Tag: perseverance

When Freedom Is Fatigued

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year CLeave a comment

Galatians 6:1-16

As our country’s freedom is celebrated this weekend, I believe we’re called as people of faith to remember the painful truth of our history and to acknowledge that freedom has never been free. It has been and must continually be fought for.

Our remembering is especially important as history itself is under attack with a dangerous push to whitewash the truth.

Books are being banned, libraries are being closed, and words like “slavery,” “racism,” and “reconstruction” are being scrubbed from school curriculums like they never happened. And just last month, we saw the Juneteenth holiday denigrated by those in power complaining about Americans getting “too many days off.”

They want us to forget the truth and just move on, because if we forget the wounds, we might lose the urgency to heal them. And if we forget the cruelty, the brutality, and the inhumanity, they can more easily repeat it.

So today, we gather to remember the truth, and we do so in the name of Jesus, who proclaimed that it is the truth that sets us free (John 8:32).

Long before 1776, sovereign nations like the Monacans who lived on this land in harmony with the earth, had their lands stolen, and treaties were broken by the same men who would declare liberty and justice for all.

In 1776, while white men signed the Declaration of Independence,
Black people remained in chains, counted as property, not people.
And the pen that wrote “all men are created equal” didn’t write for women, the poor, and the indigenous.

Since then, the story of America has been a story of contradiction:
of beautiful promises and brutal practices; of high ideals and hard-hearted policies. And true liberty and justice for all has always been a struggle.

· It was a struggle when Harriet Tubman followed the North Star through the night leading herself and others out of slavery.

· It was a struggle when Frederick Douglass stood in pulpits and pointed out the hypocrisy of a slaveholding church.

· It was a struggle when Sojourner Truth asked, “Ain’t I a woman?”

· It was a struggle when immigrants crossed deserts and oceans to chase a dream—only to be met with discrimination, quotas, and cruelty.

· It was a struggle when laborers organized for a living wage.

· A struggle when LGBTQIA siblings stood at Stonewall and said, “No more.”

· A struggle when King, Lewis, Williams and others marched across Edmund Pettus Bridge on the day remembered as Bloody Sunday.

· A struggle when Cesar Chavez and farmworkers fasted for dignity in fields that fed the nation.

The truth is that freedom has never rolled in on the wheels of inevitability. As Dr. King said, it comes by struggle and sweat, by movement and by sacrifice.

And that’s why Paul’s words to the Galatians are so prophetically powerful today:

“Let us not grow weary in doing what is right, for we will reap at harvest time, if we do not give up.”

How appropriate are these words today, as those committed to the freedom of all people are, quite frankly, worn out.

We’re tired of begging for justice for the poor and the marginalized.

-Tired of the lies, the hate, the cruelty.

-Tired explaining why it is unfair to call poor people “lazy” and just plain mean to call them “parasites.”
-Tired of explaining why the dignity of LGBTQ persons is not up for debate.

-Tired of explaining why science is real, women’s rights are human rights and Black lives matter.
-Tired of sowing seeds of peace in a land still addicted to violence.

And this weekend Paul has a message for us:

Keep going. Keep working. Keep struggling. Keep sowing those seeds. Don’t grow weary. Because the harvest is coming.

So today, on this weekend of noise and nationalism, injustice and immorality, we gather to tell the truth:

-We’re tired of marching for justice while lawmakers pass bills to steal it.
-We’re tired of praying for peace in a nation that budgets more money for bombs than any nation on earth.
-We’re tired of hoping for change in a country that celebrates independence while restricting who gets to be free.

Today, freedom is fatigued, but the good news is, the struggle is not over. Because our faith is calling us to keep sowing, believing the harvest is coming.

And being exhausted today only affirms our faithfulness to the gospel, because gospel work is heavy work.

Jesus talked about the heaviness of the gospel when he criticized the Pharisees’ hypocrisy for playing lightweight religious games, tithing spices like mint, dill and cumin, while ignoring the weightier matters, the heavy matters of mercy and justice (Matthew 23).

For the gospel is not just about personal salvation. It’s heavier than that. It’s about communal transformation. We are called to confront sin, not just in the soul, but in systems. Because we are called to not just look after ourselves, but to carry each other’s burdens.

Verse 2 of our verse needs to be repeated today as many Americans who call themselves Christians and talk about bootstraps and personal responsibility seem to have forgotten it: “Bear one another’s burdens, and in this way, we fulfill the law of Christ.” Bearing another’s burden, having empathy for others, says Paul, is the essence of what it means to be Christian.

And Christians today, not the Christians in name only, but Christians who fulfill this law of Christ, haven’t been this burdened in years.

And Paul’s message for us is to keep going, keep bearing those burdens, keep sowing those seeds, reminding us that we will one day reap what we sow.

Of course, we in America know all about reaping what we sow.

We elect leaders who sow division, declaring that they hate over half the people in the country, and then ask why we’re so polarized.

We sow billion-dollar weapons, and billion-dollar detention centers, and billion-dollar border walls, and then wonder why there’s no money for education and healthcare.

We sow exclusion and meanness, and do so in the name of God, and are shocked when young people leave the church.

So, we ask today:

What kind of country are we sowing?
What kind of church are we planting?
What kind of future are we tending?

If we sow silence when immigrants are deported, we will reap a nation with no conscience. If we sow tolerance for white supremacy, we will reap a church with no soul.

But if we sow solidarity, if we sow compassion, if we sow truth with love and justice, then we might just see the harvest.

In speaking of the harvest to come, how appropriate is Paul’s warning: “Do not be deceived. God is not mocked.”

Because another truth we must tell today, especially here in Lynchburg, Virginia, is naming the seed that’s continually mocking God and choking the harvest: the seed of White Christian Nationalism.

So many have been deceived into believing that this the Gospel of Jesus. When in fact, it’s the exact opposite. It’s the idolatry of race, the weaponizing of scripture, and the spiritual disguise of liberty that’s only for the privileged. It’s the heresy that says God loves America more than other nations, that straight whiteness is holiness, guns are sacred, and power matters more than people.

It wraps the cross with the flag, prays over injustice, and oppresses all the people Jesus would invite to a party. It anoints hate with holy water. It baptizes voter suppression, xenophobia, patriarchy, and LBGTQ bigotry and dares to call it “religious freedom.” But it’s far from freedom. It’s spiritual fascism dressed in red, white, and blue.

And Paul has a strong warning for those who have been deceived by such fascism: “God is not mocked.”

I believe that means that God is not fooled by the praise songs sung in a sanctuary of a church that turns its back on the oppressed.

God is not honored by churches that preach salvation but vote against food programs, health care, housing, and human dignity.

It’s not just bad theology—it’s deadly theology. And if we don’t name it and speak out against it, it will keep reaping violence, apathy, and war against the image of God in every non-white, non-straight, non-male, non-citizen body.

So, on this Fourth of July weekend Christians must say it clearly: We renounce the false gospel of white Christian nationalism. We will not grow weary naming it, resisting it, and working to plant something more beautiful in its place.

And Paul tells us exactly what we need to plant. Look at verse 15.

“For neither circumcision nor uncircumcision is anything; but a new creation is everything!”

Paul is talking about more pointless, lightweight religious stuff, saying it means absolutely nothing.

Worrying about how much foreskin one has is pointless when you couldn’t care less about the deeper wounds of others. Hanging the Ten Commandments on the Wall of a classroom is ridiculous when you refuse to feed the hungry children who sit in those classrooms.

America doesn’t need more lightweight, God-mocking religiosity. America needs something heavier. America needs a new creation.

A new creation where human dignity isn’t decided by documentation.
A new creation where education and health care are not luxuries.
A new creation where Black and Brown lives matter and queer kids live and thrive.

A new creation where people live like our ancient ancestors— in harmony with the earth, air, and sea.
A new creation where the church never bows to empire but always stands in solidarity with the least, the last, and the left out.

And Paul reminds us: We don’t get there by accident. And we don’t get there mocking God with religious hypocrisy. We get there by sowing it in faith and never giving up.

So, here’s the good news:

If you are exhausted today, it means you’ve been bearing a heavy burden fulfilling the law of Christ.
If you are tired today, it means you’ve been in the struggle sowing a new creation.
If you feel like giving up today, it only means you still care.

If your patriotism feels today more like fatigue than fireworks, you are on the right path.

And today, God has three words for you: Don’t. Give. Up.

Don’t give up on the child who needs your voice.
Don’t give up on the system that looks too broken to fix.
Don’t give up on the Church, even when it’s lost its moral compass.
Don’t give up on the movement. Don’t give up on the struggle.
Don’t give up on your calling, and never give up on love.

And know you don’t have to carry it all alone. Because we’re going to bear the burden together.

So, this weekend, while the nation celebrates its imperfect, incomplete freedom, we’ll keep sowing for the freedom that still hasn’t fully come.

And we will not give up. Because we know the harvest is coming.
And God will not let our labor be in vain.

So go, worn out but willing. March on, wounded but not defeated, stunned but not silent. Sow seeds of justice with trembling hands and tired feet.
And trust that the God who began a good work in us will one day bring home the harvest.

Amen.

Pastoral Prayer

O God of the long road and the tired feet,

You have seen every protest march, every underground meeting,

every whispered prayer beneath the weight of oppression.

You were with Harriet Tubman in the woods,

with the veterans of Selma on the bridge,

with the mothers crying at detention centers today.

This weekend, as a nation sings of liberty,

We are grieving, for we know the truth that not all are free.

We know freedom is more than fireworks and parades—

it is housing, it is healing, it is dignity, it is truth.

We grieve the cruelty of a nation that passes a bill soaked in injustice: that takes healthcare from the sick, food from the hungry, and dignity from the poor to fund tax breaks for the rich and concentration camps for immigrants.

We grieve, O God, for Texas Hill Country—where catastrophic floods struck on July 4 killing at least 51 people including many children, sweeping away cabins at a summer camp with 27 girls still missing.

May the families waiting in anguish feel your presence.

Give rescue workers strength, bring swift comfort,

and awaken in us a fierce call to care for our neighbors in every disaster.

We confess, God, that we sometimes grow tired of it all.

Tired of the suffering of this world. Tired of fighting the same battles.

Tired of speaking truth in ears that won’t hear.

Tired of watching laws be written that wound your people.

So, pour your Spirit upon us like a second wind.

Give us the courage to keep showing up—

to sow goodness, to bear burdens, to carry one another.

And give us joy that this labor is never in vain.

Make us co-creators of your new creation,

until the tired are lifted, the wounded are healed,

and the world becomes your Beloved Community. In the name of Jesus, our justice, and our rest. Amen.

 

Invitation to Communion

Jesus never promised an easy road, but he did promise a shared table.

At this table, the tired are welcomed, the wounded are fed, and no one carries the Gospel alone.

Here we remember that Christ’s body was broken not just for individuals,

but for communities—for the collective healing of the world.

If you are weary, if you are burdened,

if you are longing for a taste of real freedom—

come. All are welcome.

This table is for you.

 

Invitation to Give

Giving to this offering is not about guilt or obligation. It is about sowing.

And we reap what we sow.

When we sow into justice, we reap a more beloved world.

When we give with compassion, we build up the Body of Christ.

On this weekend when so much is spent on fireworks and celebration,

we invite you to invest in something eternal:

a love that serves, a truth that speaks, and a justice that marches.

Let us give, not out of surplus, but out of hope.

Not to keep the lights on, but to light the way.

Commissioning and Benediction

Go now, tired but unbroken.

Go now, weary but still willing.

Go now, and do not grow weary in doing what is right—

for the harvest is coming.

May the Spirit strengthen your hands.

May the Christ who bore our burdens walk beside you.

And may the God who is not mocked guide you into new creation.

Go in peace, go in power,

go in love—

and never give up.

Amen.

Trinity in the Trenches

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year C3 Comments

Romans 5:1-5

Ok, here it is! The sermon that you’ve been waiting for! I wouldn’t call it a sugar-stick sermon, but it’s certainly a hopeful sermon. And oh, how we need some hope today! Because, in today’s world, we wonder how we’re still standing.

Our epistle lectionary lesson Romans 5:1-5 enters our turbulent time like a divine disruption, a flame refusing to be swallowed by the night. It doesn’t offer quick fixes or shallow answers, but it offers deep, lasting, transforming, Trinitarian hope.

I know, I know. Some of you have never been big fans of the Trinity. That’s because you’re not fans of any doctrine or creed, especially if it was decreed by the empire centuries ago, with other edicts and declarations that have caused more harm in the world than good. You don’t get it, and I get that. The Trinity is a strange concept. Three in one? Why three? Why not 7 or 12 or 17 or 153? Actually, I kinda like 153!

The good news for us on this day we call “Trinity Sunday” is that the Trinity doesn’t have to be a dusty old imperial doctrine. The Trinity can be divine, living reality.

I know, I know. Some of you didn’t like the sound of that. A preacher telling you what reality is. We have too much gaslighting these days from the power-that-be, and you’ve come to church this morning to hear the truth!

But hear me out. I am saying that maybe the Trinity, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, or the Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer if you prefer, is not an ancient puzzle to solve. It’s a real, living, transforming, presence in which to dwell. The Holy Trinity is something to be lived more than learned, experienced more than explained, something or someone with whom to relate more than to understand. It’s not abstract; it’s active. It’s moving. It’s breathing. It’s calling, prodding, pushing, pulling us toward who we have been and are still being created to be.

Listen again to how the Apostle Paul describes the Trinity in his letter to the Romans:

“Since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ… and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”

Let’s walk together in this text and let the Trinity meet us in our grief, our protests, our healing, and our rising.

“Since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God…”

To say, we are “justified by faith” is to say that God, the source of all that is, made a decision about us before the world could.

Before society tagged you as expendable, God named you “beloved”. Before empires wrote policies and made decrees to discount or disappear you, God wrote your name in glory.

  • Before redlining maps were drawn, God marked your entire neighborhood and called it blessed.
  • Before school districts were zoned to maintain inequality, God declared your mind worthy of wisdom.
  • Before they looked at your skin, your gender, your sexuality, and your zip code, and said “unworthy” God looked at you and said “very good!”
  • Before they erased you from textbooks, God had written your story in the Lamb’s Book of Life!

And it is God, the creator of everything, the energy of, in, and behind the universe, Love Love’s self, who is the one who declares peace over us— a cosmic, reconciling, justice-making peace.

It’s not the peace of silence. It’s not the peace of the status quo.

It’s not the peace one enjoys when they decide to play it safe.

It’s not the peace that comes with caution, following the rules or staying out of trouble.

It’s the peace that always lifts up the lowly, the least and the left out, even if it means flipping a table or two to do it!

It’s the peace that comes with the freedom of being justified. It’s not passive peace. It’s a prophetic peace. It’s the peace that tears down what divides and oppresses and builds what unifies and liberates in its place.

  • It’s the kind of peace that marched with Dr. King and bled with John Lewis on the Edmund Pettus Bridge.
  • It’s the kind of peace that says “Black Lives Matter” not to exclude anyone, but to expose what peace really demands.
  • It’s not the kind of peace that settles, but the kind of peace that agitates until justice rolls down like waters.

Let’s look at the next line:

“…through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand…” (v.2)

Jesus is our access point to grace. Jesus didn’t just die because of our sins; He lived to show us what love looks like under empire, under oppression, under the shadow of the cross by living a life of grace.

Grace is not a loophole. It’s a lifestyle. Grace is what empowers us to stand tall in the rubble, to stand in front of an army deployed by a corrupt authoritarian and still speak truth. Grace is opportunity. Grace is an opening, a door, a window, even a crack. Grace is how Jesus reached out to the woman at the well, touched the leper, and restored the outcast.

And Paul says, Jesus is the access to this grace.

Sadly, this is where the church has really messed up its theology. Grace is not a ticket to heaven to escape the world. Grace is the opportunity to bring heaven to the world.

This is the grace Jesus came to give.

So let me say this prophetically: If your theology makes room for grace but not justice, you haven’t met Jesus yet.

If your gospel preaches forgiveness but ignores the systems that crucify, it’s not good news. It’s a performance.

Christ gives us grace to stand. Not to retreat. Not to hide. But to stand—

· To stand in the courtroom when the system is tilted, and still speak truth to power, with trembling hands but with a steady soul.

· To stand in the streets, in the pouring rain or the scorching heat and still lift up signs and prayers for a justice that won’t wait.

· To stand in your weary body—chronically ill, over-policed, underpaid—and say, “My presence is still a miracle!”

· To stand in grief when you’ve buried too many dreams, too many loved ones, and somehow still hope again.

· To stand when depression tells you to stay in bed, when anxiety says you’re not enough, and say: “Grace brought me here, and grace will keep me, and grace is enough.”

The good news is that there is more, much more! Look at verse 5.

“…and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit…” (v.5)

Ah, the Spirit. The One too many of us try to explain instead of experience.

This is the Spirit who whispers to us when all hell is breaking loose.

This is the Spirit who moves us in protest chants and in silent prayers.

This is the Spirit who pours—not sprinkles, drizzles, or cautiously trickles, but liberally pours the love of God deep into us until we can breathe again, smile again, even laugh again.

And this is why we don’t give up or stand down or ever bow down. Because love has roots that run deep. Love has a heartbeat in us. And even when suffering surrounds us, the darkness envelops us, even when the trauma returns, the Spirit keeps saying, “Hold on. The good old days may be gone but good new days are coming!”

The Spirit does not eliminate suffering. The Spirit takes suffering and makes suffering meaningful. The Spirit resurrects and transforms suffering. The Spirit assures us that suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces a hope that never disappoints us!

So, what do we do when the world is on fire?

When empires write decrees and send in the troops?

When systems still crucify the innocent?

When liberty and justice feels like a luxury only for the privileged?

When the whole world seems to be upside down, and we’re barely hanging on?

That’s when we remember the One, or the Three, who are holding on to us. The Father speaks peace. Christ gives grace. And the Spirit pours out love!

This is our Triune hope in the trenches, our Trinitarian anchor in a turbulent world. This is why we preach. This is why we worship in a pew, sing a hymn, and give an offering. This is why we pray and why we protest. This is why we forgive and feed, cry and console, resist and rise!

The Trinity is not an idea. It’s not just a concept. The Trinity is our inheritance, our identity, and our liberation. It’s how we can still stand when all is falling around us.

Still stand when policies crush the poor.

Still stand when truth is unfashionable.

Still stand when they gaslight and try to divide us.

Still stand when they deploy the military against us and threaten to kill us.

Still stand when love looks like resistance and hope costs everything.

The Trinity is not theoretical. It’s revolutionary!

The Father says, “Stand in this love.” The Son says, “Stand in this grace.” The Spirit says, “I’ve poured this love in you like wildfire—now go and light up your city, your state, your nation, and my world with my love. Go and stand and love until the torch of liberty and justice burns for all!”

So, let’s go and stand. Stand in courtrooms and stand in classrooms.

Stand in pulpits and in stand in peace vigils.

Stand in mourning and stand in movement.

Stand with our scars and with our sacred calling.

And when the world asks: Who gave you permission to stand like this? Who told you that you could be this courageous? How are you this strong, this confident? And why are you smiling like that?

That’s when you say, “I’ve been justified by faith!” “I’ve got peace from the Father!” “I’ve been given grace from the Son!” “And have been anointed with fire from the Holy Ghost!”

Now stand, and let your life be a sermon the world has been waiting for and cannot ignore.

Voices from the Grave

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Non-Lectionary1 Comment

AllSaintsSundayCandleHebrews 12

Years after her husband died, Betty told me that she still goes to the cemetery, almost daily, to visit his grave. “And Jarrett, I need to ask you something,” she said. “Oftentimes when I go, I stand there and talk to him. Sometimes I even bring a chair to sit in so I can talk to him for hours. I talk about my day, the good parts and the bad parts, and, of course, I talk to him about how much I miss him. Jarrett, here’s my question: “Do you think I am crazy?”

I said, “I guess that all depends. Let me ask you this: Does he ever talk back?”

However, when one considers the response of Jesus in the gospels, perhaps hearing voices from the dead is not so crazy. The Sadducees, who did not believe in eternal life, were trying once again to entrap Jesus by questioning his teaching on resurrection. Jesus responds:

“The fact that the dead are raised Moses himself showed, in the story about the bush, where he speaks of the Lord as the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. 38Now he is God not of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive” (Luke 20).

So perhaps Betty would not have been that crazy after all, if she heard her husband’s voice from the grave.

Now, of course, I am not talking about hearing audible voices from the grave. I am talking about the hearing voices from the dead the way the writer of Hebrews describes it when he writes:

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely,* and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith…”

He is talking about being inspired by, encouraged by those who have lived before us. In the previous chapter, we read a list of those he is talking about: Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Esau; Moses and each Israelite who escaped slavery in Egypt; Barak, Samson, Jephthah, David, Samuel, all of the prophets and every person had has ever been persecuted or martyred for their faith.

The writer to the Hebrews is saying, when life is hard, when the way is difficult, remember these, remember their voices, remember their actions, and especially remember how they point you to the way of Jesus, and be encouraged, be strengthened, and gain perseverance to continue not only life, but a life of courageous faith and selfless service.

I absolutely love worshipping in this place. Because every person that first worshipped in this sacred place that was built in 1909 ran their race and kept the faith long before us. Every time I gather here, I can hear their voices: voices of those who sang the great hymns of faith in these pews through World War One and the Great Depression. I stand behind and preach from a pulpit and hear the voices of preachers who preached the gospel amid World War Two, the Korean Conflict, Vietnam and the Cold War. I hear voices of those who preached for the rights of African Americans during the Civil Rights movement.

I hear the voices of those who have served the poor in this community and around the world for decades, those who have donated generously, and served sacrificially.

Every time I gather here, I hear the particular voices of those who served faithfully with me through Farmville Benevolent Ministries while I was the pastor of First Baptist Church. I hear the compassion in the voices of AC and Vivian Turnage for the poor of this community. I hear the love in the voice of Gay Johnson who would always have jars of Molasses in the trunk of her car to distribute to those in need.

Listen, can you hear them? Can you hear the voices of the saints echoing through this place this morning? When I listen carefully, I can hear the voice of Marie Allen. I hear great perseverance in the voice of an extraordinary mother who selflessly gave her all in loving her family. I hear the voice of an extraordinary mother who got up each morning, made everyone breakfast, packed lunches, and then went to work herself every day at her full-time job at the drug store or the dry cleaners in town. Then, somehow, some miraculous way, in a world without fast food and microwaves, still managed to prepare a hot supper and have on the family dinner table each night. And whenever little Pete or Donna needed new clothes to wear, with needle and thread and some material, Marie could always create whatever they wanted with her own hands. I hear the voice of a faithful mother who made a point to raise Pete and Donna in this church giving them a foundation for a faithful life that is being lived out today.

Listen, do you hear them? I hear sincere gratitude in the voice of William Meeks. I hear a voice that thanked God, even amid struggle and difficulty, for his opportunity to selflessly and sacrificially serve his country through military service during the Korean War. Although he freely admitted that those years changed him, affected him, not always for the good; in some ways it broke him; he was still very grateful for the opportunity to serve these United States.

William was also very grateful for his opportunity to serve through the First Christian Church of Farmville, especially as an electrician. And the First Christian Church is very grateful that we were able to give him that opportunity! When you worship in a church building that was built in 1909, you appreciate someone with the skills and the generosity of William Meeks. There is no telling how many hours William freely gave to the church doing all kinds of needed repairs. William loved his church. Like his love for his country, there was perhaps something deep within William that yearned to be a part of something that was larger than himself.

William always talked about how good his church was to him, especially when he needed the church the most. I don’t think I ever visited him when he did not express his gratitude to God for Jimmy Lethworth and for the many times that Jimmy picked him up and carried him to the VA Hospital in Durham for his cancer treatments.

Listen, do you hear them? I hear gracious hospitality in the voice of Kenneth Ross. One could say that Kenneth Malcolm Ross lived his entire life preparing a place at the table, preparing a home for others, for Marilyn, Amelia and Ken, and even for all Americans, each one of us, through his service to this country.

I think this explains why life was so difficult for him these last eight years. When Marilyn died in 2006, something inside of Kenneth also died. For Marilyn was such a large part of his purpose for living. And having been diagnosed with lung cancer himself, at the same time Marilyn was diagnosed, undergoing chemotherapy alongside of Marilyn, Kenneth did not only survive with a great loss of sense of purpose, Kenneth survived with the guilt associated with surviving. He also survived with severe physical limitations, COPD and other side effects from his battle with cancer that prevented him from living and breathing, preparing and providing for others as he had his entire life.

However, although he struggled much these last few years, although he was limited physically, it was evident through each of my visits with him that he never lost faith. Kenneth continued to love and care for the First Christian Church where he raised his family, served as a deacon and practiced the greatest commandment of loving God and neighbor as self.  Each visit I had with him, he would always inquire about the state of the church and of the needs of the church.

Listen, do you hear them? I hear great hope in the voice of Marie White. I will never forget the confident faith in her voice that I heard from her the week she passed away. Each time I visited her in the hospital, although she was very sick and felt terrible, it was evident that she was never separated by the love of God. She was sick, but she was not despairing. She was neither eating nor drinking; neither was she giving up hope. Although she was in the valley of the shadow of death, she feared no evil. Although her body was tired and broken and in pain, she was at peace. Although she was near the end of her life, her cup runneth over. It was so evident, that although she was separated from her friends, most of her family, her youth, her health, she was not separated by the love of God through Christ Jesus her Lord. She was a living testimony to the truth that spiritual wholeness is more important that physical well-being, even more important than life on this earth.

Listen, do you hear them? I can. Thanks be to God that we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. So let us set aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, [always] looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfector of our faith. Thanks be to God that we clearly hear the voices of the saints that have lived before us.

And no, we are not crazy. We just worship the God of the living; not of the dead, for to God, all of them are alive.