John 14:1-6

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to the place where I am going.” Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.

So, following Eric, I’m left with the holy challenge of simply preaching the Gospel as we celebrate his life and the good news that was his as he lived – and the good news that is now his – as he lives – on the other side of God’s eternity.

And the trick of that is, I’m not sure where the distinction can be found between a eulogy and a homily, where Bernie Augenstein is concerned. That is to say, Bernie was a consummate churchman. He cared about and worked for and served so many expressions of God’s church in the world, it seems – at least in recent years – to have become a calling on his life in so many ways. And it was a real gift to have his wisdom, experience, and love for it all at Cross of Grace, as a Partner in Mission, since our earliest days.

Speaking of those earliest days, we hadn’t met yet, so it was a surprise when he showed up at my graduation from seminary, with Janis Janelsins in tow, over in Columbus, Ohio, 15 years ago. They introduced themselves as having vested interests in this new congregation I was being called to develop outside of Indianapolis, and just wanted to see who and what they were in for.

A three-hour drive to a graduation ceremony for a stranger, only to drive three-hours back home, in the same day – without even an invitation to dinner? That’s some interest and concern and dedication to the Church and its leaders that impressed me, the more I thought about it after the fact. And it was just a foretaste of the feast to come, as we say, where Bernie was concerned.

He remembered the anniversary of my ordination every year, with a card and a congratulations on whatever Sunday was closest to June 24th. (I had to look that date up this week, to make sure I had it correct, but Bernie always knew.)

His wisdom and insight and “scoop” about all things ELCA, I/K Synod were invaluable at times. He was my go-to guy when he served on Cross of Grace’s Council or on our Vision Team or during our annual congregational meetings about anything that had anything to do with the larger church. He knew about policies and procedures. He knew about plans at the synod and churchwide levels. He knew about which pastors were serving where, which pastors were leaving where – and why.

He kept me on my toes about so many details, I can’t even tell you. He was always reminding me about when it was time to change the sign out front or update the website or put an ad in the paper about something.

He shared resources with me from the Roman Catholic Church. (Your book, Eric, was his most proud offering, I’d say.) He taught a class here in the Spring about the common ground we Lutherans and Catholics share. He was so prayerful and hope-filled about that common ground becoming full-communion in his lifetime. And he loved worshiping together with his family as an experience and expression of what that could look like.

And, of course, worship was where life and faith came together for Bernie, I’d say. In music and through liturgy and with choirs – in Word and Sacrament, of course – is where Bernie loved to spend his time.

What Bernie was best at where the life of our congregation is concerned, was his desire and gift for welcoming guests into our midst. He made it his calling as a Partner in Mission at Cross of Grace to be the default, go-to greeter throughout the morning, every Sunday. He wasn’t assigned to that post. His name wasn’t in the bulletin. But he was always there, saying hello, greeting whoever walked in those doors, and learning the names – and whatever else he could glean – from anyone who showed up to join us.

Over the years, we often compared notes, to make sure we had names and connections correct for whoever we met on any given Sunday. He was an invaluable asset to this Pastor, in that regard. He came, too, to every CrossRoads new member class, even after he’d taken it himself, just so he could get to know better those who were new to the fold and learn about how he could connect them with others in our congregation, through stuff like the Supper Groups, which he coordinated and organized with great care.

There are a lot of jokes out there about St. Peter waiting to welcome people into heaven’s pearly gates, and I kind of think that if anything like a welcoming committee really does exist in heaven, that St. Peter might have just lost his job to Bernie Augenstein, sometime very early on Saturday morning.

And all of that was in service to the Gospel… and it was a way of proclaiming the good news… and it was a means of sharing the grace Bernie was called to in this place in a way he relished and, frankly, you don’t find just anywhere in the Church these days. I mean, you don’t find Bernies just anywhere in the Church these days. Nor do you find the kind of grace he tried to share so faithfully.

So, two images come to mind as I reflect on and remember and give thanks for Bernie’s presence in my life and for his place in this congregation. One is his love for lighthouses and the passion he had for traveling around the country to see them with you, Linda. If a lighthouse is anything, it is a guide and a point of reference. It is a beacon of safety. It is a welcome home.

I think Bernie was all of those things for those who knew him, especially where his life in the Church and at Cross of Grace were concerned. He was a guide, a point of reference, a familiar face, and a welcome home.

The other thing that comes to mind as I remember and give thanks for Bernie, was the love I know he had for Jeopardy – his daily, ritualistic time with Alex Trebeck and the whole premise of that game show, where everything begins with the answer and the participants are left to come up with all the right questions.

I’m not sure Bernie would have described it this way, but that whole premise is the way life and faith come together, under the banner of God’s grace, if you ask me. “Lord, we don’t know where you are going. How can we know the way?,” Thomas asked, Jesus, remember? In other words, we don’t know the answer… we don’t know the ending… we can’t see where you’re going… how can we possibly know how to get there?

But Jesus says, “I am the way… and the truth… and the life.” In other words, “you’ve had the answer before you and with you and beside you all along. Because of the grace I’ve proclaimed, because of the water you’ve received, because of the bread that’s been broken and the wine that’s been poured, because of the love we have practiced and shared, given and received, you have the answer; you know the way to the place that I am going; you know what it looks like and what it feels like; you know how to get there and how to bring others along with you.”

Bernie was always preparing a way for others to see and to experience the love and hope and joy that belongs to us in Jesus. A way to learn more… to worship more… to serve more… to experience grace in some way through God’s church in the world. Bernie was always making room for those who were looking. And he was always there – at the door – like some kind of human lighthouse because he knew the answer to whatever we hunger for as people in the world.

That answer – which Bernie sings about even now, no doubt, and which is our hope, still – begins with God’s grace, freely shared, generously offered, abundant enough for anyone and everyone, and made known through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, for Bernie, for each of us, and for the sake of the world.

Amen

Luke 9:51-62

When the days drew near for Jesus to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem. And he sent messengers ahead of him. On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to make ready for him; but they did not receive him, because his face was set towards Jerusalem. When his disciples James and John saw it, they said, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” But he turned and rebuked them. Then they went on to another village.

As they were going along the road, someone said to Jesus, “I will follow you wherever you go.” And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first, let me go and bury my father.” But Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” Another said to him, “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

This is a little more academic than I like to be in worship on a Sunday in the summer, but I want you to forget about Luke, Chapter 9 for a moment, so we can talk a bit about that first reading from 1 Kings, chapter 19. I’m assuming some of you just zoned out at the sound of those names, Jehu, Hazael, Nimshi and Shaphat. And the names don’t matter so much, but it all may make more sense than you think, especially if I can connect it to what we just heard from Luke’s Gospel, with Jesus and his would-be followers, making their way around Galilee, about to head for Jerusalem.

In that reading from 1 Kings, the point for the prophet Elijah, who was looking for his anointed replacement at the direction of God, is the same point Jesus is trying teach his own disciples and for all those who were now watching and wondering and making commitments to follow in his footsteps with some amount of faithfulness.

For Elijah, who’d been given clear instructions about anointing Elisha as his successor, the struggle was similar: his young successor had business to tend to before answering his call and this invitation to follow in Elijah’s footsteps. What’s different in this Old Testament story, though, is that Elijah let’s Elisha have his way. After Elijah, respected prophet that he was, symbolically throws his mantle on the young man’s shoulders, the newly appointed prophet does return home to “kiss his father and his mother,” and has a little farewell party before beginning his new life. He leaves Elijah, slaughters his oxen and feeds his people – presumably his family and friends in a ceremonial kind of meal – and then sets out to follow Elijah as his servant and disciple.

What’s surprising about the parallel in Jesus’ version of the story, so many generations later, is Jesus leaves no room for that sort of thing. When Jesus is approached by some would-be followers, each of them comes up with something they need to do first, before they get to the work of being disciples. One says he needs to first bury his father – a rite and sacred responsibility of the highest order for Jewish men in his day. But Jesus tells him to forget about that. “Let the dead bury their own dead.” “You, go proclaim the kingdom of God.”

Another wannabe says he’ll follow Jesus, but only after he first says goodbye to his family at home. (Very much like Elisha wanted to do in that Old Testament reading.) Again, though, Jesus says to forget it. Apparently, as the farming metaphor goes, once you’ve started to plow a field, there’s no looking back, or else your tracks may be crooked. Again, the implication is there’s more important, faithful work to be done where Jesus is concerned – who was on his way to his crucifixion at Jerusalem, after all.

And the same is true for us, still. And the point Jesus makes over and over today is that this call isn’t always easy. The Christian life isn’t always convenient. This call isn’t always going to fall in-line with all the other things we have going on in our lives.

And that’s what he’s up to as he makes his way to Jerusalem, this morning. When we read that Jesus has “set his face” toward Jerusalem, we’re to read that he’s beginning the last leg of his journey to the Cross. We’re to understand that he knows what’s coming and that his crucifixion is looming in a more immediate way than it has until now. And, I imagine, with that suffering and death so imminently placed on his travel log, Jesus isn’t really in the mood for screw-ups, or wannabes, or half-hearted commitments to the life-and-death sacrifice he’s about to make. (Part of me wonders, too, if – with all of those harsh comebacks – Jesus isn’t trying to convince himself to keep on, keeping on… “the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head,” “go, proclaim the kingdom,” “no one who sets his hand to the task and turns back is fit for the kingdom of God.”)

So yeah, in all of his responses to those who approach him on the road he may sound short, or harsh, or unforgiving, even. But Jesus knows this road he’s on isn’t for everyone. This road to crucifixion wasn’t for anyone else but him, really. And he wasn’t in the mood for jokers and he didn’t want people kidding themselves by pretending that to “follow Jesus” meant they could come and go; take it or leave it; squeeze their discipleship into their busy schedules whenever it was convenient or fun or worth whatever time or money or investment they felt compelled to offer at any given moment.

And this is hard to hear, I have to say. In a world that tells us to measure every investment of our time and energy and money against what it’s return will be for us in the end, it’s hard to admit that we make decisions about the investment of our call to discipleship in the same way.

But we do, don’t we?

We make choices to worship or not, based on whether it’s convenient. We give an offering, or not, based on what’s left or based on what we can do without, a lot of the time. We volunteer or serve, too much of the time, based on what’s comfortable, practical, or convenient to everything else we have going on in our day-to-day lives.

Later this morning we get to baptize little William Molinder, little Charlotte Nichols, and little Kinch Waldrep, and we will welcome them into this life of faith as “fellow workers with us in the body of Christ,” as the liturgy goes. And what I hope we’ll hear in this invitation to these children is the same thing we’re meant to hear in God’s invitation to every one of us. None of it is meant to be harsh words or hard questions. For us and for them – just as it was for Jesus’ followers so many generations ago on the road to Jerusalem – this is about perspective.

What we’re called to this morning, and every day of our lives, by virtue of our baptism, is to set our faces toward Jerusalem. And, as Christian people on the other side of Jesus’ empty tomb, we set our faces toward Jerusalem knowing about the Cross, for sure; knowing about that suffering and that crucifixion and that sacrifice and that death. But we set our faces toward Jerusalem and we baptize one another with that kind of perspective, too, because with our faces set toward Jerusalem, we are blessed, too, with promises of resurrection, new life, forgiveness, mercy and more grace than we deserve.

And with that kind of perspective, we are blessed to follow Jesus, to respond faithfully and sacrificially to the promises of it all, with joy, with gratitude, with humble hearts and with generosity – because we can, not because we have to – and because the reason Jesus asks this of us in the first place, is because God knows our lives and this world will be blessed and better because of it.

Amen

"Bernie Augenstein Funeral Homily" – John 14:1-6

"Set Your Face Toward Grace" - Luke 9:51-62