a funeral sermon

With Thanksgiving for the Life of Roger Duane Kinsonroger

15 August 1929 + 24 April 2017

Psalm23; 2Cor4:16-5:5; John17:1-13

 

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen

I want to thank Pastor Elisa for the opportunity to be here. I used to be Roger and Nancy’s pastor. Now I’m just a twerpy sneaky evangelist. In that way, I want to add on to the very fitting Bible readings Nancy chose to add one more from the Gospel of Matthew:

A centurion came to Jesus, appealing to him and saying, “Lord, my servant is lying at home paralyzed, in terrible distress.” And Jesus said to [the foreign commander], “I will come and cure him.” The centurion answered, “Lord, I am not worthy to have you come under my roof; but only speak the word, and my servant will be healed. For I also am a man under authority, with soldiers under me; and I say to one, ‘Go,’ and he goes, and to another, ‘Come,’ and he comes, and to my slave, ‘Do this,’ and the slave does it.” When Jesus heard him, he was amazed…And to the centurion Jesus said, “Go; let it be done for you according to your faith.” And the servant was healed in that hour. (8:5b-9a, 13)

In the good ol’ days, before I became a twerpy sneaky evangelist, Roger took me to my first Badger football game. I’d never been to anything more than high school games, and I’ll also admit I’ve only been to one game since then. That might reinforce my status for Nancy as a “scrawny young goofball.” I didn’t know what to expect of the game or the experience, but Roger was so organized and ready on all the details. He knew when we needed to leave, what route to take, where to park. Those may seem small, but it impressed me at the time (though I was also a bit nervous as his big Lincoln went barreling through traffic). Once we were inside Camp Randall, he was pointing out all kinds of things I would’ve missed otherwise—what plays were happening, who was running where, what went on between downs. The man knew his football. He was also grandfatherly enough that while he was directing my attention toward the game, he directed me away from trying to hear the cheers coming from the student section.

This sense of Roger’s direction was something I got used to. In the same way that I’ve heard Oscar Mayer employees recollect his emphatic greetings and wave as he walked down hallways with his firm and demanding presence, I got used to Roger’s arrival in the office at St. Stephen’s. He would pull up with rakes and garbage buckets sticking out of the Lincoln and come in to schmooze the secretary Jane Voss, a lingering style of check-up that must have fit his days at Oscars. But it wasn’t just for a cordial howdy. He was investigating what was going on. I also knew that Roger would have some sort of idea in his head that he was ready to execute. He’d be talking about spraying chemicals on the weeds in the parking lot or what branches needed to be cut off of shrubs or how the Building & Grounds meetings should run differently. He’d have these plans fully formed and, even though I’d try offering other suggestions, there was absolutely no way of changing his mind.

In the reading from the Gospel of Matthew, that commander said he was a man of authority, used to giving orders and being obeyed. Roger, too, was used to being in charge, used to being listened to in his opinions or decisions, used to having final say. He could do it with great charisma and charm. He could lead with his loud, exuberant voice and his big smile. He could direct and guide with passion and love. If I knew him in that way even though I met him 15 years after he retired, I also know it must be true in the stories I’ve heard about him as a boss at Oscars, and I expect that you children also had sense of that caring but sometimes firm authority.

Maybe it softened for grandchildren. But about the only place it wouldn’t fly is with Nancy. You could change Roger’s mind. With you, Roger had to dialogue, doing these things not by dictating orders but by conversation, with mutual trust, through 63 amazing years of marriage and your miraculous care through the end.

With that, we know that Alzheimer’s disease changed his mind, too, making him somebody he wasn’t and leaving him unable to do what he wanted. He recognized that and began to cope with those changes long before this end.

Still, overall we have the feeling from the Gospel reading: Roger was used to having people under him and being able to say “do this,” just like that faithful authority in the story.

And, to our larger point of this gathering, this faithful authority pairs with an expectation of Jesus and of God: the centurion, from his own experience, identified that God is in control, in charge, that when Jesus issues a word of decree, that word is effective, is trustworthy, is to be counted on. The reading Nancy chose from the Gospel of John certainly agrees with this sentiment, as Jesus says the Father “has given him authority over all people, to give eternal life.”

That is our word for today, a word we trust and count on as effective and powerful, as authoritative for Roger. Roger Duane was claimed in baptism as a child of God, a beloved son, and that word of promise is utterly and completely insistent. Nothing could or can change God’s mind being set on this promise and bringing it to completion. That word of love and life held Roger from old days of centering the football, on through the start of a young family establishing life in various homes all the way to bring him to dwell in the house of the Lord forever. The authority given to Jesus to abide as God-with-us went with Roger through the stresses and successes of work, directing his days and his deeds toward peace, amid changes and adaptations of retirement. It was a promise that nurtured him in service to congregation and community, in friendships and the love of family. This assurance of God’s strong presence is in pleasant pastures and beside quiet waters, in overflowing cups but also through the darkest valleys. So even when sickness seemed to interfere and interrupt, to change Roger from who he had always been, diminishing his big, bold personality and leaving us with him in terrible distress, still even then, nothing can separate Roger or you from this promise—neither death nor life, neither our firmest determinations nor deepest groanings, neither distractions of life nor disease, beginning nor end.

We do not lose heart, because in this very hour we hear again the strong word of God that claimed Roger extending to give eternal life. In that light, as our words from 2nd Corinthians observed, even the worst we suffer becomes like a slight momentary affliction. Jesus, the Word of God, speaks the word so that you may be healed, made whole, as he calls into being a new creation and out from death calls you into new life with Roger. “Are we weak and heavy laden, cumbered with a load of care? In his arms he’ll take and shield you; you will find a solace there.” Alleluia. Amen

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