See You At The Party
Sermon
Life Everlasting
The Essential Book of Funeral Resources
Object:
For a young man killed in a car accident
See You At The Party
Lamentations 3:1-13; Psalm 23; Romans 8:31ff
(This is the full funeral service for Kevin. Kevin was killed in a car accident. In the year prior to Kevin's death, both his father and his younger brother had died. His family was in shock at suffering another loss. Because of that circumstance, the first part of service simply tries to address the family's pain. The scripture reading from Lamentations was chosen to make the point that the Bible understands such pain. Psalm 23 and Romans 8:31ff are incorporated into the opening of the service to call to mind God's presence in life's most awful and frightening moments.)
Well, here we are again in this place to which we hate to come, and we are here to do something we hate to do, to say good-bye to someone we love. Death has once again rudely and violently taken someone from us and there is no way for us to deny or pretend that it is anything but devastatingly painful.
I have been to funerals where the family, and friends, and even the pastor tried to pretend that everything was okay. Everyone tried to put a sugarcoating on the painful loss of a young mother. The preacher said we shouldn't be sorrowful, for this young woman had gone to the Lord. We ought to rejoice. No one rejoiced. The husband kept trying to convince people that he was truly happy for his wife. He wanted to be faithful. But you could see, if only you looked, that his heart was in pieces, and everyone around him, his family and his church friends, kept up the farce, the pretense.
But you and I know better. We have been here too many times these past few months to pretend that days like today are about anything other than sorrow, and tears, and awful, piercing pain. We have been bitten too many times to ignore it, or deny it, or pretend that we haven't been hurt. So, we'll just face it today. Let's look death squarely in the eye. Even though our own eyes are tear filled, let's look death in the eye and say, "It's true. You have hurt us. Three times now you have struck us with deep agonizing wounds, and we have bled and will bleed now." Let's also say, "But you will not defeat or destroy us. You will not. We know Jesus Christ and the power of his indestructible life that overcomes you, death. And we know that in him, through him, because of his resurrection, we shall be more than conquerors. Yes, we will weep and suffer and bleed and we will wish at times to curse God and to die ourselves. The days and weeks and months ahead will be painful and dark and oh so hard, but you will not defeat us!
"For the Lord is our shepherd. We shall not want. He makes us lie down in green pastures. He leads us beside still waters. He restores our souls. He leads us in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea though we walk through the dark valley of the shadow of death, we fear no evil; For thou art with us. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort us. Thou preparest a table before us in the presence of our enemies; thou annointest our heads with oil. Our cups overflow. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow us all the days of our lives and we shall dwell in the house of the Lord, with Kevin, forever! Amen!"
No, death will not defeat us, for in all things, says the Apostle Paul in the book of Romans, "In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loves us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."
Let's not pretend today with a phony kind of faith. Let's admit the great pain of this day, and face it, and accept that there will be dark days to follow, that we will wet our pillows with a flood of tears for a while, that life will not be the same without them. Let's just be honest and say that today is agonizing and tomorrow will be only a little better. But, let's also decide here and now, as we face down the worst of it, that we will not be defeated by it. Because we know the great and glorious secret of the universe: What death uses to end life, God uses to transform life.
We know the transcendent truth that God makes all things new again and when he does, he carries them off from this world and transplants them into his kingdom where there is no more death and no more tears and no more mourning. Store that secret in your heart today. It will not take away the pain you feel today or tomorrow. It won't lessen your longing to see them again. It won't dry your tears. But it will light a bright light at the end of the long valley of the shadow of death through which you now travel.
Let us pray. O Lord, the weight of the suffering that this family has endured these past eighteen months is overwhelming. Their burden is heavy. We bring them before you today for you are the one who said, "Come to me all ye who labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest." We bring them to you today asking you to give them the rest you have promised to all weary souls.
Surround and protect them with your love. Give them time to heal. Fill them, day by day, even hour by hour, with the strength that comes from knowing that you are here with them. Open their eyes wide that they might see shining out against the terrible darkness of death the light of new life, the light of resurrection shining out from your kingdom like a lighthouse guiding us all home through the stormy seas of life, guiding us to the place where we will hear and see and touch them again. In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, we pray. Amen.
(Read Lamentations 3:1-13.)
Doesn't today feel like that? Like the Lord has driven into our hearts the arrows of his quiver? Like he has led us into darkness, broken us, and torn us to pieces? Jeremiah has been devastated by the destruction of his city, the slaughter of his people. I wonder if Jeremiah lost a child in the battle that destroyed his beloved Jerusalem? I wonder because he describes the deepest kind of anguish and pain in his heart and there is probably no greater pain than that of losing a child.
I'm not sure why that is, but maybe it has something to do with the fact that when you look at Kevin's face as he lies here, you don't see only the face of a 34-year-old man, but you see all the faces he has been through the years. You see the precious little babe he was on the day of his birth. You see a thoughtful, young adult man stopping by night after night to visit after his dad died. You see a teenager out on a fishing boat enjoying the company of his favorite pal, his dad. You see a little boy playing out in the yard and then you see him running toward you with a scrape or bruise somewhere and you remember how it felt to pick him up and hug him tight and kiss it and speak soft words to him until it was all better. You long to do that now, scoop him up in your arms and make him all better. But this wound is beyond all the motherly love we can muster. We can't make it better. We can't bring him back. And because our children are such a part of who we are, it is horrendously hurtful. It is like arrows through our hearts. It is like having an arm hacked off and being left, bleeding, on the battlefield. A part of you is gone. Jeremiah describes that kind of pain, but Jeremiah doesn't stop there. The passage doesn't end with those words of painful despair and defeat. He goes on to say,
But this I call to mind and therefore I have hope. The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. His mercies never come to an end. They are new every morning. Great is thy faithfulness. The Lord is my portion, says my soul. Therefore I will hope in him.... For the Lord will not cast off forever. But though he causes grief, he will have compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love. For he does not willingly afflict or grieve his children.
-- Lamentations 31:21-24, 31-33 (paraphrased)
Incredible! In the midst of the kind of pain that you all are feeling today, Jeremiah is somehow lifted above it. Somehow he finds it within himself to say, "the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. His mercies are new every morning." Despite his sorry state, Jeremiah says, "God is good. Life is good." And we immediately think, "Jeremiah was a great man of God; we cannot rise to such heights of faith as he." But we would be wrong. We can know the same comfort he knew. We can rise to the same heights.
I read a poem a couple of years ago written by a woman who had lost a young son to an accident. Her boy was eight at the time of his death. Just an ordinary woman who rose to the same heights when she wrote,
God, all night long I miss him
lying half asleep, my conscious memory lost
I wonder if he tossed the blanket off
or the rain is blowing on his sill,
or if he's ill -- my baby
Often, waking, I find myself beside his bed
stooping to kiss his tousled head that is no longer there
I stand and stare with streaming eyes
at the smooth small pillow and unruffled spread
remembering slowly that my son is dead
All day long I listen for his step
his whistle and sweet song
I listen till the silence tightens round my throat
O God, you know I'd give my life to hear his voice again
to feel once more the touch of his gentle young hand
to stand and watch him play
I'd give my life I say
And yet I wouldn't
I must stay right here to do
the job of loving these others who
God privileged me with whom to share
my life, until he calls me there
The past has passed
I loved him yes!
But love is not a toy to satisfy one's private pride and joy
No, love's a part of that eternal plan
by which God manifests himself to man
and we who love must also dare to keep the faith
when those we love are lost
lest others think love's not worth the cost
and so my Father, take my grief today
as a tribute to the glory you sent away
I lay my son within your arms
safe now from the hurt and harm
he may have known had he lived
I give him up. I drink the bitter cup
reserved for those who dare to love and lose
And I know there is a duty facing those in tears
it is our proud and shining mission to express
love's rare abiding pride and loveliness
we only who have loved and lost
can know that love is worth whatever it may cost
we only who have known the pain
may say to love on is unspeakable gain.
I can just see this woman, standing beside the empty bed of her son, tear-filled eyes, and a joyous smile on her face as she remembers the life that she had with him and as she savors the loves that she has left. Just as I can see Jeremiah standing amidst the ruins of his city within sight of the graves of his people, tears on his beard, broken heart in his chest, yet raising a song, "Great is thy faithfulness" to the heavens in praise of his God who poured out his blessings yesterday and today, and Jeremiah is sure God will pour them out again tomorrow. And Jeremiah didn't even know about the resurrection. Jesus hadn't come yet. He simply trusted that his God loved his people. We have even more reason to trust.
There is a wonderful story about another woman who stood beside an empty bed. It is the story of a little boy, Daniel, and his mama. Daniel's father had gone away before he was even born, and he was all his mama had, and she loved him so. Daniel and his mama lived in a kingdom far away, a kingdom that was ruled by a great and loving king, who was beloved by his people. But because the kingdom was so big, the king could not often visit in person with his people. So, he sent them, royal communiqués, letters from the king, that were delivered to all of the towns and villages every week or two.
Whenever the king's letters would arrive, the people would gather together in special temples they had built just for the reading of the king's letters. They would listen intently, hanging on every word as the letter was read. A few would be heard to say, "Amen," and "Yes." When the letter had been completed, they would sing praises to the king and rejoice. They loved their king. But their love was an odd sort of love, for they seemed to fear him as much as they loved him. This could be seen on those occasions, several times each year when the king would send a special invitation to someone in Daniel's village inviting them to attend a special party at the king's palace. Now Daniel wasn't much for attending temple and listening to the reading of the king's letters, but he longed to receive such an invitation. And he was astonished that no one in the village ever accepted these invitations. For they said, years ago, some did accept and they never returned. They feared accepting.
Daniel asked his mama and she said the villagers were fools, for the king was a good and loving man and the reason no one ever returned from his parties was that life was so sweet in the palace that they could not bring themselves to leave. In fact, she said, "Your papa accepted just such an invitation not long before you were born." Daniel's heart was set ablaze with a yearning for his own invitation. Then one day, Daniel disappeared, with hardly a trace. His mother cried and she and the villagers searched everywhere. But he was nowhere to be found. The villagers said, "What an ungrateful boy to leave his mother." Some said, "Good riddance, for he was not like the other children." Some said, "He must have been kidnapped. What a tragedy."
His mama was distraught, but they found not a trace of him. Until that night, when his mama went into his room and stood by his bed. And as she began to pray, she spied, peeking out from beneath his pillow a brightly colored card. She took it out and read, "Daniel, the king requests the pleasure of your presence at his most joyous banquet. You will be a most honored guest. Your king and father await you." And mama cried big, fat, wet tears of sorrow for she knew that her little Daniel would not be coming home again. She cried and she laughed a laugh of great joy for she knew where he had gone. She laughed and cried so much that she almost missed the words scribbled in the corner of the card. They said, "Dear Mama, I love you. See you at the party. Daniel."
Kevin is the little boy who is gone from us now, whose disappearance makes us weep and breaks our hearts. But we have the invitation, here in this book, where it says, "Let the little children come unto me." Where it says, "Come unto me all ye who are heavy laden." Where it says, "I am the resurrection and the life, and because I live, you shall live also." Where it says, "There shall be a new heaven and a new earth, and God shall dwell with his people. And he will wipe away every tear from their eyes and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain anymore for the former things have passed away. Behold I make all things new."
So, we know where he has gone. And we know that the king who receives him there is a great and loving king. And that makes all the difference in the world. So, we will stand amidst the ruins of our lives. We will stand beside the empty bed and weep our tears of sadness and sorrow. But, we will know, Kevin, that you will not be defeated by death. Amen.
-- Chuck Cammarata
See You At The Party
Lamentations 3:1-13; Psalm 23; Romans 8:31ff
(This is the full funeral service for Kevin. Kevin was killed in a car accident. In the year prior to Kevin's death, both his father and his younger brother had died. His family was in shock at suffering another loss. Because of that circumstance, the first part of service simply tries to address the family's pain. The scripture reading from Lamentations was chosen to make the point that the Bible understands such pain. Psalm 23 and Romans 8:31ff are incorporated into the opening of the service to call to mind God's presence in life's most awful and frightening moments.)
Well, here we are again in this place to which we hate to come, and we are here to do something we hate to do, to say good-bye to someone we love. Death has once again rudely and violently taken someone from us and there is no way for us to deny or pretend that it is anything but devastatingly painful.
I have been to funerals where the family, and friends, and even the pastor tried to pretend that everything was okay. Everyone tried to put a sugarcoating on the painful loss of a young mother. The preacher said we shouldn't be sorrowful, for this young woman had gone to the Lord. We ought to rejoice. No one rejoiced. The husband kept trying to convince people that he was truly happy for his wife. He wanted to be faithful. But you could see, if only you looked, that his heart was in pieces, and everyone around him, his family and his church friends, kept up the farce, the pretense.
But you and I know better. We have been here too many times these past few months to pretend that days like today are about anything other than sorrow, and tears, and awful, piercing pain. We have been bitten too many times to ignore it, or deny it, or pretend that we haven't been hurt. So, we'll just face it today. Let's look death squarely in the eye. Even though our own eyes are tear filled, let's look death in the eye and say, "It's true. You have hurt us. Three times now you have struck us with deep agonizing wounds, and we have bled and will bleed now." Let's also say, "But you will not defeat or destroy us. You will not. We know Jesus Christ and the power of his indestructible life that overcomes you, death. And we know that in him, through him, because of his resurrection, we shall be more than conquerors. Yes, we will weep and suffer and bleed and we will wish at times to curse God and to die ourselves. The days and weeks and months ahead will be painful and dark and oh so hard, but you will not defeat us!
"For the Lord is our shepherd. We shall not want. He makes us lie down in green pastures. He leads us beside still waters. He restores our souls. He leads us in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea though we walk through the dark valley of the shadow of death, we fear no evil; For thou art with us. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort us. Thou preparest a table before us in the presence of our enemies; thou annointest our heads with oil. Our cups overflow. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow us all the days of our lives and we shall dwell in the house of the Lord, with Kevin, forever! Amen!"
No, death will not defeat us, for in all things, says the Apostle Paul in the book of Romans, "In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loves us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."
Let's not pretend today with a phony kind of faith. Let's admit the great pain of this day, and face it, and accept that there will be dark days to follow, that we will wet our pillows with a flood of tears for a while, that life will not be the same without them. Let's just be honest and say that today is agonizing and tomorrow will be only a little better. But, let's also decide here and now, as we face down the worst of it, that we will not be defeated by it. Because we know the great and glorious secret of the universe: What death uses to end life, God uses to transform life.
We know the transcendent truth that God makes all things new again and when he does, he carries them off from this world and transplants them into his kingdom where there is no more death and no more tears and no more mourning. Store that secret in your heart today. It will not take away the pain you feel today or tomorrow. It won't lessen your longing to see them again. It won't dry your tears. But it will light a bright light at the end of the long valley of the shadow of death through which you now travel.
Let us pray. O Lord, the weight of the suffering that this family has endured these past eighteen months is overwhelming. Their burden is heavy. We bring them before you today for you are the one who said, "Come to me all ye who labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest." We bring them to you today asking you to give them the rest you have promised to all weary souls.
Surround and protect them with your love. Give them time to heal. Fill them, day by day, even hour by hour, with the strength that comes from knowing that you are here with them. Open their eyes wide that they might see shining out against the terrible darkness of death the light of new life, the light of resurrection shining out from your kingdom like a lighthouse guiding us all home through the stormy seas of life, guiding us to the place where we will hear and see and touch them again. In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, we pray. Amen.
(Read Lamentations 3:1-13.)
Doesn't today feel like that? Like the Lord has driven into our hearts the arrows of his quiver? Like he has led us into darkness, broken us, and torn us to pieces? Jeremiah has been devastated by the destruction of his city, the slaughter of his people. I wonder if Jeremiah lost a child in the battle that destroyed his beloved Jerusalem? I wonder because he describes the deepest kind of anguish and pain in his heart and there is probably no greater pain than that of losing a child.
I'm not sure why that is, but maybe it has something to do with the fact that when you look at Kevin's face as he lies here, you don't see only the face of a 34-year-old man, but you see all the faces he has been through the years. You see the precious little babe he was on the day of his birth. You see a thoughtful, young adult man stopping by night after night to visit after his dad died. You see a teenager out on a fishing boat enjoying the company of his favorite pal, his dad. You see a little boy playing out in the yard and then you see him running toward you with a scrape or bruise somewhere and you remember how it felt to pick him up and hug him tight and kiss it and speak soft words to him until it was all better. You long to do that now, scoop him up in your arms and make him all better. But this wound is beyond all the motherly love we can muster. We can't make it better. We can't bring him back. And because our children are such a part of who we are, it is horrendously hurtful. It is like arrows through our hearts. It is like having an arm hacked off and being left, bleeding, on the battlefield. A part of you is gone. Jeremiah describes that kind of pain, but Jeremiah doesn't stop there. The passage doesn't end with those words of painful despair and defeat. He goes on to say,
But this I call to mind and therefore I have hope. The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. His mercies never come to an end. They are new every morning. Great is thy faithfulness. The Lord is my portion, says my soul. Therefore I will hope in him.... For the Lord will not cast off forever. But though he causes grief, he will have compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love. For he does not willingly afflict or grieve his children.
-- Lamentations 31:21-24, 31-33 (paraphrased)
Incredible! In the midst of the kind of pain that you all are feeling today, Jeremiah is somehow lifted above it. Somehow he finds it within himself to say, "the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. His mercies are new every morning." Despite his sorry state, Jeremiah says, "God is good. Life is good." And we immediately think, "Jeremiah was a great man of God; we cannot rise to such heights of faith as he." But we would be wrong. We can know the same comfort he knew. We can rise to the same heights.
I read a poem a couple of years ago written by a woman who had lost a young son to an accident. Her boy was eight at the time of his death. Just an ordinary woman who rose to the same heights when she wrote,
God, all night long I miss him
lying half asleep, my conscious memory lost
I wonder if he tossed the blanket off
or the rain is blowing on his sill,
or if he's ill -- my baby
Often, waking, I find myself beside his bed
stooping to kiss his tousled head that is no longer there
I stand and stare with streaming eyes
at the smooth small pillow and unruffled spread
remembering slowly that my son is dead
All day long I listen for his step
his whistle and sweet song
I listen till the silence tightens round my throat
O God, you know I'd give my life to hear his voice again
to feel once more the touch of his gentle young hand
to stand and watch him play
I'd give my life I say
And yet I wouldn't
I must stay right here to do
the job of loving these others who
God privileged me with whom to share
my life, until he calls me there
The past has passed
I loved him yes!
But love is not a toy to satisfy one's private pride and joy
No, love's a part of that eternal plan
by which God manifests himself to man
and we who love must also dare to keep the faith
when those we love are lost
lest others think love's not worth the cost
and so my Father, take my grief today
as a tribute to the glory you sent away
I lay my son within your arms
safe now from the hurt and harm
he may have known had he lived
I give him up. I drink the bitter cup
reserved for those who dare to love and lose
And I know there is a duty facing those in tears
it is our proud and shining mission to express
love's rare abiding pride and loveliness
we only who have loved and lost
can know that love is worth whatever it may cost
we only who have known the pain
may say to love on is unspeakable gain.
I can just see this woman, standing beside the empty bed of her son, tear-filled eyes, and a joyous smile on her face as she remembers the life that she had with him and as she savors the loves that she has left. Just as I can see Jeremiah standing amidst the ruins of his city within sight of the graves of his people, tears on his beard, broken heart in his chest, yet raising a song, "Great is thy faithfulness" to the heavens in praise of his God who poured out his blessings yesterday and today, and Jeremiah is sure God will pour them out again tomorrow. And Jeremiah didn't even know about the resurrection. Jesus hadn't come yet. He simply trusted that his God loved his people. We have even more reason to trust.
There is a wonderful story about another woman who stood beside an empty bed. It is the story of a little boy, Daniel, and his mama. Daniel's father had gone away before he was even born, and he was all his mama had, and she loved him so. Daniel and his mama lived in a kingdom far away, a kingdom that was ruled by a great and loving king, who was beloved by his people. But because the kingdom was so big, the king could not often visit in person with his people. So, he sent them, royal communiqués, letters from the king, that were delivered to all of the towns and villages every week or two.
Whenever the king's letters would arrive, the people would gather together in special temples they had built just for the reading of the king's letters. They would listen intently, hanging on every word as the letter was read. A few would be heard to say, "Amen," and "Yes." When the letter had been completed, they would sing praises to the king and rejoice. They loved their king. But their love was an odd sort of love, for they seemed to fear him as much as they loved him. This could be seen on those occasions, several times each year when the king would send a special invitation to someone in Daniel's village inviting them to attend a special party at the king's palace. Now Daniel wasn't much for attending temple and listening to the reading of the king's letters, but he longed to receive such an invitation. And he was astonished that no one in the village ever accepted these invitations. For they said, years ago, some did accept and they never returned. They feared accepting.
Daniel asked his mama and she said the villagers were fools, for the king was a good and loving man and the reason no one ever returned from his parties was that life was so sweet in the palace that they could not bring themselves to leave. In fact, she said, "Your papa accepted just such an invitation not long before you were born." Daniel's heart was set ablaze with a yearning for his own invitation. Then one day, Daniel disappeared, with hardly a trace. His mother cried and she and the villagers searched everywhere. But he was nowhere to be found. The villagers said, "What an ungrateful boy to leave his mother." Some said, "Good riddance, for he was not like the other children." Some said, "He must have been kidnapped. What a tragedy."
His mama was distraught, but they found not a trace of him. Until that night, when his mama went into his room and stood by his bed. And as she began to pray, she spied, peeking out from beneath his pillow a brightly colored card. She took it out and read, "Daniel, the king requests the pleasure of your presence at his most joyous banquet. You will be a most honored guest. Your king and father await you." And mama cried big, fat, wet tears of sorrow for she knew that her little Daniel would not be coming home again. She cried and she laughed a laugh of great joy for she knew where he had gone. She laughed and cried so much that she almost missed the words scribbled in the corner of the card. They said, "Dear Mama, I love you. See you at the party. Daniel."
Kevin is the little boy who is gone from us now, whose disappearance makes us weep and breaks our hearts. But we have the invitation, here in this book, where it says, "Let the little children come unto me." Where it says, "Come unto me all ye who are heavy laden." Where it says, "I am the resurrection and the life, and because I live, you shall live also." Where it says, "There shall be a new heaven and a new earth, and God shall dwell with his people. And he will wipe away every tear from their eyes and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain anymore for the former things have passed away. Behold I make all things new."
So, we know where he has gone. And we know that the king who receives him there is a great and loving king. And that makes all the difference in the world. So, we will stand amidst the ruins of our lives. We will stand beside the empty bed and weep our tears of sadness and sorrow. But, we will know, Kevin, that you will not be defeated by death. Amen.
-- Chuck Cammarata
