C is for
Crusader
Frederick A. Niedner, one of Valparaiso University's finest professors and chair of the Department of Theology, is the "crusader" I have in mind. "Crusaders" is also the name of Valpo's athletic logo, and Fred, no doubt, on more than one occasion, may be found among the crowd's cheering section at some of their events. This is evident also in Fred's sermon below, where he found a way to connect Jesus' beatitude on those who are blessed "when folks revile you and persecute you and utter all manner of evil and falsehood about you" to the officials at their basketball games. See if Fred's phrasing of this does not elicit from you, as it did from those of us who first heard it preached, a delightful roar of laughter.
Fred Niedner, in addition to being a notable biblical scholar, is also a notable preacher of the gospel par excellence. He is exceptionally good at getting people to laugh-along-with-Jesus-the kind of "holy hilarity" that is a trademark of the faithful in the face of all condemnation. If Fred is on any kind of crusade, it is for that kind of liberating evangelical message-so refreshing in an age which has too easily embraced all kinds of crusades that are, by no means, saintly. Here now is the sermon Fred preached on All Saints, November 6, 2005 at the Crossings Festival Eucharist Service in Celebration of Ed Schroeder's 75th birthday. Read on, to your holy-heart's delight!
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There is a season for everything, says the Preacher, but nothing new under the sun. Which means, among other things, that we (and maybe that "we" refers mostly to us older, grayer folks here today) live and move in trusty, old patterns and grooves. Accordingly, this Crossings crowd may well expect this afternoon to hear a homily that's acrostic in form. "E" is for Evangelium, or for "Exile," perhaps; "D" for "Dear," as in, "Dear Ed. . .," or perhaps for "Double-time," which is more or less the way dear Ed has lived his life. That's been done, however, and much more ably than I could do it. Look again, when you have a chance, at the table of contents in that 1993 Festschrift for Ed on the Crossings web site.
For something else not so new I could borrow instead from famous statements of tribute, like the one William Shakespeare wrote for Julius Caesar. An adaptation might begin, "Friends, romancers of the gospel, and country-persons of the realm of God, lend me your ears. I come to bury Ed, not to praise him." Though I will speak well of Ed, and even though he is very much alive, I come-we all come-to bury him. That's the only reason we ever get together like this, isn't it? To bury someone, nay, to bury and re-bury all of us, with Christ, by baptism into his death, so that we might rise to new life and live, really live, on the cross-bearing path that leads always and only through wilderness and exile, that place of wordlessness and murmuring, where at least the trees clap their hands and the hills remember how to sing. Hence, my sermon title: "Buried, Blessed, and Edified." I hoped you would all notice the puns, and see all those Ed's there. Buri-Ed, Bless-Ed. And my, how blessed so many of us have been to get Ed-ified over the years.
Still more old images meant for a day like this reside in the church's rich heritage of talk about saints. Since my scholarly turf is Hebrew Bible, I must remind you that such talk begins there, with words like Hasidim and Qedoshim. The latter we must and shall become, says God in texts like the one in Leviticus (19:2) we heard again in the lectionary for two weeks ago. You shall be holy, for you are mine, and I the LORD am holy.
The former, Hasidim, also gets translated "saints" (Ps. 31:23), but it calls attention not to being set apart, but being faithful. The rabbis defined the term with a description. If a hasid should come across a sharp piece of broken glass or pottery in the road, he would not merely fling it aside, into the ditch perhaps, lest someone step on it and be hurt. No, a hasid would bury it. But she would bury it not a merely few inches deep, but a cubit deep at least, lest anyone, ever, in whatever time remains for the world, might step on it and be injured. (Does anything in that story remind you of Ed?)
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| Bishop Gerald Mansholt and Preacher Fred Niedner |
My own favorite, and nearly old, description of saints comes from Frederick Buechner's Wishful Thinking. "In his holy flirtation with the world, God occasionally drops a handkerchief. These handkerchiefs are called saints." ( p. 83) It's a delightful image. In one way or another, those we know as saints all bear a whiff of God's perfume. But some are soaked with God's tears as well, tears that go all the way back to the day God found Abel's blood spilled into the ground. Of those who know not only their own sorrow, but God's as well, Jesus says, "Blessed are those who weep and mourn."
Though God loves to wrestle with humankind over things that really matter, God has sometimes waved a white handkerchief when fed up with foolish, dirty fights. When that cloth has fallen among us, there have appeared saints who inexplicably loved their enemies. To the shock of saint and enemy alike, they have turned the other cheek, or stared the love of God into the eyes of hate and transformed it. Of them Jesus says, "Blessed are the peacemakers."
No doubt Ed would tell you that Marie was a handkerchief dropped by God along his path. And he's surely right. [It says in my notes at this point, "Pause for signs of nodding in affirmation."] The two of them together have given more than a few in this world some sign that God had crossed their path and would never again leave them wandering some wilderness alone.
But the point of this whole handkerchief image is in picking it up, recognizing the owner, and handing it back. Which just happens to be the universal gesture of giving thanks, and another reason we've come together today-to give thanks by giving back to God in acknowledgment the gift and grace of a dear one God has given us.
Before we leave the neighborhood of the beatitudes, I must comment on one more. That last one you just heard in the list for All Saints Day switches to second person: "Blessed are you when folks revile you and persecute you and utter all manner of evil and falsehood about you." Over the years I have decided that if that is really true, then the happiest people in all the world are the officials who work the basketball games at the university where I teach. After a night of work in front of the student section they must go skipping off to their locker room like those proverbial calves of the scriptures, nearly delirious with joy and happiness.
