Sermon for November 6, 2011   

“Remembering”, Rev. Diane Ruth Gilbert

 

Gerry and I were married 25 years ago, next month.  We’re going to renew our vows on our anniversary, December 27th at 2:00.  You’re all invited.  Just wanted to get that out there.  In any event, among our wedding gifts were 2 little plaques, which have hung on the walls of all our homes – all our parsonages.  I brought them with me this morning because the first one includes our Bible Verse for today from Joshua 24: 15:  “as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”  And in case that’s not perfectly clear, the other plaque says:  Christ is the head of this house; the unseen guest at every meal; the silent listener to every conversation.

 

Joshua was being very clear with the Israelite people when he challenged them with “Choose this day whom you will serve!  Will you serve the Lord and revere him in sincerity and faithfulness?  Will you serve the gods of your ancestors beyond the river and in Egypt?  Will you serve the gods of the Amorites in whose land you are living?; but as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord!”  The One True God is whom we will serve!  No one or nothing else can fill that place in our hearts and minds.  God and God alone is central in our lives – what about you?  Even before Jesus Christ was on the scene, people of faith were calling others to love God with all their hearts and minds and souls and strength.  Is God number 1?  Pause before you say yes.  Lots of people put their families and friends first.  Other people put personal safety and security first.  Some people put their homes and things first.  It’s not as easy as it sounds, this putting God first. 

 

But when we do put God first everything else falls into perspective, everything else falls into place.     And life takes on depth, and meaning and joy that is beyond description.  Life takes on a kind of perfect peace whose expression is hopeful and there’s no other word but joyful.  Why else would people endure suffering, persecution, challenge, or oppression for their faith?

We are richly blessed when we have role models of faithfulness. It’s important on All Saints Day to remember those who have gone before us in the faith.  It’s especially important to remember those who have modeled for us Christian personhood and mature Christian faith.

 

I was blessed beyond measure to grow up in a Christian home, by Christian parents, with Christian grand-parents, and aunts and uncles and cousins.  The person I choose to remember today is my father.

 

Born the 4th of 6 children, Richard Clark Gilbert, was born on April 3rd 1930, in Dover General Hospital, the same place I was born in 1957.   Dick as he was known, was a scrawny kid who wasn’t athletic like his football playing older brothers.  Instead, he took care of his younger brother, who had some special needs and his baby sister.  With 5 brothers, she needed some protection.  The boys shared one room with 2 sets of bunk beds, a cot, a dresser with 5 drawers, and a closet.  Phyllis shared a room with her parents.  

 

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There were no more children after Phyllis.  Dick was in the drum and bugle corps as a teen and also in DeMolay – some of his DeMolay friends were friends for the rest of his life.  Sadly, the list was long of those friends he lost in Korea.  They all signed up at the same time and went off at the same time.  Dick was among them.  He became a drill sergeant in the Marines.  It’s difficult to imagine this meek and mild young man as a marine, let alone as a drill sergeant.  But that’s his story.  He loved those guys he served with and they were friends for lifeWhen he came home, he went to school on a school scholarship and worked nights and weekends, where he met a pretty girl named Dottie Frick.  Their first date was a fix-up so they went out of obligation to their friends.  But what their friends didn’t know was they continued date secretly until Dick’s sister popped the question the summer of Dottie’s 21st birthday.  They married that September.  And Dick finished college in Tennessee, and went on to seminary.  Their first child Diane Ruth was born while they lived in seminary housing, and Dick rocked this colicky little person over his left shoulder every night while he studied Greek, and I slept all day when the babysitter put me in my crib and pulled the curtains.  After a while, Dick needed a back brace and couldn’t figure out why!

 

Dick entered ministry while still in seminary and served 9 churches over 41 years (not counting the little churches he preached in down in Tennessee when he was in college, or his time as a student assistant at his home church, First Church in Dover while he was in Seminary.  (I was blessed to serve at First Church Dover when I was in seminary as well.)  His first appointment began in 1958. He served Sandyston and Walpack Center; Newfoundland, Roseland, Franklin Lakes, Suffern NY, First Church Englewood, Little Falls, Stanhope – then in 1993, in retirement, he and my mother were appointed together to the Califon UMC.  After they really retired, they went to Randolph NJ to work as my Associate Pastors.  Some of you have heard me say when my parents came to work for me, I’d ask my Mom to do things, and my mother would take notes and say “OK”, then I’d ask Dad to do something, and he’d tell me whether or not he’d do it. 

 

If you are a mason, please do not take offense, but we teased a lot in our home.  Everyone was teased around the dinner table and we would laugh and laugh and laugh, practically falling off our chairs, and when Dad became the Grand Chaplain of the masons for New Jersey, he was very excited, but my brothers and I were really into the Flintstones – and David and I called my Dad, the Grand Pooh Bah.  We thought we were terribly funny.  I remember almost spitting out our mashed potatoes in fits of laughter.  Dad joined in.  He never took himself too seriously.

 

As his brothers got involved in fire fighting, he became a volunteer fire fighter in the different communities in which we lived.  In Roseland, he had a running no money bet with the local funeral director over who could run to the fire department faster, and David and I would shout “Run Daddy, run.”  And Dad said to me two weeks before he died, “That darn Brommel had such long legs.”  But whoever got there first, a half block away, the Methodist minister or the local funeral director - drove the truck.

 

Dick’s brothers became carpenters; he followed the master carpenter.  His life was a life of service to others.  He poured himself out.  And though he was a gentle man, a humble man; he was not a weak man.  His courage in being with people in the most difficult of life’s circumstances and his ability to walk into the most frightening situations and (and frankly, he admitted later, having no idea, what he was walking into, or what he was going to do, or sometimes, if he was going to make it out alive); still bearing the presence of Christ, he just did it.  Emboldened, empowered by the calm assurance of the One Who Could Still the Sea, he went and did what he would never have gone or done on his own.  Night after night onto the streets of Newark during the Newark riots as a clergy advocate in 1969; into domestic violence situations; into forest fires; onto the scene of car accidents with vehicles filled with dead teenagers, then to the homes of their parents to relay the horrendous news.  On and on, he carried himself, his faith, and the peaceful presence of Jesus Christ. 

 

My father was a really good pastor.  And all the children in all the churches he served loved him.  I don’t think he ever really knew how good he was as a pastor to children.  He loved the children and they loved him.  He had fun with the children and they were never afraid of him – they ran to greet him and tell him things, he bent to listen to them.  Kids know who really cares.  He taught congregations, not only to tolerate children and those horrible teen-agers in the 60’s and early 70’s, when we brought guitars into worship and we wore jeans in church!  He wasn’t happy.  But he taught congregations to practice radical hospitality and to appreciate the children and the teen-agers in their midst.  Even when some of their notions, scared him out of his mind, he stuck to the Wesleyan tradition that says in essence:  let’s agree on those things that really matter – and let’s not worry about the things that don’t.

 

Like I said, Dad was a really good pastor, he was an artist at getting people to work together, and stamping out the brush fires in a church – meaning he could spot the relationship problems that had the potential to blow churches apart, and he spent a lot of time building relationships - talking to people, calming people, encouraging people, using humor to help people put issues into perspective in order to head off huge church arguments.  He was an expert at human dynamics, and he understood the heartache and the pain behind people’s anger, and fear.  He knew when people yelled at him, it was sometimes because they were angry at God.  And when people came to church and screamed at each other, it was sometimes because they were burdened and hurting because of other things in their lives.  And that’s when his stomach would twist into a knot, but he would allow Christ to use him in his weakness and he became the finest pastor you could imagine. 

 

Dad didn’t always like church.  That may sound like a weird thing to say.  He didn’t always like church, because sometimes, church people can be petty and self-righteous and mean, in the name he held most dear – in the name of Jesus Christ.  It hurt his heart.  He ached over the foolishness of people chasing after those things that do not matter.  And he often physically cringed when people used course words, or laughed at cruel jokes.  He tried not to make anyone feel uncomfortable.  And he moved easily in all different kinds of crowds of people.  But his best friends were people of honest and easy faith, who had survived true suffering and lived to laugh, love and serve.  It was those people with whom he could best relate.  He never took credit for making a difference.  But he worked constantly to make a difference in every church and community in which he served, and in the greater church.  He touched thousands and thousands of lives.  So many people’s lives were forever changed, just by knowing him. 

 

His three joys in life came in 1957, 1959 and 1961.  Diane first, then David, then Daniel.  Dad was devastated by David’s death in 1993 and never truly recovered.  I told him on the night before he died when he wasn’t responding to any stimulus, “Dad, it’s been a long time since you’ve seen David, maybe it’s time for you two to have a good long visit.”  

 

Then the joys of his life, brought him even greater joy.  Dan married Ying and they captured his heart with a little boy named Kevin Michael who’s not so little any more.  Grampa talked about Kevin all the time.  His hopes and dreams for Kevin were enormous.  Mostly he wanted him to be happy and to find true meaning in life.  Grandpa’s love of God and love of others gave him the truest joy any human being can ever know.  He prayed every day that Kevin would know that same joy.

 

Then our daughter Marcie, brought three great grandchildren into my father’s life.  He didn’t have enough time with Jordan.  Jordan was only 2 when Dad died and was very pleased with himself to announce over and over, “Great Granpa died in a box!”  

 

A gentle man, a humble man, a funny man, a man of a deep and abiding faith, who loved his family and the simple things of life, that was my Dad.

 

Dad fell while taking out the garbage and had a broken hip and a brain bleed which landed him in the hospital and a month later caused his death.  But it was just the end of a horrible year for him.  At the beginning of the year, he had heart valve replacement and while in the recovery room, he almost bled to death, so they had to take him back into the operating room and take care of that.  Then while in intensive care his heart sac filled with blood and it was back to the operating room.  Then his lungs filled with blood and more anesthesia and more surgery.  And he needed that procedure one more time.  So in the course of a week he had anesthesia 5 times.  His system couldn’t handle that, he was in the hospital for a month and then in the brain injured section of a rehabilitation facility for another couple of weeks.  He never truly recuperated and required care 24/7.  My poor mother took on that task without complaint.  But it wasn’t easy, reminding him every few minutes what he was or wasn’t supposed to be doing.

 

While he was in the hospital, I sent this update to my girlfriends:

 

Dad went into Morristown Memorial on February 11th for heart valve replacement surgery on February 12th. While in recovery from successful heart surgery, he almost bled to death and required a second surgery to save his life four hours later.

 

Then it was a horrible ride in the hospital with more surgery, and loss of reality, infection, pneumonia, life support . . . prayer . . . .

 

Wrote this on March 10th:

 

things are finally looking up. I forget who I've updated on what . . . My Dad went to Kessler Rehab. in Chester on March 1st for an evaluation and he will be discharged next Friday. He's been in the Brain Injury Section. Five surgeries (anesthesia's) in the hospital on a person of his age took it's toll. But Kessler was the best possible placement for him because they have worked him like crazy to get as much physical and mental gain as possible. He will walk with a walker and will require care 24/7, but we're trying to work that out as well so my mother doesn't go insane or so she doesn't drop in her tracks. His recovery is truly miraculous!!!! He knocked at heaven's door at least three times in the hospital. And this past week he got his personality back and has joked with family and nurses! Praise the Lord! Which is why I can say to you with all honesty, the other stuff doesn't matter.

 

In the last month, I've rocked this man in my arms who rocked me as a colicky baby; and held the hand of this man who took my hand thousands of times when I was a little girl to walk me across the church parking lot to our parsonage or to the church on the other side; and I've instructed and reassured this man who taught me the words to "Jesus Loves Me" and asked me "What would Jesus do?" before it was a catch phrase. I've fed this man who fed me not only food for my hungry stomach, but who fed me on the Word of God in both Word and deed. I've recited with and for him the words of the 23rd psalm the Lord's Prayer and in each moment, I've been richly and deeply blessed. As I've shared some of this journey as part of the congregation's corporate Lenten journey, people have been able to share their own painfilled passages and it's been a really rich time of connection at my church. I've noticed people being especially gentle and loving toward each other --- and it's quite a phenomena. God is really, really good.

 

Just thought I would bring you up to date (on everything). And I wanted to thank you for all your prayers which have been so appreciated!!!!     Praise to our God of Resurrection and new life!

Love, Di

 

The night before he died, he could no longer speak.  So Gerry and I had already kissed him good-night, and then we stood at the door of his room, and called back, “Good-night Dad!” And although he hadn’t responded to us that night, his right arm came up slowly with his hand straight.  We got the Marine Corps salute one might receive at the funeral of a Marine, and the arm slowly descended again.  Tears filled my eyes as I had no words.  We left that night knowing his time was near.  The next night we were all gathered round his bed, when he breathed his last.  We sat quietly, then thanked him for all he meant to us.  We had already told him everything we needed to while he was still alive, but in death, it was an opportunity to give thanks, so we did so.  And a nurse came him and checked his pulse and his heart – he was gone.  In a little bit a nurse’s aid came in with coffee and tea.  And we just sat with him, saying what we wanted, and praising God for this man of faith and witness.  Thank you God, again I say thank you.

 

Who do you remember on this All Saints Day?  Whose precious memory will you carry with you for the rest of your life?  And then ---

 

Choose this day whom you will serve; but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.