|
 January
9, 2010
St. Mark’s Episcopal Church
the Rev. Elizabeth Molitors
The
LORD shall watch over your going out
and your coming in, from this time forth
for evermore. -- Psalm 121:8
The
other day, I was on the Amazon.com website,
looking for some electronic device,
and when I found the item that might
serve my needs, I began reading customer
reviews. The reviews were pretty positive,
and I was getting close to making a
decision to buy, but then I noticed
the dates on the reviews: 2006 and 2007.
Two and three year old reviews! That
must mean that the thing I was looking
at was terribly out of date. Surely,
there was something newer and better
out there.
It took me a few moments to recognize
the absurdity of that thought process
– of discounting something from only
two or three years ago as old and outdated
– and it made me wonder about our fascination
with the newest and most up-to-date
thing, in this culture of 24-hour news
updates and Twitter feeds. I’m not technology-phobic,
by any means, but sometimes I think
we’ve gotten out of the practice of
appreciating values like longevity and
constancy. Human beings have always
struggled with the problem of immediate
vs. delayed gratification, but in our
current age, where we think that the
thing that we buy today will be outmoded
and useless by tomorrow, I think the
problem is made worse.
Within that current cultural context,
then, Fred Lundgren’s life stands in
sharp contrast. As I talked to Fred’s
son, Jeff, in planning this service,
and as I read his obituary, I was struck
by this idea of constancy – faithfulness,
fidelity, steadfastness – in Fred’s
life and work. He grew up here in Glen
Ellyn, was a part of this church for
years, returning to St. Mark’s after
working out of state for a time; and
even though he retired elsewhere, he
made arrangements for he and his wife
to have their final, memorial services
in this place.
Jeff also told me about Fred having
worked for the same company for 35 years,
a feat that, for many economic and social
reasons, doesn’t happen too often anymore.
I read some remembrances from past co-workers
in the online guest book that accompanied
Fred’s obituary, people who used to
work for him, and they spoke of what
they learned from Fred, how the time
and effort he invested in them continues
to influence their life and work today.
And, as a lover of music and the mother
of an aspiring teenage violinist, I
was very pleased to learn that Fred
was a violinist, and a founding member
of the DuPage Symphony Orchestra. The
symphony’s website, in announcing the
musical theme for their current year,
points out that the group is embarking
on its 56th season. The site details
the purpose of the symphony, first articulated
a couple of years after the orchestra
was founded. The symphony aspires to
not only play beautiful music for current
audiences, but to develop future musicians
and educate and expose the community
to a broad musical repertoire. They’re
seeking to create a legacy, something
that lives beyond themselves. And Fred
was a part of that, from the beginning.
Fidelity, constancy, faithfulness. These
are not only exemplary human characteristics;
they are also attributes of God. The
121st Psalm ends by telling us of the
God who “shall watch over your going
out and your coming in, from this time
forth for evermore.” And in the selection
we read from John’s gospel, Jesus calls
himself the Good Shepherd, the one who
lays down his life for his sheep, and
who gathers everyone to himself, all
in one fold. If we are, as scripture
tells us in the creation story, made
in the image of God, then our life’s
work is meant to be about making our
outer lives reflect that inner image,
doing our best to show forth the goodness
resident in each of us, put there by
our Creator.
What happens, then, when our life’s
work is done? None of us is privileged
to know what really happens when we
die. But we have a hope, and that hope
is what we’re celebrating here today.
It is the hope, the Christian belief,
that death is not the last word, but
a pause – a mere comma – between this
earthly manifestation of God-in-us and
however it is that we will exist with
God beyond this world that we know.
We are here, also, to give thanks to
God for the life of Fred Lundgren, and
for the opportunity to have had our
lives intersect with his – as daughter,
as son, as grandchild, as friend, as
co-worker, as neighbor, as church member.
But even as we rejoice in Fred’s life,
and hope for his continuing life in
God, we still suffer grief and sorrow
at his death, at the fact that he is
no longer physically present with us.
That sorrow is not a denial of hope,
but a witness and testament to another
of God’s great gifts – love.
Let us pray:
Grant, O Lord, to all who are bereaved
the spirit of faith and courage, that
they may have strength to meet the days
to come with steadfastness and patience;
not sorrowing as those without hope,
but in thankful remembrance of your
great goodness, and in the joyful expectation
of eternal life with those they love.
All this we ask in the Name of Jesus
Christ our Savior.
Amen.
|
