My roommate is studying to be a Lutheran pastor. He and I talk theology, ministry, ecclesiology, eschatology, and groceries all the time. There have been a couple times that he and I have been hashing over a sermon or paper he's working on and I say something brilliant (well, duh!) and it helps Roommate in his thought process and/or theological bend to his message. (Tangent: a couple nights ago we were switching back and forth between debating Martin Luther's two kingdom theology (1520's) and playing Star Wars (1977) trivia, so not all of our conversations are necessarily biblical or theological.) After that first sermon success, Roommate somewhat jokingly said that I should be preaching in Roommate's place. I told him to be the Aaron to my Moses (Exodus 4:10-17); that is a great Bible joke, by the way.
(Tangent: another great Bible joke is to ask how many of each animal Moses took with him on the Ark...)
(Okay, it's not a great joke, but it is a Bible joke!)
This morning Roommate was telling me about the sermon he's going to be preaching this Sunday, just a few days before Thanksgiving, on the text of Jesus' healing of the ten lepers (Luke 17:11-19). We bantered back and forth over omelets and coffee for a little while. He got to the point where he wanted to make a point that as college kids return home to their parents, while family members from distances away gather for a meal (and leftovers!), and while people take time away from the hustle and bustle of daily like to reflect and give thanks, they are like the one leper who turned back to Jesus and praised his for the miracle of healing that had occurred.
That's a lovely sermon and one fitting for Thanksgiving week. But I think it's too one dimensional.
This week one of Roommate's and my classmates suffered a tragic loss in his family. A young driver hit a bicyclist, and the biker was killed; he was our classmate's uncle. This sudden and tragic loss of life is painful for all involved, from the family to the kid driver, from the pedestrians to the medics, from the coroner to the family pastor.
I turned to Roommate this morning and asked how he would preach this sermon to this family, to our friend. How do you preach a sermon of Thanksgiving, of faithfulness, of joy, and of healing to the family or person engulfed in pain and loss? How do you speak a word of Life into a world of Death?!
How do I, as a person called into full-time ministry with young people and their families, celebrate with one kid who got a full-ride into the college of their choice while being present with a kid who was suspended from his school after fighting back against a constant and ruthless bully?
I don't have an answer. I have a couple ideas, but no firm answer. I could read Matthew 9:12-13 where Jesus says he came to call the sinners, not the righteous; the sick, not the healthy. I could give the college bound kid what he wants: personal attention, recognition, and deserved applause. I could take both the college bound and the suspended out to breakfast.
This Thanksgiving, I will not be with my family. They will be missing two men this year. On a calendar, April seems so long ago, but in my heart April is still an open wound. I'm spending Thanksgiving day with Roommate, his soon-to-be wife, her family, and other friends of ours from school. But I know in spite of the dark meat of the turkey, the mashed sweet potatoes, and the pumpkin pie, I'll be missing my family. Most of them I'll see at Christmas, sure, but more of them I won't see until Kingdom Come.
Roommate is going to preach a sermon of thanksgiving in a time of Thanksgiving. It will mean something to those who give thanks for the abundance in their lives. It may mean more to those who need to be at church, those hurting, mourning, and at a loss. I count myself as living with abundance--but that doesn't mean that this Thanksgiving (or this Christmas, or next January, or next February, or next April) I won't feel a deep and painful sense of loss. I will cry when the holidays hit full force. Geez, I cry when I see pictures of my niece's first birthday party. But I [will] give thanks for the family I have, for the family I've had, and for the promise of God that death is not the end, but just a major bump on the road to Life Everlasting.
I might not call my loved ones as often as I think of them. (And the funny part is, so far my family are the only people reading this blog!) I'll bet they don't call me as often as they think of me. In spite of all that, we know we love each other. Family, friends that are family, and loved ones: I give thanks for you. I won't be there to whisk the gravy, to eat yet another slice of pie, or to play with a certain baby girl, but know that I love you all.
It all comes back. Life out of Death, that's what God in Christ Jesus through the Holy Spirit is up to in my life, in our lives, and in the life of the world. That's the promise I hope in, and I can do nothing else.
Here's to L-O-V-E (!) now and forevermore.
Peace be with you. Amen.
