a funeral sermon for bob helms

The Gospel we just heard should be read at every funeral. This Gospel should be read, because it knows what’s at stake.

“Do you believe?”

After all, today is something of a mixed bag. 

Today we commend Bob to his maker, and of course it is with no little sorrow that we come to this moment. Bob was a wonderful man, father and friend who will be missed. 

Yet at the same time, Bob had been struggling with his health for a while now. He was completely clear that he was ready and living at the Burlington Care Center was something of a trial for him. So as we grieve, we take comfort in that fact that Bob is now granted rest.

We come here today with plenty of mixed emotions, conflicting thoughts. And the truth is, this story of Lazarus knows the conflict we bring to these places; this story knows the same jumble of hope and sorrow, peace of mind and grief that we always bring with us to a funeral.

In today’s Gospel we hear about Martha, in the midst of grieving, she’s busy preparing for the funeral and running back and forth to greet everyone. Suddenly, though, Jesus interrupts the chaos and puts a question to Martha, “Do you believe.” 

Honestly, that’s the question that hangs in the air every funeral…

“Do you believe?”

One of Bob’s better traits was that he was never a guy to lie to himself. He knew what he was, and what he wasn’t. The trait allowed him to be humble when appropriate, and take pride when appropriate. 

And, it allowed him to be honest with his own doubts; because Bob did have his share of doubts; just like all of us. While admitting doubt can be a hard thing, Bob was able to see himself clear-eyed; and so he couldn’t pretend he didn’t have his doubts.

I’ve got a story. Now the story isn’t about Bob, and while I know it’s fitting to tell a story about the deceased at a funeral; I’m sure Bob wouldn’t mind. 

In fact, Bob was never one to seek out the spotlight. For instance, he was always hesitant to claim his military rights; because although he preformed an important task in the war, helping to spot submarines, since he wasn’t on the front-line; Bob was in no hurry to seek praise for his service. So I trust Bob would appreciate this story. 

At Luther Seminary in St. Paul, Minnesota there was a professor who had grown up in Russia. 

Now, this man’s path to St. Paul wasn’t a straight one. He earned his doctorate in theology and even studied under one of the great theologians of the twenty-first century in Europe. Upon graduating this man returned home to accept a teaching position at the university. 

But then his homeland was occupied, and he had to become a refugee. 

Away from all his family, friends and country, the Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Services staff did his intake interview in Minnesota. When they found out he had studied under the Rudolf Boltmann, they said there was a position for him at Luther Seminary. 

So this man started a new life in the United States. And the truth is, he was able to carve out a decent life. He married, and he and his wife enjoyed many years of wedded bliss. When she died, though, of perfectly natural causes, it was too much for this professor. 

This man who was able to keep his faith through losing his homeland, his family and friends; could not handle the death of his wife. He couldn’t believe any more.

One day he went into the office of the President of Luther Seminary, and handed in his resignation. “I can’t believe anymore,” he said. “I can’t teach this, if I don’t believe it,” he said. 

Now, to be a middle-man, you have to be an expert, but the same isn’t true for the top-level executives. 

Bob could tell you that. At the Ammunitions Plant, when an engineer wanted something made just so, they’d send it to Bob. And there Bob would be, with his feet to the fire working away; while the engineer just sat in their office. That’s always how it goes. And it was no exception at Luther Seminary.

See, while the professor had to study hard to earn his position, the president was just a pastor with a penchant for fundraising. The truth was, the president was simply an ordinary guy, easy to get along with. 

A lot like Bob. Bob never knew a stranger, wherever he was, he was always making friends.

With that professor’s resignation sitting there on the desk; the president looked at it and then back at that professor. Then the president took the letter of resignation, folded it and put it in his breast-pocket. 

“I won’t accept that,” the president said. “I will hold your doubt for you, I will believe on behalf of you,” he said. 

When this man couldn’t, someone else answered Jesus’ question for him, “I will believe.”

For whatever else could be said about Bob; for whatever doubt he might have had, he always had a way of surrounding himself with people who did believe. His wife, Ethel. His daughter, Gaye. So many of his friends: Lynn, Warren, Spencer, just to name a few.

In fact, for whatever doubts Bob may have had, he directed that his funeral be held here; and he knew what kind of funeral would be held here, he knew who could come. 

So we gather here with hope and misgiving, with trust and uncertainty and hear Jesus’ question; “do you believe.” In fact, the truth is we’re here now; not so much like Martha confessing, "I believe;" as we are with her protesting, "it's too late." 

When Jesus tells Martha to roll away the stone from Lazarus’ tomb, she demurs. “It’s too late, Jesus. He’s already been dead for four days,” she says.

This woman who earlier had been able to give Jesus the correct Sunday School answer earlier, “I know that you are the resurrection,” can’t help but doubt when the rubber hits the road. “It’s too late,” she said.

And we know what that’s like.

While we can give the “right,” but hollow answer today too; when we hear Jesus telling us to roll away the stone from Bob’s tomb, we also protest. “It’s too late, Jesus,” we say. “Bob never had the big conversion moment, he never renounced his doubt. It's too late.”

Like Martha we know what it’s like to be caught between saying “I know Jesus is the resurrection,” and being afraid “it’s too late.”

And so it is when we’re caught between hope and doubt, Jesus shows up. And he shows up in his typical Jesus way; when we think it’s too late. 

Just like at Lazarus’ tomb, Jesus shows up here, today and says, “roll away the stone.”

We come here today, hoping our faith is enough and afraid that it’s too late. And in the middle of all that, today just like in the Gospel we read earlier, Jesus shows up. 

Jesus shows up and declares this isn’t about death; this is about the glory of God. 

And so, again Jesus speaks a name. Only this time it isn’t Lazarus; it’s Robert Louis Helms, or better yet, just “Bob.” Jesus said, “Bob, come out.” And upon hearing that Word, Bob, like Lazarus, without a mumbling word won’t be able to do anything else but get up.

In the middle of our hope and doubt Jesus shows up proclaiming, this isn't about death; this funeral is about the glory of God.

Amen