Philippians 3:7-14, 17-21; 4:1
October 3, 2014
Some years ago, at an anniversary party for Mr. and Mrs. Smith, a toast was offered: “To Smitty: the only man who can turn a short story into a novel.”
Mr. Smith was quick with a joke, a smile, and a story. But in my own experience with him, what stands out most is what he didn’t say. A few years after becoming the pastor here, a small controversy arose, where Smitty and another man disagreed with me about something. They actually strongly disagreed. And looking back, I know I should have handled the situation better. I was trying to make a point, you see; I had things to teach the congregation, improvements that needed to be made.
It took me too many years to realize that Smitty, and the other person, were teaching me. They taught me something about being a man, especially about how Christian men resolve differences. Smitty resolved the matter peacefully, privately, and by treating me with more respect than I showed him.
I was too young to recognize how much I should have respected him. And I think he knew that too, and showed grace to a young pastor. He served our country honorably in the military, continued serving our country in security and intelligence work, and kept it a secret. He spent a lifetime keeping us all safe during the long and frightening cold war, spent years loving a wife and raising four children, and then spent many weekends and evenings caring for the church property and tending to our school’s finances. Men respected him.
Smitty respected office, authority. He loved, deeply, the American flag, and everything good that it stands for; he took pride in being a citizen of the United States.
The Epistle reading we heard from Philippians was written by a Roman citizen, St. Paul. Paul knew what a valuable thing it was to be a citizen of the Roman Empire. Before he was put to death for being a Christian, Paul used his citizenship to appeal to the Emperor.
Yet as valuable as citizenship is, as honorable as love of country is, God’s Word teaches us there is something of infinitely greater worth. “But our citizenship is in heaven,” declares the holy Apostle, who then gives us this greatest of comforts: “Our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by the power that enables him even to subject all things to himself.”
The end is not this casket. Mind fails, footsteps falter, and the heart ceases to beat. And as we visit the grave, we might be tempted to question like Mary Magdalene, for the stone of the grave seems large, oppressive, impossible to overcome. But we have their testimony, and the testimony of so many eyewitnesses, that Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified, is risen. And by that power of His victory over death, Christ will transform this lowly body to be like His glorious body; Christ will rejuvenate, resuscitate, resurrect the body, for that is the right granted to citizens of our Lord’s kingdom.
Pastor Esget, Fred Pauling, and Robert Smith bringing trees for Christmas 2010
That doesn’t take away the rottenness of today. Our hearts ache for you, Marilyn, and for your daughters and all your family. I hate it that you have to go on without your husband, your dad. Death is awful. Getting old is hard. The prophet Isaiah tells us what will happen after we all have grown old and the world groans with weariness: this old earth the LORD will make young again: “For behold, I create new heavens and a new earth, and the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind.” Now, we struggle to remember forgotten things, but then, all that is bitter, painful, sinful, shall be forgotten.
When your husband or father dies, it would be natural to feel a kind of cosmic shift, a deep loss inside you. When Jesus says, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”, He feels all of that lostness – and of course more, the full weight of the world’s corruption. But to the forsaken in this life, God promises to Himself care for us: “When my father and my mother forsake me” (that is to say, “leave me behind”), the Psalmist says, “then the Lord will take care of me” (Ps. 27.9).
That is the Lord’s promise to you, Marilyn, and all you who are joined to Jesus and the power of His resurrection: He will care for you, through this vale of tears, until the end. He keeps His promises, and on the day of resurrection we will rejoice and be glad in what the Lord has done. +INJ+