Mark 1:1-11 "Torn Apart"

         A priest was preparing to baptize a young child. He approached the father of the child and said solemnly, "Baptism is a serious step. “  And then the priest asked, “Are you prepared for it?"

         "I think so," the young father replied. "My wife has made appetizers, and we have a caterer coming to provide plenty of cookies and cakes for all of our guests."

         "I don't mean that," the priest responded. "What I mean is this:  Are you prepared spiritually?"

         "Oh, sure," the father answered, not missing a beat. "I've got a keg of beer and a case of whiskey all set."

         It is a funny story perhaps, but its point is clear.  Baptism is meant to be so much more than the trappings – be they appetizers and beer or a marble font and elaborate ritual.  At least, baptism was certainly much more than the trappings for the Gospel writer of Mark, whose account of Jesus’ baptism we just heard.  For this Gospel writer, baptism was nothing less than where the story of Jesus Christ begins. 

        You see, this earliest written Gospel has no birth narrative with shepherds and angel choruses.  That is found in Luke.  There are no magi, nor a star, nor King Herod.  We will read that version only in Matthew.  No – for the Gospel writer of Mark, we rocket right through the first 30 years or so of Jesus’ life and begin when he is an adult – at the moment of his baptism, when he, like so many other Jews that day, filed down to the Jordan River to be baptized by the new prophet in town, John the Baptizer. 

         Baptism was not a usual occurrence for first century Jews.  However, if you were going to be baptized, the Jordan was a wonderful place to do it – so full of tradition and history it was.  Flowing along a huge geologic fault in the earth’s surface that separated ancient Judah from the mountains of Moab, the river wound its way through the bottom of a valley near Bethlehem, bringing water and minerals into the Dead Sea, 124 miles away. 

         And oh, what a colorful history the Jordan River had!  It had been where Elijah had given his cloak or mantle to his young sidekick Elisha and then had been taken into heaven on a chariot.  The Jordan was where Elisha instructed the commander of the Syrian to bathe seven times to rid himself of leprosy.  And now it was the site of John’s baptizing and his calling people to turn away from sin and back to God, his imploring people to “prepare the way of the Lord; make straight in the desert a highway for our God”, as the prophet Isaiah famously said.

         When Jesus’ turn came, John dunked him like he had dunked all the others.  Jesus held his breath below the sacred muddy waters until his lungs felt like they would burst.  Then he came to the surface, coughing and sputtering, shaking his head, droplets of water flying everywhere. 

         It was then that he saw above him the very heavens – not quietly opening with a cooing dove gently being deposited on his shoulder (as one might conclude from a variety of artistic renderings).  Rather, the heavens were unceremoniously torn apart such that they – and he - would never be quite the same again.  It was at that moment that Jesus heard a voice that, according to this Gospel narrative, no one else heard, a voice that said, “You are my own dear son, and I am so pleased with you.” 

         As blogger Roger Owens wrote, “At this new beginning, (Jesus) is being reminded of his identity— reminded of who he is, who he has always been, who he will always be.

He did not achieve this, so he can’t lose it. He did not earn it, so it can’t be taken away. This is simply who he is: God’s beloved son.”  At this moment of baptism, God identifies with Jesus and seals their relationship with a powerful statement of approval.

         And so it was true.  Jesus would never be the same again – nor will we, we who choose to follow in his footsteps and be baptized into the Church founded in his name.  

         The Scarlet Letter Bible tells the story this way:

         “So John showed up in the middle of nowhere, dunking people in a river, telling people to straighten up because it’s time to break free. People came from everywhere, even from Washington DC, to renounce their misdeeds and get cleaned up in the river.

         John dressed in ratty coveralls and leather suspenders. He kept to a strict vegan diet. And his message: ‘Get ready for someone so cool I’m unworthy to even tie his shoes! I just got you wet. He’ll set your life on fire!’

       That was when Jesus came. He arrived from Nazareth and John dunked him in the Jordan River. As he emerged from the water he saw the universe as it really is, and he felt it resonate to his core: that he was God’s precious child, and God was joy.”

       The commentator of the Scarlet Bible goes on to note:  “Baptism might just get you wet. Or it might just change your life. In itself, there’s nothing magical about a dip in the water. Even if it’s a religiously motivated one, with a formal liturgy, specially blessed water, godparents, and the whole works.

         What makes it special is what you do with it after you get out of the water….Your baptism is when you realized who you are at your very core and you accepted that realization with joy. So much joy, that, as difficult as it may have been (and still be), it’s impossible not to live the rest of your life out of that moment.”

         Most of us, I suspect, however, do not remember much about our children’s baptisms, let alone our own.  If yours was like mine, you probably can figure that your parents held you in their arms as they mumbled affirmations to questions that neither they nor we can likely remember. Then the minister dotted your head with water as he or she spoke your name.  What we probably most recall are the stories told about us – whether we cried or smiled and whether we did anything embarrassing in front of the home church congregation. 

         However, just as baptism was the beginning of Jesus’ ministry in Mark’s Gospel, so it is the beginning for our ministry as well – and therein is the crux of its importance.  Baptism is the beginning of our life in the community of faith we call the church.  It is when we enter the stream of God’s story.   It is when God’s words rumble through all eternity to surround and embrace us:  “You are God’s beloved son or daughter.  God is pleased with you.”  Regardless of our age, baptism is when we become part of God’s eternal narrative, and the heavens above us are torn apart, and, in so doing, we are never the same again. 

         As our blogger wrote, “Joined to Christ through baptism we make a discovery: these words to Jesus, just like the waters of baptism, these words—they spill over him and onto us as well. You are my beloved child. This endorsement spoken to Jesus—it belongs to us as well. We don’t earn it, or achieve it, or campaign for it. It’s simply given.

The deepest truth of who we are—beloved children of God.”  Through baptism, we become part of God’s people, part of God’s family.

         All this is pretty heady stuff that Mark’s version of the story leads us to reflect on, and it makes me think that perhaps we understand our baptism less than we think.  Baptism is really not some warm and fuzzy event for babies capped off with a catered lunch and a keg of beer.  It is more like an earth-shattering moment that reorients our very identity and, if taken seriously, changes our lives forever. 

         Perhaps it should be as UCC pastor Maxwell Grant speculates, “What if....what if instead of a little chaste sprinkling of water on the forehead or even a full immersion on the banks of a local river or something in between...what if the only way to (be baptized, to become part of God’s family) was by skydiving? The very idea makes my stomach do backflips (he writes). But think about it. Free fall, then the rip cord, and then a gentle floating down to the ground.”  Bet we would all remember our baptism then!

         And so each year, on first Sunday after Epiphany (which commemorates the magi finally reaching the Christ Child), we remember not only Jesus’ baptism, but ours as well. 

As your pastor, I try to make that remembrance more along the lines of sky diving than a ritualistic sprinkling of water.

         And so we will listen once again to those promises made long ago on our behalf – and we will reaffirm our intent to, come what may, remain in the stream of God’s story and realize in a new way that our joy is only really to be found in embracing the fact that we are God’s beloved daughters and sons, and so we need to live our lives as if that really matters. 

         Mind you, we do not reaffirm our baptism as a sort of magical way to make our life easier in the year to come.  That is not what baptism did for Jesus, and that is not what reaffirming our baptism will do for us either. 

         Baptism did not keep Jesus out of trouble, and it certainly did not make things turn out as he had planned.  I think part of the significance of his baptism was the realization that when he found himself in trouble, he found also that he was not alone.  He still had God’s blessing and the company of the Spirit.  And so it will be for us as we enter this new year that is so filled with fearful uncertainty. 

        As Episcopal priest Michael Marsh beautifully noted, “To return to the waters of our baptism returns us to the truth God knows about us even when we do not know or believe that truth, even when we have forgotten or denied that truth, even when we cannot see it in the world around us, and even when we have acted contrary to that truth. Those baptismal waters drown the other voices that speak untruth about us and each other. They embolden and strengthen us. They renew hope and refresh the weary. They cleanse our eyes that we might see each other and ourselves in a new light.”

         (As I noted,) none of this necessarily makes life easy. It doesn’t magically fix our life’s or world’s problems. Instead, it reveals life to be holy, sacred, and worth the effort. It lets us start from a new place and with a different truth. (After all,) where we begin in some way makes all the difference in where we will go.”

         When we renew our baptismal vows, we renew our commitment to the Gospel message to love our neighbors as we love ourselves.  We renew our call to ministry, to discipleship, to following in the footsteps of this God man, Jesus. We affirm that we will continue to tear open that which needs to be torn open in our world, just as the heavens were torn open millennia ago at the time of Jesus’ baptism on the shoreline of the Jordan River.

         By renewing our baptismal vows, we commit to tearing apart that which separates the rich from the poor, tearing through hardness of heart to real compassion, tearing through rigid and meaningless rituals to find new ways for the church to be authentic in a secular world, tearing apart the chains that hold us prisoner, tearing apart all the rhetoric that keeps so many in the world from believing that they too are God’s beloved children.

         So let us come once again to the baptismal waters to claim our identity as God’s beloved children.  Let us come to renew our call to ministry.  Let us come to understand, once again, that God has revealed herself in humanity through Jesus. 

         As Michael Marsh wrote, “Whatever your life has been or might now be, the baptismal waters await you. Cannonball into the mercy of God. Immerse yourself in the water of God’s love. Splash in the waves of God’s forgiveness.

Backstroke through the pool of God’s grace. Dive deep into the gift of having been created in the image and likeness of God. Drift in the stillness of God’s peace.”  Imagine that you are skydiving - and prepare yourself for ministry in Christ’s name.

        

Luke 1:5-25, 57-80 "#morehope"

         Today is a special day here in our church because today we begin our preparations for Christmas.  Of course, we are not concerned about getting the wreaths up and the cookies baked and the gifts wrapped.  Here in church, we will focus on readying ourselves – our hearts and minds - for the birth of Jesus. 

         We call this season of preparation “Advent”.  Technically, the first Sunday in Advent is next week, encompassing the four Sundays prior to Christmas Day.  However, this year, in an unusual twist of the calendar, the fourth Sunday in Advent falls on Christmas Eve.  We will not have a morning worship service that day but instead will put our collective effort into, and our attendance at, our traditional Christmas Eve pageant at 5:00 P.M. 

         And yet, our Advent worship series entitled “Angels Among Us” deserves the full allotment of four Sundays to be particularly meaningful for you.  Consequently, for those of you who keep track of the liturgical calendar, we are beginning the season of Advent one week early. Hopefully though, by the time Christmas Eve rolls around, you will find that it has been time well spent when you experience once again the birth of our Savior through song and pageantry as the ancient story is once more told.

         In preparation for Christmas Eve then, we will be exploring the role of angels in the Nativity story for the next four Sundays.  You see, these messengers from God figure prominently, not just on the night of Jesus’ birth when they announced his coming to the shepherds on the hillside outside of Bethlehem.  They also show up in the Gospel tales that lead up to the event in the stable.  And we will find that not only did these angels have something important to say to folks long ago, but that they also have something equally important to say to us as well. 

         When you really think about the angels that appear in the stories leading up to Jesus’ birth, I think it is interesting to note that they would have been very comfortable with social media, very comfortable in our world of tweets and hashtags. Remember how their messages were often short and to the point? Maybe not always 146 characters, but brief nonetheless.  For example, in our social media world, their favorite line would have been #DoNotBeAfraid. 

         As we look at the stories of these winged messengers who first came to Zechariah (the father of John the Baptist), then to Mary, Joseph, and the Shepherds, and as we recall their reactions to the angels, we will contemplate what messages we might offer to our world, a world characterized by a pervasive culture of fear.  Surely we are 21^st messengers of Good News – though perhaps not of the winged variety.  How can we – you and I - bring #morehope, #morepeace, #morejoy, and #morelove to the world?

         Now, most of the time in church, you are instructed to turn off your cell phones.  But, for these next four weeks, I invite you – in fact, i encourage you - to turn them on.  I invite you to tweet, use snapchat or instagram, post to your facebook page, or send an email broadcast to your address book.  I invite you in any way you can to proclaim the oh-so-relevant Advent message of the angels - #DoNotBeAfraid. 

         Maybe you will take a photo of our Advent lanterns or put something you hear into 146 characters and tweet it out.  Maybe you will post a status report on facebook indicating that you are here – in church – spreading God’s Advent message of #DoNotBeAfraid and this week’s particular message of #morehope.  Maybe you will simply send out the quote on the front of the bulletin.

         You see, the world needs to know what we proclaim here as Christians. The world needs to know that we will not conform to the norms of our culture.  The world needs to know that we will be different.  The world needs to know that we will not live in fear.  The world needs to know that we will continue to exist with a deep and abiding hope in the  promises God has made to us. 

         That is what the world needs to know - and now let’s look at the story of one angel who long ago proclaimed those messages as well….

         This first angel we encounter broke 400 years of silence between God and the Jewish people.  The date, of course, is uncertain.  Perhaps it was around 3 BCE.  The place was at the high altar in a temple somewhere in the Judean hills probably not far from Jerusalem. 

         It was a dark era for the Jewish people.  Not only had there been no prophetic word from their God in four centuries, but in addition, their spiritual leaders had become entangled in increasingly meaningless traditions and rituals, and their king (Herod) was both corrupt and tyrannical. 

         And it was on one of those dark and silent days that Zechariah arrived for his priestly duty.  There were so many priests that he only had to take his turn for a couple of weeks out of the year.  Of course, no one had told him that this time around he was going to kick off the Advent story.  They just told him to report to the temple, which he did.  He was in charge of burning the incense, a particular privilege awarded by drawing lots, a responsibility that Zechariah might have hoped to do maybe once in his lifetime. 

         So, there he was alone in the most holy part of the temple, the congregation on the other side of a screen praying as the incense burned.  Then, out of nowhere, just to the right of the altar, we are told, the angel Gabriel appeared.  It was pretty clear right from the start that Zechariah was not expecting an angel, and he reacted in a way that Gabriel would soon become accustomed to.  Zechariah was quite alarmed, and so the first words out of the angel’s mouth were “#DoNotBeAfraid.”

         The angel then went on to say that Zechariah’s prayers would be answered, that his wife Elizabeth would bear a son.  Continuing his pronouncement, the angel went to unusual lengths to assure Zechariah that this was good news, that he and Elizabeth would be happy taking the unused bassinet out of storage and setting up the nursery after all these years when they had long since given up any real hope for a family, that his son (for it would be a son) would grow up to be a great man with a somewhat eccentric diet, and that, most importantly, this child’s name was to be John.

         Quite taken aback by the angel’s monologue, Zechariah responded with an artfully worded question:  “How will I know that this is so?”

           Now Gabriel might have answered cynically, saying something like, “Well, when your wife’s figure balloons and she wants pickles and ice cream at midnight, when you first hear her pitiful cursing and moaning followed many hours later by the unmistakable cry of a newborn baby – then you will know that what I have said God has brought to pass.”

         But the angel did not do that.  He simply struck Zechariah mute and told him that he would get his voice back when the miracle had occurred. So Zechariah had to use sign language that day to tell the congregation that he needed to head home and could not finish his priestly duties.  He used gestures when he got there too in order to ensure that Elizabeth was in the loop.

         And, over time, it all did come true, as the angel had said it would.  Elizabeth became pregnant, and the public disgrace associated with her barrenness disappeared in a heartbeat.  The baby was born, and, a week later, his proud parents took him to the Temple for the traditional naming ceremony and circumcision.  When the priest got to the part where he asked the child’s name, Elizabeth spoke up and said that the child would be called John. 

         There was a bit of an outcry from the family at that point because everyone expected a son to be named after his father – Zec Jr. in this case.  Being part of a patriarchal society where women really had no say, the priest looked to Zechariah to set things right and put his wife in her proper place. 

         Zechariah remembered all that the angel had told him that day nine months before and understood that this was a most serious moment. Consequently, he decided wisely to forego the hand gestures and asked for a writing pad instead.  He took the heavy black marker and block printed the letters J-O-H-N. 

         And suddenly Zechariah had his voice back again – albeit a bit scratchy from not using it in nearly a year – and he immediately praised God - for the miracle of speech, for the miracle of his wife giving birth after all these years of barrenness, and for the most wonderful miracle of all, a miracle grounded in such great high hope that God had just set in motion in the world. Perhaps in that moment, Zechariah understood.  The upheaval had begun.  The world was about to turn upside down.

         Well, certainly you and I have been waiting for a long time for that turning to even seem like it is beginning, much less nearing completion.   Like Zechariah, we too live in dark times. 

         In light of the promises of Advent, how do we live in a world that seems to be so scary?  How do we live in a world where mass shootings happen in the most sacred of places?  How do we live in a world where conflict appears around every corner and where the political, racial, and economic divide gets wider and deeper at every turn?  How do we live in a world whose weather grows more erratic and violent every season? 

         Biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann has pointed out that often in the Bible it is out of barrenness that God’s new work emerges.  Not just barrenness like Elizabeth experienced, but barrenness in the sense of a powerful metaphor for anyone who feels empty, fearful, and helpless before God – and I would submit that – certainly this year - that would include all of us.  But does Zechariah’s encounter with an angel provide any guidance to us at all?

         I think so.  I think Zechariah’s story is one that is deeply rooted in #morehope, As Presbyterian pastor Deborah Sunco wrote, “"By the time we meet Zechariah and Elizabeth, they have stopped believing a baby will join their family.  The years have gone by, the gray hairs have sprouted, their bodies have wrinkled, and the child hasn’t come.  But I’m not sure they’ve stopped hoping for a baby. 

         Gabriel’s words tell us that they have prayed for a child, just like one might pray for  - what? - a month without a mass shooting or a Christmas when the world is not at war somewhere…Past experience might suggest it is worthless to pray for such things, but your heart cries out nonetheless, hoping past hope that this year something might be different.  The cry holds a flicker of faith in God’s power to revive, the hope that never truly, fully dies” 

         In this story we just read, Zechariah is told – after all these years - that his prayer has been heard.  If nothing else, perhaps we can see in this story that God’s spirit continues to be at work in those parts of our lives where we have given up hope, where we see only barrenness and emptiness. Perhaps we can see that, for God, these very situations invite intervention.

         I wish I had easy answers – a holy “to do” list – that would make the world a significantly better place this Advent.  However, I do not.  Sometimes I feel as lost as you do. 

         But I keep thinking of Zechariah.  I keep thinking of how he and Elizabeth never completely lost hope in a distant dream.  Maybe on one level they knew they were too old for a child and that the angel was too late.  Maybe that was what Zechariah was getting at when the angel struck him mute.  Maybe Zechariah just wanted to know why God had been silent for so long.

         As Anglican preacher Rosalind Brown noted, “Why did they have to face years of shame and disgrace? Why do bad things happen to good people? These are the questions that faced Zechariah and Elizabeth…These are our questions too and the (Gospel writer) doesn't answer them, so we (would) do better to notice what we are told: that (Zechariah and Elizabeth) had been faithful, that they discovered afresh that God does not always live by our rules, (but) God does hear our prayer.”

         So, in this season of Advent, in our dark times, the likes of which Zechariah and Elizabeth would be so well-acquainted, these Biblical characters – brought up short by an angel’s brief message – are examples of what it means to hope even when everyone and everything is telling you that your life or your world is beyond hope. 

         And that is not easy.  Advent hope is hard work.  Our dreams for this season and beyond are always so big – and those dreams always seem to fall short of reality.  It is enough to make us turn inward in our fear and disappointment.  

        But we must not do that.  Why?  Because the world is depending on us.  Because the world needs us to get the message out: first and foremost #DoNotBeAfraid  followed closely this week by #morehope. 

         So - do it!  Seriously, do it!  Tweet, email, post – or do it the old-fashioned way and have a conversation or send a note – or even simply give your bulletin to someone who was not here today. Just do it!

         Why?  Because the world needs to know that we will never give up on God’s promises and God’s dream.  Because the world needs to know that once long ago, when the meaning of names was so important, there was someone named Elizabeth (which means “God has promised”) and someone named Zechariah (which means “God has remembered”) who, just as the angel said, had a son named John. 

         Ponder the meaning of their names for a moment:  God has promised, and God has remembered.  Then proclaim the Good News: #morehope.  #DoNotBeAfraid.

Hebrews 12:1-2 "All Saints' Remembrances"

         This past week I took a course at Maine Medical Center to become certified as an Advanced Care Planner.  That is someone who works with people to create an Advanced Directive (formerly known as a living will) for the first time.  It is also someone who, because an Advanced Directive is a document that is sure to morph over time as one ages or experiences health changes, helps to rewrite and edit one that is already in place. 

         Because a meaningful and helpful Advanced Directive is so much more than checking off boxes in an attorney’s office, we talked a lot about helping people reflect on what it means to live a good life.  In other words, what gives their life meaning and purpose, and what makes their life worth living. 

         As you listen to the All-Saints’ Remembrances this morning and recall (or meet for the first time) those people in our congregation and in our own individual families who died this past year, you will hear about just what gave their lives meaning and purpose, and it will be so many different things – choir, the Navy, creativity, precision, spontaneously dancing to Mac the Knife – and, of course, the joy of family, friends, and community. 

         I do not believe that the dead are gone forever, but rather that they go on living in ways we cannot fully understand.  I believe that, somehow in remembering them, they live in us again, teaching us what it means to have a good life, a passionate life, an abundant life.  I believe that better understanding that will guide each one of us to a good death as well.  After all, we are all going to die someday.

         Listen to their stories then.  Remember them  and their stories well – and reflect on just what it is that gives your life meaning.

MARK DIXON – Mark was part of our church family through his wife’s and sons’ commitments to our church.  Mark’s academic background was in science, and he fulfilled his passion working for research and biotech companies.  He received his bachelor’s degree from North Carolina State and his Master’s degree from West Virginia.  Mark was very outgoing with a wonderful and contagious smile and a sense of humor appreciated by both family and friends.  He loved his dogs, classic cars, and music, especially jazz.  However, above all these things, the greatest joy he experienced was the joy he felt in watching his two sons grow up, participating when he could in their activities, and being their biggest cheerleader.  He was so proud of both of them and their accomplishments.

JEFFREY DYER – Jeffrey is Polly Dyer’s grandson.  Jeffrey attended Bonny Eagle and Portland high schools.  He enjoyed soccer, video games, and being outdoors, especially when he went fishing with his Grandpa Dyer at the family camp in Eustis.

LOIS FORAN – Lois is Joe’s mother.  She was also the best mother-in-law ever, and I can only hope that I am half as good at that role as she was.  By the time she was in her mid-thirties, Lois was the mother of eleven children, often raising them nearly by herself as her husband (and their dad) often traveled or worked exceptionally long hours. 

         One of her children described her as the nurturer, preparer of meals, washer of dishes, taxi driver, creator of projects remembered at 8:00 P.M. and due the next morning, groundskeeper, bookkeeper, nurse, doctor, confidant, planner, party host, referee, instigator, human calculator (before calculators), teacher, wielder of the ironing cord (you did not want to be the last person to run), comedian, dealer of cards, creator of milk soup, fried spaghetti, and city chicken legs.  She was the absolute authority for a pack of eleven.” 

         There are many stories (too many to mention), both true and apocryphal, about Lois.  Here is one that one of Joe’s sisters recalled:  “The new mustang and a bunch of us kids in the back seat urging her to “floor it”, so she did and got pulled over.  The cop made her get out of the car so he wouldn’t have to yell at her in front of the kids.”

         Joe summed Lois up well:  “My mother loved life - what else can I say?  She loved her kids, her husband, cooking, her family - and she loved to dance. Oh, how she loved to dance!  Among so many lessons, she taught me never to be shy about getting up on the floor when a good song is being played.  Thanks, Mom!”

ANN HARRIMAN – Ann was a longtime member of our church.  She sang in the choir for many years and was elected a Church Elder.  When not in the choir loft, you could find Ann helping at church suppers and fairs.  She frequently worked the bake table at the Holiday Fair and could always be found making brownie sundaes at most every pot roast supper.  Ann was gentle, kind, and always thinking of others before she thought of herself.  She was quite the roller skater in her youth, perfecting a trick whereby her partner would hold her by the ankles and swing her around, bringing her close enough to the wooden floor of the rink that she was able to light the match she held in her teeth. Ann was the last of the “Gold Girls”, here at church, - that much loved trio of BFFs that also included Muriel Yeager and Rosemary Tripp. 

         Ann’s daughter Leann said this about her mother:  “What I remember most and value in my mom was her care, concern and compassion for others.  She was always willing to help others in need and did so with grace.  My mom’s good sense of humor and her optimistic outlook would so often help us all through difficult times.  Her love of nature and how she passed this on to me.  She loved feeding the birds and especially the humming birds.  She loved to garden and taught me the names of flowers and plants.  She would often take us to watch the sunsets at Quaker Ridge in Casco.  My mom had a strong work ethic and passed this on to her children.  She was independent and would always try to do things on her own before asking for assistance. These are what come to mind first and foremost.  Thank you again for remembering my mom this coming Sunday.  I miss her!”

RUSSELL LAMBERT – Russ is Lori’s brother-in-law.  Lori’s husband Dan had this to say about his brother:  “From my earliest memories of Russ all the way to my last, he was always kind, gentle, and humble. Russ followed his bliss and was a true artist.  He was creative.  He was impulsive.  He was ‘a nice guy’.   Russ was probably one of the simplest people you might know and at the same time could be one of the most complicated.   He was quietly influential.

         Russ taught me the art and importance of subtle humor.  He taught me how to put my imagination to work on creating something and to not be afraid of making stuff up as you go along.  I’m not really sure that Russ entirely appreciated how many of our lives he affected in a positive way.”

HEATHER MAKER – Heather is Nancy Yate’s sister-in-law.   She leaves a family that meant the world to her, most particularly her husband Hal and her two daughters, Meghan and Alexandria.  Nancy had this to say about Heather:  “Heather's family meant everything to her.  She was very supportive of them all, but particularly her husband, Hal.  When Hal was in the National Guard, she began getting involved with supporting other families in the Guard, calling other wives and mothers to offer support in any way she could, even if it was only to bring a cup of coffee to them at their workplaces, or be a listening ear. 

        When Hal was put in charge of an Honor Guard unit, she was very proud, and often accompanied them to the funerals of fallen soldiers. After his retirement from the Guard, she and Hal became active in the United Vets Motorcycle Club, which turns out for various events and does fundraising for charity throughout the year.   She and her only sister, Holly, were very close, and she took Holly's grandchildren under her wing, as well as being a loving and giving mother to her daughters. I never saw her when she wasn't cordial and soft-spoken.”

MARCELLE OLSEN – Marcelle is Rolf’s mother.   Much of Marcelle’s adult life was spent serving her family, community, and nation.  She was in the Navy during the post-World War II period and then again during the Korean War.  In fact, she is unique in being the first WAVE to ever reenlist. Between her stints in the Navy, Marcelle attended Wagner College, where she met the love of her life with whom she enjoyed 54 years of marriage and raised three children.

         Marcelle’s church meant a great deal to her.  She was a devout Lutheran all her life and taught Sunday school for over 60 years - truly a saint in that regard!  She also volunteered as a Girl Scout leader and was an Avon representative for over 45 years.

Marcelle's hobbies included camping with her family, gardening, baking, knitting, water aerobics and sharing stories with friends.

JUSTIN SHARAF – Justin was an attorney and accountant here in Raymond.  He had several ties to our church.  First, as Nancy Yates recalls, he and his wife sang in the choir for a number of years.  Second, and perhaps more importantly, Justin was our church auditor, going over the books to ensure that every “I” was dotted and “T” crossed. 

         Caryl remembers this about Justin during her years as church treasurer:  “We would meet once a year and he would meticulously go over our books and help with corrections, then write a brief audit report.  My impression was that he was analytical, very intelligent, very precise, and kind (although the first three intimidated me at first).”

         Nancy also recalls his generosity:  “Even though (Justin) hadn't attended in a long time, every December he would send a check for $800 for his annual donation, along with a stamped, self-addressed envelope, and a request for a receipt with specific verbiage for the IRS.  He felt there was a right way to do things.”

 FRANCES WALTON – Frances lived in Raymond for 24 years.  He had an abiding love of God and was a deeply religious man.  He was a deacon at the East Raymond Chapel and was active at RVCC during the winter months.  He loved puzzles of all kinds, and on most Saturdays you would find him at the Fire Station cleaning the trucks and doing chores.

         Developmentally disabled, but mainstreamed before mainstreaming was considered viable, Francis was smart (brilliant in some areas).  His parents raised him with the same expectations as his three siblings. They challenged him, and he rallied. 

         Francis’ interests were both broad and deep. He loved to swim and walk.  He collected vintage comic books (with Blondie and Dagwood being real favorites), wrote letters, created greeting cards, and assembled model trains and vintage cars. 

         His family will always remember his beloved “packets” given spontaneously to family and friends – series of pages of intricate drawings of trains, people, fire trucks, cars, landscapes, and letters that he folded compactly and neatly and sealed with tape. 

         A family member described Frances this way: “Francis’ soul just shone, a steady and strong beacon for all in his family.  He was polite; he was gentle.  He was smart; he was compassionate.  He was generous and forgiving.  He was brave and determined.  He was protective and gave us stability in all things truly good.  He was unconditional love and joy.”

         Whether you consider these people to be saints or just good people, they are there, a great cloud of witnesses.  They do live on – around us and in us, always urging you and me to, first, find meaning and passion in what we do and, second, to live life to the fullest.  So – thanks to all of them for their gifts to us!

         In closing, listen to Frederick Buechner’s thoughts on folks like the ones we have remembered today:  “How they do live on on, those giants of our childhood, and how well they manage to take even death in their stride because although death can put an end to them right enough, it can never put an end to our relationship with them.

         Wherever or however else they may have come to life since, it is beyond a doubt that they live still in us. Memory is more than a looking back to a time that is no longer;

it is a looking out into another kind of time altogether where everything that ever was continues not just to be, but to grow and change with the life that is in it still.

         The people we loved. The people who loved us. The people who, for good or ill, taught us things. Dead and gone though they may be, as we come to understand them in new ways, it is as though they come to understand us—and through them we come to understand ourselves—in new ways too.

         Who knows what "the communion of saints" means, but surely it means more than just that we are all of us haunted by ghosts because they are not ghosts, these people we once knew, not just echoes of voices that have years since ceased to speak, but saints in the sense that through them something of the power and richness of life itself not only touched us once long ago, but continues to touch us.

         They have their own business to get on with now, I assume—"increasing in knowledge and love of Thee," says the Book of Common Prayer, and moving "from strength to strength," which sounds like business enough for anybody—and one imagines all of us on this shore fading for them as they journey ahead toward whatever new shore may await them; but it is as if they carry something of us on their way as we assuredly carry something of them on ours.

         That is perhaps why to think of them is a matter not only of remembering them as they used to be but of seeing and hearing them as in some sense they are now. If they had things to say to us then, they have things to say to us now too…’