Reflection on Luke 6:20-31

It was one of the strangest funerals I have ever done. I was called out by a family member to do a funeral on the property of their loved one’s hunting cabin. That aspect was not so strange, this is Pennsylvania after-all. It was the funeral itself that was strange. As I arrived, I walked toward a great tent, put up in a yard next to a stream and small cabin. Hiding away from the rain sat and stood family members who were talking, laughing, and jabbing one another, regarding me with sideways glances and slightly worn and stained, beer themed T-shirts. A stereo blared 80s hair music and an old outhouse stood next to the tent; its front wall and toilet removed; the whole covered by a sheet of plywood and a microphone replacing the wall.

A very nicely dressed woman in heels, sinking in the mud, greeted me with kind words, a nice smile, and the man’s baptism date…obviously somewhat out of place considering the surroundings. She pointed out her children who sat at the edge of the tent in their nice shoes, ties, and fine black jackets. They were dressed for a funeral…they obviously were not dressed for this funeral, but they were dressed for a funeral.

A man with a beer in his hand yelled, “Sis, let’s get this thing over with,” and with that I was handed the microphone and directed to stand on the only non-muddy surface around; that is right, in the outhouse. The toilet paper roll still clung to the wall, missing its estranged toilet friend. Settling into the dry, but cramped space, I mentioned into the microphone something about gathering together now to remember the life and death of the individual, and declaring as we always do, “the Lord be with you.” That gathering statement usually prompts a smile and response of “and also with you,” but this time around, it prompted a brief exodus of about half the congregation to the cooler in the back of the tent to grab a beer. I could see that they were settling in for the long haul. Pops and fizzes accented the words of the Prayer for the Day and people raised their beers high during the Prayers of the Church. A roasting hog stared at the congregation from behind me, representing either the saints who had gone before us and the sacrifice of Christ, or more likely representing the meal that was being held up by the pastor standing in the outhouse. At one point, a friend of the dead man wanted to share his remembrance, so he joined me, in the outhouse, pressed against me in one of the more awkward five minutes of my life.

After the service, the man walked up to me, looked me up and down in my cleric and nice dress and said, “You know, he would have never have wanted this,” pointing to me in particular. I said in return, “I’m pretty sure you are right, he probably would have never wanted this.”

However, I am not so sure that God did not want it this way. I looked over the crowd as we ate and this is what I saw: rich and poor, finely dressed and not, kind and gruff, young and old, outright sinners and refined righteous, all eating and talking together, drawn together under one tent as a community of the saints. It was a perfect image of the community of saints. The pretentions of moral perfection were not in attendance that day. Instead, it was a gathering of sinners. It was a gathering of those God cares about. It was a gathering of those who are blessed by God.

Yes, the poor were there, feasting in their torn beer stained T-shirts; blessed are the poor. Yes, the hungry were there as the two nicely dressed children were finally allowed nourishment, not being allowed to partake in the feast of drink during the service; blessed are the hungry. Yes, those who weep were there, an unshaven grown man cowering in a corner of the hunting cabin, being consoled by another man; blessed are those who weep. Yes, those who are hated, excluded, and reviled on account of the Son of Man were there; the sinners, the out-of-town righteous, and the out of place pastor. We were all there gathered together to remember the resurrection of the Lord; and to have a beer.

Do not get me wrong, I love regular funerals. Pulpits are nice, pulpits are very, very nice to stand in and preach in, but there was something very real about that funeral. That funeral conveyed a truth about God that you just cannot capture in the majesty of a church building. The saints of God are not exclusive to the cleaned up and righteous of the world. The admission price to sainthood is not moral perfection, or even the striving to get there. The admission price to sainthood is simply this: being loved by God. Are you poor, then you are a saint…blessed are you. Are you hungry, welcome…blessed are you. Do you weep? Are you excluded? Are you made fun of? Are you disliked? Well, rejoice and be glad because none of that matters; you are loved by God…blessed are you. You are a saint.

So, I ask, how do you respond to a yard full of mourners with beers in their hands? You respond the same way that you would respond to any other saint of God, with love. "Do to others and you would have them do to you," right? Saints of God, it is not in righteousness that we have been found. Saints of God, in grace we have been found.



All Scripture quotes are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyrighted, 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A., and is used by permission. All rights reserved.