Respect

I have debated whether or not I wanted to share this, but I think I need to.  Saturday, I helped at a funeral at our church.  It was a beautiful service honoring a man I did not have the privilege to know.  I was helping by being an usher for the service.  

The service was to conclude with a military honor guard, which I always find extremely moving.  I do find it funny that they never actually play “Taps” anymore, instead they have a bugle set up to play the song while the military person pretends to play (I get it, playing it is not easy and requires a specific talent that might not always be available.)  My guess is that it has been a minimum of 30 years since I heard it actually played at a service, and most people probably would never know the difference.

My issue was the two military service men.  I was standing at the back of the church in case anyone came in the front doors.  As the service began, neither of the gentlemen had yet arrived (also not unusual), the problem was when the second arrived, the two began to carry on a conversation (rather loudly in my opinion) in the narthex.  The word that came to mind was RESPECT.  When I have presided over a service with the military present, even though they would often come late, they always appeared to respect the Christian service that was going on.  Often they stood at attention throughout the whole service.  But these two carried on as if the Christian service was a bother and were anxious to get on with it.  Just as they expected everyone in attendance to show respect while they conducted their flag service, so too should they have shown respect for the rest of the service.  I know it is just a job for them, but come on, you are representing our country, show the respect that is due.

Well done, good and faithful servant

Yesterday Nancy and I made the 7+ hour roundtrip to Indianapolis to attend the funeral of Jim Baize. Jim's wife was one of my last funerals before I retired. Jim was a unique guy. His storytelling style reminded me a lot of my father. And more than anything he was a good friend. He is one of the last survivors from the Iwa Jima campaign. This is my homily from the service. One thing that I shared at the graveside but not in the service is that Jim had given me some sand from Iwa Jima on one of my many visits. I saved that sand and poured it into his grave.

Eugene Peterson in his translation/interpretation of the Bible known as the message gives us this passage from the Second Letter of Timothy, the 4th Chapter, with a few minor modifications by me.

You take over. I’m about to die, my life an offering on God’s altar. This is the only race worth running. I’ve run hard right to the finish, believed all the way. All that’s left now is the shouting—God’s applause! Depend on it, (God’s) an honest judge. (God will) do right not only by me, but by everyone eager for (God’s) coming.

My name is Steven Conger, and I am a retired pastor from here at Meridian Street United Methodist Church.  I am humbled that we can share in this service remembering and celebrating Jim with you.  Jim loved this church, and touched many, many peoples lives.  Nancy and I loved Jim and Jo, they were an important part of our lives and we are thankful that we could call both of them friends! 

We grieve today at Jim’s death, but we grieve --- as people of hope. 

Richard Rohr in his book, Quest for the Grail writes:

What the spiritual journey teaches us is that in the end there is only love. And the foundation of everything . . . is finally love. . . .We’re standing on love.

Jim stood on love — the love of his family and friends — the love of God.

Jim, as you have already heard, was ready.  He never expected to outlive Jo. And when she died, a piece of him died. 

Jim has experienced a lot of death in his life.

Jo last spring

His beloved daughters Karen & Denise

But Jim also saw too much death during World War II

As he was bringing troops ashore during the landing on Iwa Jima his landing craft was destroyed and all the troops on board were killed — except for Jim.

Jim, as you know, once he found himself ashore, joined the fight for control of the Island, getting wounded in the process.  A marine by the name of Jack made Jim an honorary Marine that day.

Every time Jim told me that story you could feel the conflict in his soul.  He was proud in the roll that he played in helping to end the war against fascism — but the lives lost — the brutality of it all seared a hole in him.

When sharing with our men’s group he said that it was in remembering — and telling the story that he found peace.  An uneasy peace — but peace nevertheless.

I am convinced that his experience in World War II is what drove him to the high level of success that he gained.

Those lives lost in that Higgins LCVP boat #13 never left him

And they helped him to become all that he was

But another big part of his healing and success, I am certain was a divorcee that he met by the name of Lora Jo.

Together they build a life of compassion and love.

I could have easily have used the scripture that I chose for Jo’s service today — 1 Corinthians 13 

Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable; it keeps no record of wrongs; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never ends.

Can you think of better words to be said about you at your funeral?

 

For both Jim and Jo — those words ring true.

      

Paul reminds us that love is not only the greatest gift --- but it is also a gift that never ends.

Even death cannot take away the love that has influenced each of your lives.

I know that each of us here today have been blessed because our lives crossed paths with Jim’s.

A friend of mine shared this story with me years ago.

One evening during World War II a father and his young daughter were out in a part of London that they were not all that familiar with.

While they were walking — the heard the sirens begin to go off — signaling that the German planes were on their way to bomb the city.

They continued on their way — but soon added to the blare of the sirens was the report of anti-aircraft fire.

The father began to look around for a safe place for shelter — since he was unfamiliar with that part of the city.

As he could see the planes getting closer — he scrambled over to the side of a building that had been destroyed in an earlier raid.  

He encouraged his daughter to jump into the basement of this bombed out building — but his daughter said — I can’t — I am afraid.

The planes were getting closer and he could see the bombs falling from the sky.  So he once again begged his daughter to jump into the basement and have some protection from the coming storm.

Once again she said: I can’t — I am afraid.

The father — seeing that the bombs would soon be upon them did something that I am not sure I could do.  He left his daughter on the ledge and jumped into the dark hole below.

From there he called to his daughter:  Sweetheart — you must jump — the bombs are getting close.

She replied: I can’t — I am afraid — I can’t see you.

And her father said — that’s OK, I can see you.

And she jumped into the loving arms of her father.

None of us can fully SEE

Paul called in a dark mirror

But God can see us

Jim has made the leap into the loving arms of our God — and has been welcomed home.

Fred Conger's Memorial Service

These are the words that I wrote to say at my dad's (Fred Conger's) memorial service.  I have no idea what exactly I said, but this is what was on my heart.  Sorry it has taken me so long to post sermons and this, I have just needed some time to breathe and gather myself.  A couple of weeks ago, the Conger clan gathered together for out annual vacation --- something was missing!  I can't tell you how much I miss him, he was not only my father, but he was my mentor and friend.  And as Tim said, he was inn many ways "larger than life".  I will forever be blessed by his wisdom and memory. 

This is my fourth time speaking in this beautiful sanctuary

First time was at Stewart’s memorial service in 1985

Then you invited me to preach after I was ordained an elder 32 years ago

The last time was at my father’s retirement --- I said a few words

And now today --- this community is near and dear to my heart.

Over the years my father has written down his instructions for his funeral.

Almost all of his friends that he wanted to preside over his service are now dead.

Five years ago, he re-wrote his Memorial Service instructions --- and I had not seen them until a two weeks ago.

He wrote:

I want this service to be held at the First United Methodist Church of Downers Grove with no casket present.  It is to be a memorial service.  Please try to keep it within one hour.

Steven Conger should be in charge of the service.  If he is unable or does not want to do it, then have Steven Howland.

But my favorite part

Let any grandchild speak, but only for three minutes.  Something they remembered about Granddad Fred.  No clergy to speak.

Sounds just like him

No one has influenced me more than my father.

While he served here as your pastor, Marilou Welsh would send me cassette tapes of his sermons --- so I could continue to be influenced by his wisdom.

After he retired, every Sunday on my way home from church, I would call and we would talk about how my service went.

I can’t tell you how much I miss that.

Thursday June 10th, Nancy and I drove up from Indianapolis.

I spent the night with him in the hospital

It was a rough night

Kept calling for Scott and Carol

He told me he was sorry

We prayed together --- and I reminded him that he was loved

At 3 am he started a conversation with someone ---

I have no idea who

It lasted almost three hours and at about 6 am 

--- for whatever reason 

--- the conversation ended and he stopped fighting

I became pretty convinced that he was talking with Clarke, Phil, Charlie, Claude, Bill and others of his gang that had already gone before --- and of course Stewart.

They were inviting him home --- but he just wasn’t ready yet.

Friday, after we got to the Hospice house the entire family gathered around him

Scott and Joette were on their way home from Florida

They stopped along the road and FaceTimed with dad

At about 615 or so, Casey got ahold of Scott J. who was in North Dakota --- and let him say goodbye.

At a little before 630 we began singing --- very poorly mind you --- McNamara’s Band --- the song he sang to his grandchildren and greatgrandchildren.

In the middle of the song --- he let go

It was a beautiful moment

Nancy was listening to the radio and Dan Fogelberg’s song The Leader of the Band came on.  Fogelberg wrote it as a tribute to his father, but the words hit home for me.

My life has been a poor attempt

To imitate the man

I'm just a living legacy

To the leader of the band.

As a dear friend wrote me the other day --- “your dad was always just a little larger than life.”

He was the leader of the band --- and I am happy to be a poor imitation of him --- because that is pretty damn good.  

I am happy to call him friend, mentor and most importantly Dad.

Richard Bach in Illusions wrote:

Don’t be dismayed at good-byes.  A farewell is necessary before you can meet again.  And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends.

I love you Pop’s 

--- and I look forward to the day we can once again talk about the church.