Everybody Loves A Parade!
Sermon
Sermons On The Second Readings
For Sundays In Advent, Christmas, And Epiphany
This is the season for parades. Not long ago we watched the Rose Bowl parade on television; on Thanksgiving Day, Macys of New York entertained us with its Turkey Day extravaganza. Our text for today calls attention to another, and more sobering, parade: the parade of life, the pageant of this world. "For the present form of this world is passing away" (v. 31). The words "passing away" are a translation of a Greek word meaning "to lead by." It suggests the picture of a parade of soldiers being led past a reviewing stand. Look at them! Notice the evidence of their manly strength and skill. But then, in a moment, they are gone, out of sight. "So it is with this world," says our text, "there it is -- but watch -- soon it will be gone. How foolish it is to put all of your time and energies into something so transitory, so temporary."
Dear friend, do you realize that, at this moment, you are not the same person who entered this church this morning? Ever so imperceptibly you have changed physically into someone quite different. This pulpit, solid as it appears, is not the same pulpit you observed when you entered this sanctuary. It has diminished ever so slightly and if we were to see it one hundred years or more from now it would be nothing more than a handful of dust. And you and I, and the whole world, move inexorably toward the same finale. This is the message of our text.
At the cathedral in Milan there are three large doorways. Over each is a splendid arch, and on each is an inscription. On the left is carved a wreath of roses with the inscription: "All that which pleases is but for a moment." Over the arch to the right is sculpted a cross accompanied by these words: "All that which troubles is but for a moment." But over the great central entrance to the cathedral is this inscription: "That only is important which is eternal." What wisdom to take with us in the early days of this New Year! "All that pleases is but for a moment; all that which troubles is but for a moment; that only is important which is eternal."
Take another look at our text for this morning, "The present form of this world is passing away." This suggests at least three things to me during this Epiphany season.
To begin with this season is a good time to consider the serious implications of living. Dear people, this pageant of life in which we find ourselves is the real thing!
Those of you who participated in high school and college plays, musicals, or operettas remember how the rehearsals went. Things moved slowly at first; not many took the matter very seriously. Lots of fun and horseplay was engaged in by most. Then, as the opening date drew near, the rehearsals took on a more serious tone. Finally the day arrived. This was it! The audience was there, the play had to go on. This was the real thing!
So we need to be reminded that life for us -- every moment of it -- is the real thing. This is not just a dress rehearsal. This is it! And this is the only life we will have, there is no "second time around." God grant that each of us may look at life with sobriety. Life is real! God is real! Death is real!
I'm a sports fan, and I'll never forget reading an article in one of our sports magazines narrating the life and times of Max Baer. Some of you may recall that Max Baer was a heavyweight boxer in the 1930s. His name was familiar to all who lived in that era. Max fought Max Schmelling from Germany, Primo Canerra of Italy, and the great Joe Louis. For a short time he was heavyweight champion of the world. Quite an achievement! After retiring from the ring, he had a series of heart attacks and lived his life apart from the spotlight. On the day that he died, he was sitting on the side of his bed when he was suddenly gripped with severe chest pains. He put his hand to his heart and said to his wife, "My God, this is it!" In a moment he was gone. How quickly life comes and goes.
Yes, dear people, this is it. This is your life, your only life. Who knows what a day will bring with it? May each of us live life under this sanctifying influence: "Only that is important which is eternal."
Secondly, this season is an appropriate time to discriminate between what is essential and that which is merely the scenery, the secondary things in life, the folderol, if you please. Some years ago someone coined a phrase that expresses clearly what I have in mind. The phrase is "majoring on minors." It aptly describes the person who spends a major share of his time on minor issues and leaves undone those things that are essential.
Clyde W. Widdmeyer was a very successful wholesale grocer. He wrote his own epitaph before his death and had it chiseled on his tombstone. Here it is: Born 1884, a human being; died 19__, a wholesale grocer. When asked what it meant, Mr. Widdmeyer said, "I was so busy selling groceries that I never had time to get married and have a family. Here was a whole area of my life crowded out by my business. I was so busy selling that I never had time to do any traveling, even though I had the money to do so. I was so busy selling that I never had time for community service, religion, social or political activity. I was successful, men said. I became a well-known and wealthy wholesaler. But I was so busy making a living that I never found time to live." He was majoring on minors, an addiction toward which too many of us are inclined. This season, so close to the New Year, is saying to us, "Major on majors, minor on minors. Discriminate. Distinguish between the vital and the trivial, the important and the inconsequential." Our Savior showed us the way when he laid down his life for each of us. We were not trivial; we were essential to the purposes of God. As one has put it, "We were so important to him that he was willing to go to hell for us, rather than to go to heaven without us." So he traveled, without hesitation, toward a cross on a hill outside Jerusalem. Because of this we are all his debtors!
A final thought comes to mind. Not long ago many of us made New Year resolutions. May I suggest just one more? Here it is: resolve to become involved -- genuinely involved -- in the things that really matter!
Someone came to Horace Traubel and asked, "What can I do, just me?" Traubel answered, "What can I do? I can talk when others are silent. I can say, 'Persons,' when others say, 'Money.' I can stay up when others are asleep. I can keep working when others have stopped to play. I can give life big meanings when others give life small meanings. I can say, 'Love,' when others say, 'Hate.' I can say, 'Every man,' when others say, 'One man.' I can give myself to the Lord of life when others refuse to do so. Will you join me?" For the record, many did join him, and life has been enriched because of them. Perhaps some of us can resolve today to join their company.
A pastor friend has an interesting custom, one he has followed throughout his ministry. On the Sunday closest to the New Year he includes a small pocket calendar in the church bulletin. At the close of the service he says, "Soon our Lord will give us the gift of another year. It contains twelve months, 52 weeks, 365 days, 8,760 hours. What are you going to do with them?" Something to think about isn't it? We have used a small fraction of the year 2003 already, most of it still lies before us. What will we do with it? Perhaps it's not too late to reflect on two New Year poems that have often challenged the hearts of God's people.
O year that is going, take with you
Some evil that dwells in my heart.
Let selfishness, doubt,
With the old year go out,
With joy I would see them depart.
O year that is going, take with you
Impatience and willfulness, pride;
The sharp word that slips
From these too hasty lips
I would cast, with the old year, aside.
O year that is coming, bring with you
Some virtue of which I have need;
More patience to bear
And more kindness to share,
And more love that is true love, indeed.
And a final one in the form of a prayer:
O Lord, I pray, that from this day
I may not swerve
By foot or hand, from Thy command
Not to be served, but to serve.
This, too, I pray, that from this day
No love of ease
Nor pride prevent, my good intent
Not to be pleased, but to please.
And if I may, I'd have this day
Strength from above
To set my heart -- in heavenly art
Not to be loved -- but to love!1
Somehow these words remind me of that central arch over the entrance to the cathedral at Milan and the timeless words carved above it: "Only that is important which is eternal." I will carry these words with me throughout this year. My life may never be quite the same again. Will you keep me company? Amen.
____________
1. Both of the New Year poems were quoted in a New Year newsletter from Holy Cross Lutheran Church, St. Charles, Missouri, in 1987. The source is not available.
Dear friend, do you realize that, at this moment, you are not the same person who entered this church this morning? Ever so imperceptibly you have changed physically into someone quite different. This pulpit, solid as it appears, is not the same pulpit you observed when you entered this sanctuary. It has diminished ever so slightly and if we were to see it one hundred years or more from now it would be nothing more than a handful of dust. And you and I, and the whole world, move inexorably toward the same finale. This is the message of our text.
At the cathedral in Milan there are three large doorways. Over each is a splendid arch, and on each is an inscription. On the left is carved a wreath of roses with the inscription: "All that which pleases is but for a moment." Over the arch to the right is sculpted a cross accompanied by these words: "All that which troubles is but for a moment." But over the great central entrance to the cathedral is this inscription: "That only is important which is eternal." What wisdom to take with us in the early days of this New Year! "All that pleases is but for a moment; all that which troubles is but for a moment; that only is important which is eternal."
Take another look at our text for this morning, "The present form of this world is passing away." This suggests at least three things to me during this Epiphany season.
To begin with this season is a good time to consider the serious implications of living. Dear people, this pageant of life in which we find ourselves is the real thing!
Those of you who participated in high school and college plays, musicals, or operettas remember how the rehearsals went. Things moved slowly at first; not many took the matter very seriously. Lots of fun and horseplay was engaged in by most. Then, as the opening date drew near, the rehearsals took on a more serious tone. Finally the day arrived. This was it! The audience was there, the play had to go on. This was the real thing!
So we need to be reminded that life for us -- every moment of it -- is the real thing. This is not just a dress rehearsal. This is it! And this is the only life we will have, there is no "second time around." God grant that each of us may look at life with sobriety. Life is real! God is real! Death is real!
I'm a sports fan, and I'll never forget reading an article in one of our sports magazines narrating the life and times of Max Baer. Some of you may recall that Max Baer was a heavyweight boxer in the 1930s. His name was familiar to all who lived in that era. Max fought Max Schmelling from Germany, Primo Canerra of Italy, and the great Joe Louis. For a short time he was heavyweight champion of the world. Quite an achievement! After retiring from the ring, he had a series of heart attacks and lived his life apart from the spotlight. On the day that he died, he was sitting on the side of his bed when he was suddenly gripped with severe chest pains. He put his hand to his heart and said to his wife, "My God, this is it!" In a moment he was gone. How quickly life comes and goes.
Yes, dear people, this is it. This is your life, your only life. Who knows what a day will bring with it? May each of us live life under this sanctifying influence: "Only that is important which is eternal."
Secondly, this season is an appropriate time to discriminate between what is essential and that which is merely the scenery, the secondary things in life, the folderol, if you please. Some years ago someone coined a phrase that expresses clearly what I have in mind. The phrase is "majoring on minors." It aptly describes the person who spends a major share of his time on minor issues and leaves undone those things that are essential.
Clyde W. Widdmeyer was a very successful wholesale grocer. He wrote his own epitaph before his death and had it chiseled on his tombstone. Here it is: Born 1884, a human being; died 19__, a wholesale grocer. When asked what it meant, Mr. Widdmeyer said, "I was so busy selling groceries that I never had time to get married and have a family. Here was a whole area of my life crowded out by my business. I was so busy selling that I never had time to do any traveling, even though I had the money to do so. I was so busy selling that I never had time for community service, religion, social or political activity. I was successful, men said. I became a well-known and wealthy wholesaler. But I was so busy making a living that I never found time to live." He was majoring on minors, an addiction toward which too many of us are inclined. This season, so close to the New Year, is saying to us, "Major on majors, minor on minors. Discriminate. Distinguish between the vital and the trivial, the important and the inconsequential." Our Savior showed us the way when he laid down his life for each of us. We were not trivial; we were essential to the purposes of God. As one has put it, "We were so important to him that he was willing to go to hell for us, rather than to go to heaven without us." So he traveled, without hesitation, toward a cross on a hill outside Jerusalem. Because of this we are all his debtors!
A final thought comes to mind. Not long ago many of us made New Year resolutions. May I suggest just one more? Here it is: resolve to become involved -- genuinely involved -- in the things that really matter!
Someone came to Horace Traubel and asked, "What can I do, just me?" Traubel answered, "What can I do? I can talk when others are silent. I can say, 'Persons,' when others say, 'Money.' I can stay up when others are asleep. I can keep working when others have stopped to play. I can give life big meanings when others give life small meanings. I can say, 'Love,' when others say, 'Hate.' I can say, 'Every man,' when others say, 'One man.' I can give myself to the Lord of life when others refuse to do so. Will you join me?" For the record, many did join him, and life has been enriched because of them. Perhaps some of us can resolve today to join their company.
A pastor friend has an interesting custom, one he has followed throughout his ministry. On the Sunday closest to the New Year he includes a small pocket calendar in the church bulletin. At the close of the service he says, "Soon our Lord will give us the gift of another year. It contains twelve months, 52 weeks, 365 days, 8,760 hours. What are you going to do with them?" Something to think about isn't it? We have used a small fraction of the year 2003 already, most of it still lies before us. What will we do with it? Perhaps it's not too late to reflect on two New Year poems that have often challenged the hearts of God's people.
O year that is going, take with you
Some evil that dwells in my heart.
Let selfishness, doubt,
With the old year go out,
With joy I would see them depart.
O year that is going, take with you
Impatience and willfulness, pride;
The sharp word that slips
From these too hasty lips
I would cast, with the old year, aside.
O year that is coming, bring with you
Some virtue of which I have need;
More patience to bear
And more kindness to share,
And more love that is true love, indeed.
And a final one in the form of a prayer:
O Lord, I pray, that from this day
I may not swerve
By foot or hand, from Thy command
Not to be served, but to serve.
This, too, I pray, that from this day
No love of ease
Nor pride prevent, my good intent
Not to be pleased, but to please.
And if I may, I'd have this day
Strength from above
To set my heart -- in heavenly art
Not to be loved -- but to love!1
Somehow these words remind me of that central arch over the entrance to the cathedral at Milan and the timeless words carved above it: "Only that is important which is eternal." I will carry these words with me throughout this year. My life may never be quite the same again. Will you keep me company? Amen.
____________
1. Both of the New Year poems were quoted in a New Year newsletter from Holy Cross Lutheran Church, St. Charles, Missouri, in 1987. The source is not available.
