Going Home
Sermon
Life Everlasting
The Essential Book for Funeral Resources
Object:
For an elderly, faithful man
Going Home
John 14:1-14
We have come to say good-bye to Orlo, husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and friend. Orlo was very much at home in those roles, and enjoyed his life. One of the indications of that was how much he enjoyed talking to people.
Yet, there is a sense that now, having come to the end of this existence, he goes to the ultimate home. Jesus talked about that home, when shortly before his death, he said, "In my Father's house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?"
Back in the 1800s, the writer, Robert Louis Stevenson, also talked about the sense of being homeward bound, wrote these lines for his own epitaph:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
A place prepared for us is the new home, the eternal home.
Orlo was 88 years old, and a lifelong resident of this area. He's been here so long that it's perhaps difficult for you to even think of anywhere else being his home. Yet, there is a sense of eternity planted within us that helps us to know that we were not meant just for this life.
Unlike what Robert Louis Stevenson wrote, I've never been a sailor coming home from the sea, or even a hunter coming home from the hills, but I do know what it means to be coming home, even to a place I've never been before. When I was nineteen, I was attending school in the Bronx in New York City. My family had been living in another state, but while I was at school, my dad was transferred to an assignment on Staten Island, the borough across New York harbor. They moved and settled in, but I had not yet been to the new house. I'd never even been to Staten Island. But on my first day off from school, I decided to go visit.
First, I took a subway train to the tip of Manhattan. There, I boarded the ferry for the cruise across the harbor. Once I got to the island, I had to take a bus from the ferry terminal to small train station. Then I went by train to the neighborhood where my family was living. Finally, I walked the last few blocks until I came to house they now occupied.
None of this trip was familiar to me; it was all new and strange, but when I knocked on the door and my mother opened it, I suddenly knew I was home. My mom, dad, and brothers were there. It was their presence and not the surroundings that made the place home.
I suspect our journey in death may be something like that -- new and a little strange. But when we arrive and are greeted by the God we have trusted in life, we will know we are home.
This day, the passing of this man, invites us to place the reality of death into a faith context so that when our time comes, we take that journey from this life to the next with confidence that nothing -- not even death -- can separate us from the love of Christ.
While we cannot know here exactly what living in that new home will be like, we can trust Jesus, who said he's gone to prepare a place for us.
Recently, Orlo moved into his, and I expect he has found it to his liking. Amen.
Going Home
John 14:1-14
We have come to say good-bye to Orlo, husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and friend. Orlo was very much at home in those roles, and enjoyed his life. One of the indications of that was how much he enjoyed talking to people.
Yet, there is a sense that now, having come to the end of this existence, he goes to the ultimate home. Jesus talked about that home, when shortly before his death, he said, "In my Father's house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?"
Back in the 1800s, the writer, Robert Louis Stevenson, also talked about the sense of being homeward bound, wrote these lines for his own epitaph:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
A place prepared for us is the new home, the eternal home.
Orlo was 88 years old, and a lifelong resident of this area. He's been here so long that it's perhaps difficult for you to even think of anywhere else being his home. Yet, there is a sense of eternity planted within us that helps us to know that we were not meant just for this life.
Unlike what Robert Louis Stevenson wrote, I've never been a sailor coming home from the sea, or even a hunter coming home from the hills, but I do know what it means to be coming home, even to a place I've never been before. When I was nineteen, I was attending school in the Bronx in New York City. My family had been living in another state, but while I was at school, my dad was transferred to an assignment on Staten Island, the borough across New York harbor. They moved and settled in, but I had not yet been to the new house. I'd never even been to Staten Island. But on my first day off from school, I decided to go visit.
First, I took a subway train to the tip of Manhattan. There, I boarded the ferry for the cruise across the harbor. Once I got to the island, I had to take a bus from the ferry terminal to small train station. Then I went by train to the neighborhood where my family was living. Finally, I walked the last few blocks until I came to house they now occupied.
None of this trip was familiar to me; it was all new and strange, but when I knocked on the door and my mother opened it, I suddenly knew I was home. My mom, dad, and brothers were there. It was their presence and not the surroundings that made the place home.
I suspect our journey in death may be something like that -- new and a little strange. But when we arrive and are greeted by the God we have trusted in life, we will know we are home.
This day, the passing of this man, invites us to place the reality of death into a faith context so that when our time comes, we take that journey from this life to the next with confidence that nothing -- not even death -- can separate us from the love of Christ.
While we cannot know here exactly what living in that new home will be like, we can trust Jesus, who said he's gone to prepare a place for us.
Recently, Orlo moved into his, and I expect he has found it to his liking. Amen.
