Legacy

Sermon

What will you leave behind after you finish your earthly life?

On this Sabbath when we observe our All Saints Remembrance, we’re going to look at the idea of how our faith shapes our legacy, what we leave after we go, and what those who follow us will receive as an ongoing gift from us.

Let’s begin with the legacy of Jesus, if there is such a thing. In John 14, he tells his grieving disciples that he will leave them his peace; indeed, when he rises from the dead, the first thing he does when he is with his gathered disciples is breathe on them and say, Peace be with you.

Author Philip Yancey has another take on the legacy of Jesus. He writes, “Jesus left few traces of himself on earth. He wrote no books or even pamphlets. A wanderer, he left no home or even belongings that could be enshrined in a museum. He did not marry, settle down, and begin a dynasty. We would… know nothing about him except for the traces he left in human beings. That was his design. The law and the prophets had focused like a beam of light on the One who was to come, and now that light, as if hitting a prism, would fracture and shoot out in a spectrum of waves and colors.” (The Jesus I Never Knew, p. 228)

How do you bear the light of Christ, and how will that light continue to shine after you finish your earthly race?

In my first call, I was doing a children’s message on All Saints Sunday, and I asked if anyone knew what a saint was. One child said, “Someone who light shines through.” Indeed. As we think about our legacy, let’s first recall the legacy that the saints have left us—to remember how Christ’s light shined through them.

This morning I think about the three pastors who were part of our congregation who died this year and the legacy they left to us.

If you ever received a card or note from Vern Kerstein, you didn’t have to glance at the return address to know it was from him, written in his unique handwriting of block letters. And to receive a card or note from Vern meant getting something like a great big hug in the mail, a word of thanks or encouragement, a sign that he was paying attention to you and your life.

This coming February we will receive a different kind of legacy from the irascible and irreplaceable Clayton Rice. Several years ago when our choir sang Robert Ray’s Gospel Mass, Clayton told Debbie that he wanted that sung at his funeral. COVID and other factors prevented that from happening at the time of his death, but Clayton will be remembered when the choir presents that magnificent piece of music on the first Sunday in February. Clayton loved music, and that particular love is a legacy he has left for us.

Dear Bud Frimoth was a clown for Christ, in all the very best ways. No one was surprised if Bud was wearing or handing out a red foam nose on any given day, a reminder not to take life too seriously. And more than that, Bud leaves us the legacy of deep and abiding prayer. He was a stalwart member of our prayer team, and every month, he would send out the bulletin from the Healing and Wholeness Service to people around the world so that they would know they had been prayed for. If there is a heaven, and I think there is, and if Bud is there, and I think he is, I have no doubt he has continued to pray for all of us.

Linda McDowell left us the legacy of the curious and faithful mind so often on display at Toothmarks. Sweet, sweet Barbara Taylor, all four feet eleven of her, left us the legacy of her kindness. Virginia Rynerson left a legacy of commitment, and Peg Robson, a legacy of steadfastness in the face of change and difficulty. And Ralph Shuping—among so many aspects of his legacy is his example of abiding care and love for those whom the world might consider different or of little account.

We are so blessed by the legacy of these saints, and the light of Christ refracted through them still hovers around us. And yet, in many ways these legacies are invisible. One of the many things I appreciate about Westminster is that we do not have named things. We do not have the Anderson stained glass window; we do not have the Smith pew, or the Barnes organ, or the Bonthius pulpit. The only named thing that we have here is the Odiorne Scholarship, named after Reverend Leonard Odiorne, who died unexpectedly on his way home after attending a General Assembly.

The legacy of Westminster saints is largely invisible, or perhaps it is better to say, the legacies are anonymous. Long after their names are forgotten, their gifts will still be with us. We are blessed by this light.

There are legacies of harm, too, and none of us wants to leave one of those. Some people are able to make the brave choice of not continuing a legacy. The child of addicts chooses to live a sober life. The adult who was beaten as a child vows never to do that and gets the help needed to not continue that pattern. People taught to hate or fear another because of the color of their skin or their ethnic identity or their religion realize that was a false teaching and strive to love all humanity regardless.

In his 2018 book “Rising Out of Hatred: The Awakening of a Former White Nationalist,” journalist Eli Saslow tells the story of Derek Black, whose godfather and mentor was David Duke, and whose father was a former Ku Klux Klan grand wizard and founder of a popular hate website. I’ll simplify a complex story, that through exposure to other people, through friendships during college with people of color and Jewish people, Derek Black slowly left behind the legacy of hate and embraced a different life.

Eventually he would cut all those ties to hate completely and express his change in a letter to the Southern Poverty Law Center. “I will not contribute to any cause that perpetuates this harm [to Jews and people of color] in the future. … I can’t support a movement that tells me I can’t be a friend to whomever I wish or that other people’s races require me to think about them in a certain way or be suspicious at their advancements.” (https://www.washingtonpost.com/outlook/a-white-supremacists-path-to-enlightenment-about-race-and-tolerance/2018/09/27/)

It took acquaintances to teach Derek Black a better way, and sometimes the legacy we are left comes to us as a teaching. I love that about the Deuteronomy text, the intentionality of teaching good and teaching faith to the next generations.

It is lovely to have many generations present in our congregation, and the question of legacy hits all of us differently. Those of you in your 30s and 40s are just trying to get by, get the bills paid, get the job done, and see that the kids are fed and watered, if you have them. People like me in their 50s and 60s are thinking about finishing strong with our careers, wondering about retirement savings, and imagining how we will spend all of that free time when we’re living off our Social Security.

Those of you in your 70s and 80s and 90s may feel the legacy question more urgently. It’s not just a matter of your worldly possessions and assets and how those will be doled out. It’s a question of looking back at your life, and looking around at the world, and wondering how you might leave the world a little better than it was when you entered it. It’s a question of whether the things that you value—like faith, like love, like justice—will matter to anyone when you’re gone.

It’s never too early and it’s never too late to work on your legacy because how we live will form what we leave behind. One of the pleasures of working on a memorial service is hearing stories from a person’s life, stories that are cemented in the family lore, stories that show who that person was. If you listen carefully to a eulogy, you may well hear a legacy.

This December will mark five years since my dad died, and I am often reminded of the legacy he left me and my brothers and sister. Every month when Gregg and I pay off our credit cards, I can hear Dad cheering. When I notice the beauty of the natural world, I thank my dad for teaching me to notice those things. When I speak plainly and directly and kindly, I embody my dad.

Right now I think the best legacy I will leave is our daughter, Sarah. I am completely biased about that, of course, but I look at who she is, and how she thinks, and the things that are important to her that she is willing to fight for, and I think, the world will be better because she is in it, so I simply try to not mess up the good that is there in her.

So today, on our All Saints Remembrance, I want to encourage you to do one thing: tell someone else about a legacy that was left to you. Tell the story about someone you loved who still influences your life or our community or the world today. Maybe you’ll tell a story during fellowship time, or maybe you’ll call up your friend or your nephew or your grandchild and say, “I was thinking about so-and-so and wanted to tell someone about them.” Tell how Christ’s light shined through them.

How will Christ’s light shine through you? What will your legacy be?