Jesus Called To He
Sermon
Best Funeral Meditations
for an active church member who had a long struggle with cancer
T. A. Kantonen
We have today a heartfelt sense of great loss. The family has lost a devoted wife and tender mother. The community has lost a leader whose competence and willingness could always be depended upon in every good enterprise. A vast circle of friends has lost a true and unselfish friend whose personality was radiant with understanding and sympathy. The church has lost not only a loyal member but also a talented and faithful worker who gave herself wholeheartedly to Christian service. Many of us are better because she was with us. We thank God for her and we bless her memory. God has spoken to us through her life and character. Today we wish to listen to what God speaks to us through her death.
The text of our meditation was selected many weeks ago when it became apparent that Helen would not recover, but that it was God's will to make her lingering illness the gateway into the life eternal. I had come to know her very well, and there is no other passage in the Word of God that I deem more fitting for this occasion.
Portrayed here is a scene from the latter days of our Lord's earthly ministry. He has entered a Galilean synagogue on a Sabbath day. As he looks over the congregation in the little church, his eyes become fixed upon one of the worshipers. It is a woman who has suffered for a long time. As the months and the years went by and the illness persisted, her body gradually lost its upright posture and she became bent as though she carried an invisible heavy burden. But she came to the Lord's house faithfully just the same, for her heart was there. Then came the day when her faithfulness was gloriously rewarded. She looks up and before her is the Savior himself. His lips move and he speaks, not to the congregation in general, but to her personally. It is a healing and redeeming word that he speaks, such as only the Savior can speak. "And when Jesus saw her, he called her and said to her, 'Woman, you are freed from your infirmity.' " While he speaks, his hand touches her and at once the binding shackles fall. She rises from her cramped posture, her body straight and strong, and she goes home praising God.
Against the background of this touching little story from the Bible, we think today of Helen. She, too, came faithfully to God's house and drew strength from his word. She, too, was given a heavy burden of suffering to bear through long weary days and nights which seemed never to end, a burden which strained every ounce of her endurance almost to the breaking point. Loving hands ministered to her, it is true, and everything within human reach was sought to alleviate the suffering. But the crushing burden was still there, to be borne day after day, week after week, month after month. Like her Master, as he writhed in the bitter agony of the cross, she, too, was forced to look up into the face of God and cry, "My God, why?"
To find the answer, she and her pastor were compelled to explore deeply the mysterious ways of God. Does not the Bible tell us that Christ himself was made perfect through suffering? He could not be the Savior that he is and enter so deeply into our sorrows had he not been subjected to such pain and agony of his own. When the divine Craftsman holds us to the wheel of pain and the flames of suffering, when the chisel of agony stabs us, should we not press our lips together and not whimper, for is this not God's way of fashioning a more Christ--like character? Does not the very fact of suffering show that there is something in us that is precious to God? Otherwise, he would not spend so much time and take so much care with us, as he puts us through the purifying and refining process. Can there be any genuine courage or sympathy or unselfishness without suffering? And when foundations are being dug very deep, is it not because a great and high structure is in the making?
These were some of the answers that God gave us. But the great lesson was to learn to trust God even when we could not understand his ways. More than once she found comfort in that faith of which the poet sang:
Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly,
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why
The dark threads are as needful
In the weaver's skillful hand,
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern he has planned.
It was this faith that ripened into a quiet sustaining assurance as the sunset gradually passed and the shadows of night began to fall. Prayer became more and more fervent and Heaven more and more desirable. Faith lifted the clouds of pain and allowed God's love to shine through. Like the woman of our text, she looked to her Lord alone for the deliverance which no power on earth could bring. Resting upon the everlasting arms, she was concerned at the end not so much about herself as about others, anxious only about the worry and discomfort which her condition was causing to her loved ones.
At long last came the hour of deliverance. The Savior's eyes sought her out from our midst, his redeeming hand was placed upon her, and his lips spoke the liberating word, "Helen, you are freed from your infirmity; you have waited long enough; you are very tired; you have done your day's work; I will give you rest."
On my last pastoral visit, she could no longer open her eyes to see me or respond to my voice. A higher and better Pastor had taken charge. I could only commit her to his keeping with the beautiful words of the church's order for the commendation of the dying, "Depart in peace, thou ransomed soul."
To the bereaved, let me add this word of consolation. Helen's life and departure from this life preach a much better sermon than I could preach. We feel a sense of great loss, it is true, but we know that such a life is never lost. She has but entered another room in God's great house, where the Master of all good workmen has set her to work anew. She has been freed from infirmity to serve God in new strength and loveliness. And she continues to serve you, too, for her memory will inspire you to follow her and her Savior and to bind you closer to one another. Heaven will be all the more desirable to you because she has gone there before you. And so we do not sorrow as those who have no hope. We thank God for what he has given us through her and we pray:
Lord, Jesus, King of Paradise,
O keep us in thy love,
And guide us to that happy land
Of perfect rest above;
Where loyal hearts and true
Stand ever in the light,
All rapture through and through,
In God's most holy sight.
(Reprinted from "Through The Valley Of The Shadow," CSS Publishing Company, Inc., (c) 1976.)
T. A. Kantonen
We have today a heartfelt sense of great loss. The family has lost a devoted wife and tender mother. The community has lost a leader whose competence and willingness could always be depended upon in every good enterprise. A vast circle of friends has lost a true and unselfish friend whose personality was radiant with understanding and sympathy. The church has lost not only a loyal member but also a talented and faithful worker who gave herself wholeheartedly to Christian service. Many of us are better because she was with us. We thank God for her and we bless her memory. God has spoken to us through her life and character. Today we wish to listen to what God speaks to us through her death.
The text of our meditation was selected many weeks ago when it became apparent that Helen would not recover, but that it was God's will to make her lingering illness the gateway into the life eternal. I had come to know her very well, and there is no other passage in the Word of God that I deem more fitting for this occasion.
Portrayed here is a scene from the latter days of our Lord's earthly ministry. He has entered a Galilean synagogue on a Sabbath day. As he looks over the congregation in the little church, his eyes become fixed upon one of the worshipers. It is a woman who has suffered for a long time. As the months and the years went by and the illness persisted, her body gradually lost its upright posture and she became bent as though she carried an invisible heavy burden. But she came to the Lord's house faithfully just the same, for her heart was there. Then came the day when her faithfulness was gloriously rewarded. She looks up and before her is the Savior himself. His lips move and he speaks, not to the congregation in general, but to her personally. It is a healing and redeeming word that he speaks, such as only the Savior can speak. "And when Jesus saw her, he called her and said to her, 'Woman, you are freed from your infirmity.' " While he speaks, his hand touches her and at once the binding shackles fall. She rises from her cramped posture, her body straight and strong, and she goes home praising God.
Against the background of this touching little story from the Bible, we think today of Helen. She, too, came faithfully to God's house and drew strength from his word. She, too, was given a heavy burden of suffering to bear through long weary days and nights which seemed never to end, a burden which strained every ounce of her endurance almost to the breaking point. Loving hands ministered to her, it is true, and everything within human reach was sought to alleviate the suffering. But the crushing burden was still there, to be borne day after day, week after week, month after month. Like her Master, as he writhed in the bitter agony of the cross, she, too, was forced to look up into the face of God and cry, "My God, why?"
To find the answer, she and her pastor were compelled to explore deeply the mysterious ways of God. Does not the Bible tell us that Christ himself was made perfect through suffering? He could not be the Savior that he is and enter so deeply into our sorrows had he not been subjected to such pain and agony of his own. When the divine Craftsman holds us to the wheel of pain and the flames of suffering, when the chisel of agony stabs us, should we not press our lips together and not whimper, for is this not God's way of fashioning a more Christ--like character? Does not the very fact of suffering show that there is something in us that is precious to God? Otherwise, he would not spend so much time and take so much care with us, as he puts us through the purifying and refining process. Can there be any genuine courage or sympathy or unselfishness without suffering? And when foundations are being dug very deep, is it not because a great and high structure is in the making?
These were some of the answers that God gave us. But the great lesson was to learn to trust God even when we could not understand his ways. More than once she found comfort in that faith of which the poet sang:
Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly,
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why
The dark threads are as needful
In the weaver's skillful hand,
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern he has planned.
It was this faith that ripened into a quiet sustaining assurance as the sunset gradually passed and the shadows of night began to fall. Prayer became more and more fervent and Heaven more and more desirable. Faith lifted the clouds of pain and allowed God's love to shine through. Like the woman of our text, she looked to her Lord alone for the deliverance which no power on earth could bring. Resting upon the everlasting arms, she was concerned at the end not so much about herself as about others, anxious only about the worry and discomfort which her condition was causing to her loved ones.
At long last came the hour of deliverance. The Savior's eyes sought her out from our midst, his redeeming hand was placed upon her, and his lips spoke the liberating word, "Helen, you are freed from your infirmity; you have waited long enough; you are very tired; you have done your day's work; I will give you rest."
On my last pastoral visit, she could no longer open her eyes to see me or respond to my voice. A higher and better Pastor had taken charge. I could only commit her to his keeping with the beautiful words of the church's order for the commendation of the dying, "Depart in peace, thou ransomed soul."
To the bereaved, let me add this word of consolation. Helen's life and departure from this life preach a much better sermon than I could preach. We feel a sense of great loss, it is true, but we know that such a life is never lost. She has but entered another room in God's great house, where the Master of all good workmen has set her to work anew. She has been freed from infirmity to serve God in new strength and loveliness. And she continues to serve you, too, for her memory will inspire you to follow her and her Savior and to bind you closer to one another. Heaven will be all the more desirable to you because she has gone there before you. And so we do not sorrow as those who have no hope. We thank God for what he has given us through her and we pray:
Lord, Jesus, King of Paradise,
O keep us in thy love,
And guide us to that happy land
Of perfect rest above;
Where loyal hearts and true
Stand ever in the light,
All rapture through and through,
In God's most holy sight.
(Reprinted from "Through The Valley Of The Shadow," CSS Publishing Company, Inc., (c) 1976.)
