Some of you as you arrived here this morning may have already noticed the two hymns that were chosen for the congregation to sing are “Softly and Tenderly” and “Precious Lord, Take My Hand.” Although they appear in our newer hymnbook, With One Voice, they’re actually pretty old, familiar hymns. In fact, when I go to the Friendship Home here in Audubon to conduct my monthly communion service for our members who are living there, or when I am asked to do the Sunday afternoon service there, when I ask what the folks there would want to sing, these are often two of the most requested ones. In fact, in the few months that I was her pastor, when I would ask June which ones she wanted to sing that day, she’d usually choose one of the two. While they were two of her favorite hymns of all of Christendom, there’s another reason that we’re singing these two hymns today. And I’m going to get into that. But, June would be the first to tell me today “Don’t put the focus on what I did today, Pastor. Put the focus on Jesus and what He did for me.” So that’s what I’m going to do for you today, because that’s the only message that really matters, and it’s a message that we are singing about in those two hymns.
The words of our Gospel reading for today were words that I read at June’s bedside during the Prayers of Commendation for the Dying this past Wednesday morning, a couple of hours before her death. They are some of the more familiar words of Jesus, some of the more comforting words that Jesus spoke in his earthly ministry. You often find them above the outside doors of a church. My grandparents’ church in Prescott, Iowa has these very words above both the main doors of the outside of the church, as well as above the main doors of the sanctuary inside. They are words that are indeed fitting as we gather here in God’s house to give thanks to God for June’s life, and for what He has done for her.
The first time I met June was my first Sunday here as the Pastor at Our Saviour’s. It just so happened that our church was responsible for the Sunday church service in the afternoon at the Friendship Home, so I ended up going out there in the afternoon to conduct the service and to meet some of our residents who lived there. June came to that service, and after I had finished, I went around the room to introduce myself and visit with the residents there. When I got to her, she smiled at me, the kind that can just light up the darkest room, took my hand, thanked me for coming, and then shared a bit about her family. I knew from that first visit that her life had been dedicated to them. Each time I came to conduct a service at the Friendship Home after that, she’d always have something to share with me about one of her grandchildren, or great grandchildren. I could tell that her family brought her great joy. In a world where women who forego a college education, career, and other personal goals to stay home, raise a family, take care of their husbands, and later in life, become a loving grandmother and great grandmother, June was certainly a dying breed. When some women today would look at her life and come up with all kinds of things she could have done, or others would say that she led a boring life, June didn’t see it that way at all. Instead of complaining about what might have been, she delighted that God had called her to be a wife, mother, and homemaker and later, a grandmother. June’s entire life revolved around selfless service to other people. It was her joy in life to be a wife, mother, grandparent, and friend.
But, life wasn’t always easy, and she had some burdens along the way. One of the most difficult days of her life was May 20th, 2001, when her beloved husband, Paul, was called to his eternal home. June was called to mourn the death of her husband, and face the prospect of life in this world without him by her side. From what I understand, I don’t think she ever really got over that. She would tell family and friends that she couldn’t wait for the day when she would see Paul again in heaven. One of the ways she helped fill that void in her life was in another way of service to others, as she volunteered her time here at Our Saviour’s. Many a Thursday afternoon, she would be found helping our secretary fold bulletins for the upcoming Sunday and other tasks that she could help out with. It wasn’t the most glamorous task in the church to do, but she was so glad to do it, and loved it, because she felt by doing it, she was helping God’s work continue here. I’m sure it was difficult for her to no longer be able to do that when she moved to the Friendship Home.
As her strength weakened, and it became clear she couldn’t live on her own anymore, June moved to the Friendship Home, where she fit right in and made many new friends. One of them shared with me shortly after her death at how the first day she was there, they struck up a friendship and became good friends in the almost two years she lived there. Her friendship had brought a lot of joy to her new neighbors there.
It’s easy for me to stand here and say so many wonderful things about June. Fact is, there’s not a lot of people like her in our world today. We loved her. That’s why today hurts so much. That’s why, when the blood disorder in her body could no longer be treated, it was a sad day for her family and friends to have to hear the dreaded diagnosis “there’s nothing more that we can do.” It’s been hard to watch her memory fade away, to where she no longer recognized family members or friends at times, or that she couldn’t remember names anymore. It was difficult for me as her pastor to sit at her bedside, wondering if she even knew that I was there, or who she thought I was. June knew her time was running short too. It wasn’t easy for her to be confined to a wheelchair and eventually, her bed. Many of us wonder “why did she have to suffer though all of this? Why did we have to suffer though it too? It’s not fair!” And you’re right, it’s not fair. Suffering is never fair in this world, because that’s not how God created us to be. God didn’t create us to have things in our bodies no longer work properly, or our minds to not be able to remember the people in our lives, or to be in pain. That’s what living in a sin filled world does to us. It takes the things of God, which were created perfect and holy, and destroys them. June knew first hand what the wages of her sin was, sickness and one day, death. We’re all faced with it today, as we see this casket up here. And it’s painful for us. We don’t have our mother, grandmother, great grandmother, friend, with us anymore, and it’s painful. It’s been painful to watch her health deteriorate, knowing that there’s nothing anyone could do about it.
Anyone, except for one person. While June’s family and friends were important to her, one person was more important to her than anyone else. I’m talking, of course, about Jesus. June took every opportunity she could to be in God’s house, and hear God’s Word spoken to her. She heard that yes, she was a sinner, yes, she deserved God’s eternal wrath and punishment, but she believed that Jesus Christ had lived, suffered, died, and rose again for her sins so that one day, June would live forever in Paradise. That was a promise she never forgot, even in the last days of her life.
The Thursday before her death, I went to the Friendship Home to conduct my monthly communion service there. While I didn’t expect to see her there knowing her health was rapidly declining, there she was, right in the front row, with a smile on her face as I walked in. I wasn’t sure if she’d know what was going on, and maybe up until we started that service, she didn’t. But, as soon as we all together joined in the confession of sin at the beginning of the service, June jumped right in and joined with the congregation assembled there that day by confessing one more time that she was sinful in thought, word, and deed, and asked for God to forgive her sins for the sake of her savior, Jesus Christ. It was indeed my honor to speak the words of the absolution, to declare to her that her sins had all been forgiven. She listened intently as I preached God’s Word that day. When I came to her during the communion distribution, she gladly heard the words “June, take and eat and drink, this is the body and blood of your Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, given and shed for you for the forgiveness of all of your sins.” She received communion, and looked right at me saying, “Thank you so much!” The last hymn she most likely sang was “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross”, which was our closing hymn. She sang that hymn, knowing that cross was where Christ had won her ultimate healing and eternal life. After the service was over that day, I greeted her, and she simply said, with a joyful voice, ‘Pastor, thank you so much for bringing me communion today, I needed it.” She didn’t seem to want to let go of my hand either. When I said “Well, I’ll be looking forward to bringing it to you again next month,” she sweetly and quietly said “I won’t be here next month. Thank you so much for being here today.” That was the last time I could talk with June. Just a couple of minutes later as a volunteer went to take her back to her room, she was unresponsive again.
On Wednesday morning, June heard her Savior speak the words of our Gospel reading to her, “June, come to me, you’re weary and heavy laden. I know you’re sick, I know you’re suffering, and I know you love me. Take my hand, and let Me take you home, let Me give you eternal rest with Me in Paradise.” At 9:30 that morning, June slowly lifted up her right hand, which had not moved since Saturday, and reached up, as if someone was standing in front of her, looking to take her hand. She held it up there briefly, then slowly lowered it back down to the bed, and laid her hand on her other one in front of her. As I witnessed that, Janice said “she’s reaching for Jesus” and I said “All I can think about is ‘Precious Lord, take my hand.’” When her hand came to rest, she breathed her last. Her last moments on earth were soft, tender moments, where her Savior reached out His nail-pierced hand, took June’s hand, and said to her “June, today, you will be with Me in paradise.” You now see why Janice said after her mother had breathed her last “Pastor, I know what we’re singing on Saturday. It’s going to be “softly and tenderly” because that’s how she left us, and “Precious Lord, Take My Hand” because that’s what we saw happen.” Pretty powerful stuff if you ask me, more powerful than any sermon I could ever preach.
For us, June’s family and friends, we are comforted in knowing that June is with Jesus in Paradise. We know that through our faith in Christ, we, too, will one day see her again. While we will miss her, I know June would want me to share this with you. If today, she could have the option of coming back to this world, free of the pain, free of the blood disorder and other health problems she had to endure, she wouldn’t want to do it. She’s literally in paradise with Jesus forever. She no longer knows sickness, pain, or sadness. But, she’d want me to tell each of you, that just as she had found her rest in Jesus, she’d want each one of us to find our rest in Him.
As we mourn, it’s a heavy burden, a burden that Jesus says He can and will carry for us. The invitation He gave to June in our reading applies to us as well. Just as June heard those words, let us take them to heart as well, “Come to me, June’s family, friends, and neighbors. I know you’re weary and sad because June is not with you. I know the days are going to be difficult, but lay those burdens on Me. Continue to come to My house, hear me speak words of comfort to you, hear the promises that I made to you, the promises June held so dear, and that I want you to hold dear to you as well, so that one day, you will be with Me in Paradise.” May you find comfort, strength, and rest in your Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, just as June has found hers in Him. Amen.
