Tiny Little Benches

I told you recently about how I had a prolific period of writing several years ago as I wrote against a deadline for a monthly Communion Meditation that I delivered at our church. One thing I did not relate was that I felt so tremendously excited each time I stepped up to the pulpit in our church to speak.
When I say excited, what I mean is that I was never sure if what I had written was entirely appropriate. And because I am a stutterer, I can never totally rely on my fluency. But I trusted in the Lord and in his call and I always did a great deal of preparation. After I had prepared a draft I would read it aloud as I walked to work. And I would practice in the mirror. And I would keep my accounts short with God and try to keep my conscience clear. And that whole process of wrestling with my humanity and brokenness while reaching out to receive God’s grace made me feel very alive.
Another thing I did not tell you is that I am rejoining the Communion Meditation team and below is a draft of what I hope to say the first time I step to the pulpit.

Tiny Little Benches

Several weeks ago I attended the funeral of a high school classmate. Anne Marie Roscka was more than my high school classmate; she and I attended Sunday School together when we were kids. And every time I visited my home church she would enthusiastically embrace me and conduct a thorough review of all the memories we made while sitting on those tiny little benches and learning about Jesus and his love. We would talk about our Sunday School teachers, mentioning them by name. They always wore hats and dresses. We would sing “Deep and Wide” and “Jesus Loves Me”. Most of our little songs had motions. We got a little star on the chart for every Sunday we attended and a little prize for perfect attendance for the quarter. And before we left the room we would each receive a take-home-paper.
It occurred to me, as I began my road trip up to the funeral, that I may have an opportunity, at her service, to address the people and say a few words in honor of the memory of my friend and our cherished experiences. So I began to mentally compose and orally practice some appropriate thoughts as I drove along. But I just could not think of anything that sounded suitable even though I thought that my memories might be meaningful and unique. And my mind was occupied with these thoughts right up until the time when the minister invited anyone with something to say in honor of Anne to come forward and do so.
Anne had never married. She became a school teacher and spent her entire career teaching the deaf and other special needs students. Many of her deaf students owed their high school diploma to Anne’s relentless dedication to their character and education. She was a fixture in the community, often signing for the deaf at community and educational events. I learned more about Anne than I had ever imagined as a steady stream of past and current students told about how Anne had changed their lives. She sponsored and mentored a generation of students in Student Council and 4H activities. They told how she drove them to every corner of the state in her big black Jeep Commander to attend Student Council conferences. She accepted nothing but their best as they practiced for 4H competitions. Her colleagues told of the sacrifices she made for her students and staff. Several of her nieces and nephews came forward and wept openly as they told how she always made special time for them at family events, and the first thing she ever taught them, before they could speak, was how to make the sign for “I Love You”.
I decided to be a good listener and let others speak. Because what I had was warm memories and nostalgia about another place and time. But what these people had was a person, a relationship, a life, Anne is a part of who they are. They lived with her every day. They loved her and she loved them. She gave her very life for these people and as they live she also will live.
As I drove home that day I thought about the difference between my experience and that of the people I heard speak that day. And it made me think about this moment…as we come to this Table of Remembrance. As I take the bread that reminds me of the complete dedication and supreme sacrifice that Jesus made for me…and as I take the cup that reminds me of his life that he poured out so that I might live, am I honoring a memory, as important and valid as that may be? Or am I honoring a life, a person, a relationship? Can I say with tears that this Jesus who lived and died for me has changed my life…has taught me the sign for “I Love You” and lives on as I live?