Last Friday I conducted a funeral for my cousin, Sherman. More than fourteen years separated us in age, and he was always one of the "big cousins" to which we younger ones looked up when we went to family occasions.We had both chosen to be pastors in the Lutheran church. As God's blessings would have it, we ended up in the same town, Rochester, MN, for a time at sister churches. Sherman was a great pastor and a great mentor. The grace of Jesus Christ was always on his heart and lips. I was privileged to learn much in his presence.
At his retirement, Sherman needed to choose a church other than his own for worship. I was humbled and grateful that he and Rachel decided to join Bethel. These last ten years have been wonderful in singing and worshiping together frequently. We also worked on stewardship and educational opportunities. Sometimes he would grace me with some wisdom that would benefit the congregation.
And one Christmas he gave me a pen. Inscribed on the barrel is Jeremiah 17:7: "Blessed are those who trust in the LORD, whose trust is the LORD."
I love pens. Some of my pens are 25 or 30 years old. Those I cherish I alternate carrying in my pocket. The morning of Sherman's funeral, I was carrying his pen in my pocket. I was underlining a passage in the Gospel reading we would use at his funeral, and it ran out of ink. I scribbled with it to get it going, but it was out of ink.
The pen died on the day of Sherman's funeral. I decided I would still carry it in his honor through the day.
Later, without thinking, I took the pen out of my pocket to write something--and it was restored in its ability to write. With I smile on my face, I thought of resurrection. The pen had died, and now lives again. That was a much more important message during a funeral an hour or two prior.
Jesus never told a parable about pens. Maybe this one would do.
