious privilege, when at the setting of the sun in a life long lived, one is able to reflect and muse and meditate on joys and delights far removed from the present. How good it has to be, this business of visiting one's museum of memories, and recalling with joy items out of yesteryear.
Conversely speaking, it is equally important to be able to forget. I have had people remark to me, "You have such a marvelous memory." And I sometimes reply by saying, "I also have a marvelous forgettery." There are some things I want to forget, some things I need to forget. And so it is with every one of us.
I am exceedingly Pauline at this point. You remember what the apostle told the Philippian Christians, "Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended, but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind and reaching unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark of the prize of the high calling of God, in Christ Jesus." Without a good forgettery, you will be plagued by the past, and submerged in the mire of the meaningless. You have to remember to forget. Now if you forget to forget, it stands to reason that you can forget to remember. And that is the area of concern in my message. Don't forget to remember!
Moses, in his address to Israel on the wilderness side of Jordan, issued a great word of warning. "Beware that thou forget not the Lord thy God, in not keeping his commandments and his judgments and his statutes, which I command thee this day." Usage of the word "beware" suggests that there are inherent dangers and consequences in forgetting to remember. Moses knew this crowd. He and God had labeled them stiff-necked and rebellious. It was a motley assortment of human beings, a congregation composed of some of everything. Time after time, they flunked the memory test. Their devotion was erratic, terribly inconsistent. They would wax warm for a season and then suddenly go cold. Essentially it was a memory problem.
Everybody who claims an affinity with the Almighty should pray for an active memory mechanism. For without such, three disastrous resultant effects are inevitable.
In the first place, without a good working memory you won't know where you were. And without knowing where you were you cannot really know where you are. Memory Lane ought to reach back to your beginnings, to your previous posture. No matter how humble, you have not always been where you are now. Most of the people I know once lived on "short grass." You have not always known the comforts you now take for granted. You have not always worn that nice suit, or driven that lovely car. You haven't always been well situated employment-wise. I don't care who you are, you have not always been educated and well read.
You need always the memory of where you were. And how pathetic it is when one forgets. Some years ago I was preaching in Seattle. I had dinner one evening in the home of a prominent couple in that city. It was a beautiful setting with a sweeping lawn, on which was situated a rambling ranch house. From where we sat at dinner, you could look out a large picture window and see snow-capped Mount Rainier in the distance. You could even view Puget Sound. It was a lovely setting, and the food was unusually good. It was pleasing to both the eye and the palate. All was going well; we were having an interesting and stimulating conversation when suddenly the lady of the house made this remark, "Please eat all you can. We never eat leftovers in this house." And I thought to myself, "What an arrogant assertion." I didn't say anything; I simply listened. She repeated that admonition. And then I felt compelled to say something. I said to her after her arrogance had lifted, "Tell me, my dear, where are you from? Originally, that is." And then with tongue in cheek, she said, "I'm from Meridian, Mississippi." Her accent was already gone. And as the young people say, "I forced her to let it all hang out." I kept probing and when it was over, I had discovered that she was one of ten children born to sharecropper parents on a Mississippi plantation. She was literally raised on leftovers. But now she says, "We never eat leftovers in this house." You need always to preserve the memory of where you were.
Without a functioning memory you, in the second place, will not know Who brought you. You will do a dangerous thing. You will affix the self-made label to your identity, and nothing is more inappropriate nor more perilous than the notion of self-sufficiency. Moses said:
You had better remember the Lord your God, lest when thou hast eaten and are full, and hast built goodly houses and dwelt therein, and when thy herds and thy flocks hast multiplied and thy silver and thy gold be multiplied and all that thou hast is multiplied, then thine heart be lifted up, and thou forget the Lord thy God which brought thee forth out of the Land of Egypt from the house of bondage, who led thee through that great and terrible wilderness wherein were fiery serpents and scorpions and drought, where there was no water, who brought thee forth water out of the rock of flint, who fed thee in the wilderness with manna which thy fathers knew not, that he might humble thee, and that he might prove thee to do the good at thy latter end. And thou say in thy heart, my power and the might of mine hand has gotten me this wealth.
With a working memory, you will have no doubt at all concerning who it was that brought you. You will regard every blessing as a sign and symbol of wealth. You will gladly declare, "All my help cometh from the Lord!" Don't forget to remember.
There is something else that a functioning memory does. It prevents another grave possibility. If you don't know where you were, and don't know Who brought you, you won't know Who to thank. People possessed of a viable faith and an active memory never have this problem.
Now, I am the first to admit that I get a lot of help from a lot of quarters. Kind consideration comes my way from many a source. So many contribute to my well-being. All of my life I have been the recipient of much from others. I cannot recall all the names. I told an audience somewhere not long ago that one of the great regrets that I have as I move toward whatever time I have left is that I cannot possibly live long enough just to say, "Thank you," to everybody who has been nice to me.
But in a real sense, this presents no real problem. For I am convinced that in every sense of the word, "God is the giver of every good and perfect gift." Every blessing enjoyed, every burden lifted, every hope in my heart, every dream in my mind, every bit of strength in my body, every step in my stride, every drop of blood within me, every bone in this mortality, every smile I encounter, every warm handshake, every well-wisher I know --Êevery one of these and a million more are sent by God Himself.
So I can't forget to remember where all my blessings come from. He made me a guest of existence. He watched over me as a child. He guided me as an adolescent. He brought me to maturity. He has led me throughout life. He has calmed my fears and settled my doubts. I can't forget what He has done for me. And when I remember my Lord's last request, I surely can't forget to remember. For in that Upper Room, he pointedly said, "Remember me. This do in remembrance of me." So, Lord, I will remember. Lord, I can't forget. Lord, I will never forget all You have done for me. You have been my way-maker, my rock, my sword, and my shield. You've been my wheel in the middle of a wheel. You have been my light in all the dark places, my total liberator, my constant friend. You are the sinner's best friend, the believer's trust, the strength for the young, and the leaning post for the aged. You are both Savior and Shepherd.
No, I can't forget. So then,
King of my life, I crown thee now,
Thine shall the glory be.
Lest I forget thy thorn-crowned brow,
Lead me to Calvary.
Lest I forget Gethsemane.
Lest I forget thine agony,
Lest I forget thy love for me,
Lead me to Calvary.
Isaac Watts
Lead me there so that I hear the hammer ring. Lead me until I see the blood come flowing down. Lead me! Lead me! Yes, lead me, Lord! And I tell you, keep memory alive. Whatever you do, don't you forget to remember. Remember where you were and remember Who brought you. And remember to Whom thanks is due. I will give thanks every day of my life. Early in the morning I will rise with thanksgiving on my lips. At noonday I will turn aside and say, "Thank you, Lord." When the evening shadows appear I will still be thanking Him, and if I happen to wake up at the midnight hour, it will be, "Thank you, thank you, thank you." I will remember to remember. How about you?
