“Do to others as you would have them do to you.” (Luke 6:31)
One
of my favorite pieces of literature is Dylan Thomas’ Under Milk Wood.
Thomas wrote it as a radio play. It’s about a small seaside village in Wales in
the early part of the twentieth century. The town pastor, the Reverend Eli
Jenkins, dreams of winning the Welsh national poetry contest the Eisteddfod.
Reciting a little evening prayer he’s composed in verse, the good parson says,
“We are not wholly bad or good
Who live our lives under Milk Wood;
And Thou, I know, wilt be the first
To see our best side, not our worst.[i]”
But
all of us have a best side and a worst, don’t we? Luther would say we are all,
at the same time, both saint and sinner. On All Saints/All Souls Day we
remember our loved ones who have gone, and I like to think we remember them as
the Reverend Jenkins feels God sees them—loving them as beloved children marked
with the cross of Christ while overlooking their shortcomings.
In
our gospel text we see Jesus facing a crowd of his followers. All saints and
sinners. Some of them were true disciples, some had come to be healed of
diseases and infirmities, some I would bet just came for the novelty of seeing
this new rabbi/faith healer in action. They were a mixed bag of people from
different locations and income levels. They wanted Jesus to touch them so they
could feel the healing power which came out of him. I can almost imagine Jesus
laying hands on the sick, praying for each one, and then calling, “Next!”
Finally, no one else came forward. So, Jesus looked at this whole, rag-tag,
assorted group—this whole gang of peasants and working stiffs—and he told them
they were blessed. I’ll bet they never heard anyone tell them that
before.
Jesus
told them they were beloved of the Father even if they were poor or sad or felt
themselves marginalized. Of course, he also warned the ones who smugly reveled
in the things of the world that their situation could easily change. And he gave
all of them a little crash course in discipleship: Love your enemies. Forgive
them, pray for them, and be compassionate. Avoid violence. Be generous and do to others as you’d want
them to do to you.
Simple,
right?
When
we light the candles on this holy festival in memory of the saints, we remember
with gratitude the way they tried to live out Jesus’ instructions. Maybe some
were more successful in that endeavor than others, but all of them have been
forgiven by God and welcomed into the eternal home. We see their best side, not
their worst, and pray others may remember the things of Christ they saw in us
when our time has run out.
There
are three names on the All Saints list at Faith Lutheran of Philadelphia which
I want to single out.
Ruth
Hansen was the sweetest little lady you’d ever want to meet. There was
something in her utterly guileless nature that just charmed people. The nurses
who looked in on her in her last days were delighted by her cheerfulness and
courtesy and gratitude for their services. She was faithful in worship even in
her 90’s when mobility became an issue. She raised two children, John and Ruth.
John predeceased his mother, which, if you ask me, is one of the worst
tragedies we can ever suffer. Ruth told me, however, that she had a vivid dream
in which her late son came to her and assured her he was with Jesus in Heaven.
This gave her a great deal of strength, and her secure faith was inspiring.
Joanne
Maier was a long-time member of our congregation. I’d known her for over a
quarter of a century and never knew until after she’d passed that she’d been born
in Germany. She came to the U.S. as an immigrant but had a successful career in
the nursing profession—a career she inspired her daughter to pursue. Like Ruth,
she also endured the tragedy of losing an adult child. Like Ruth, her faith was
never shaken. My fondest memory of Joanne was the day she came to me and
insisted I do something to get her grandchildren into Sunday school. I wrote a
letter to her daughter-in-law, and grandson Stephen was soon enrolled in
Confirmation class. Although she relocated out of the immediate neighborhood
after her husband’s passing, Joanne faithfully commuted to Philadelphia from
North Wales, PA—a twenty-mile, 45-minute drive—every Sunday to attend an 8:15
mass at Faith.
Karl
Hommen was pastor of Faith for almost 14 years. I always felt a little bad for
Pastor Karl because he had the misfortune to be pastor at a time when the last
of the Baby Boomers made their Confirmation. That’s when the pews started to
empty out. I imagine those who remained blamed the sudden exodus on the pastor,
never realizing the same phenomenon was occurring everywhere across all
denominational lines. But Pastor Karl stuck it out, battling his way through
contentious council meetings and dealing with a misunderstanding between the
congregation and the City of Philadelphia over the payment of city wage taxes.
It couldn’t have been much fun, but I will remember Karl as a humble,
conscientious man who served Faith to the best of his ability for a very long
time, mentored four seminarians, and ended his ministry as a chaplain at Bucks
County Hospital where he told me, “It’s nice just to be able to be a pastor.”
God,
the generations rise and pass before away before you. You are the strength of
those who labor; you are the rest of the blessed dead. We rejoice in the
company of your saints. We remember all who have lived in faith, and all who
have died, and especially those most dear to us who rest in you. Give us in
time our portion with those who have trusted in you and have striven to do your
holy will[ii].
[i]
For all the splendid, poetic, convoluted dialogue in Thomas’ play, the Rev.
Jenkins’ prayer/poem is the least sophisticated. I think Thomas intentionally
wanted it to sound like it was written by an amateur poet with a good heart.
The whole poem has been set to music, and you can hear the great Welsh
bass-baritone Sir Bryn Terfel sing it by clicking Eli Jenkins Prayer.
[ii]
This prayer is from the Occasional Service (Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing.
1982)
No comments:
Post a Comment