Legacy

Legacy [Memorial Sunday]

May 27, 2007

Text: Deuteronomy 4:9-14

Deut 4:9-14

9 But take care and watch yourselves closely, so as neither to forget the things that your eyes have seen nor to let them slip from your mind all the days of your life; make them known to your children and your children's children - 10 how you once stood before the LORD your God at Horeb, when the LORD said to me, "Assemble the people for me, and I will let them hear my words, so that they may learn to fear me as long as they live on the earth, and may teach their children so"; 11 you approached and stood at the foot of the mountain while the mountain was blazing up to the very heavens, shrouded in dark clouds. 12 Then the LORD spoke to you out of the fire. You heard the sound of words but saw no form; there was only a voice. 13 He declared to you his covenant, which he charged you to observe, that is, the ten commandments; and he wrote them on two stone tablets. 14 And the LORD charged me at that time to teach you statutes and ordinances for you to observe in the land that you are about to cross into and occupy.

NRSV

I don't know if, what I'm about to say, will register with those of you who are under 40. I know, when I was under 40, I wouldn't pay much attention to what I'm about to say. It wouldn't feel relevant. So, if you're under 40, feel free to relax, read the Bible, look at your watch-I won't be offended.

I'm giving you a free pass from this sermon, because I think when you're under 40-ish, you're in a different stage of life from what I'm preaching on today. For the most part I believe you're concerned with just keeping your nose above water: advancement at work; nurturing the kids; building a nestegg, those types of things.

But there comes a time when all that is taken care of, and more than your nose is out of the water. You can breathe more easily, and see more of the seascape. When you reach that period of your life, you start asking-"What am I going to leave behind?" Is it just an estate, distributed per stirpes to my descendants, as my will stipulates?

There comes a time when you have to ask yourself, "What will I be remembered for? WHAT'S MY LEGACY?"

This man asked himself that very question.

Anyone know who is he?

If you knew this man, you can ace the U.S. history category in our Trivia Night next weekend.

He's the late Senator Paul Tsongas.

He was the U.S. Representative from Massachusetts for two terms, and was elected to the Senate in 1978. His stint in the Peace Corps as a young adult shaped his outlook on life, and he became a social liberal while maintaining conservative economic values. [wikipedia.com].

Eventually his name was mentioned as a potential candidate for vice president or even president. But something happened that changed all that.

In 1984, Tsongas was diagnosed with cancer of the lymph nodes. He decided not to seek re-election so that he could undergo aggressive treatment and spend time with his wife and daughters. Confronting the fact that his life might be cut short, he said that being with his family and guiding his children as they grew were more important than shaping the nation's laws.

After a bone marrow transplant, Tsongas' health improved. He returned to his law practice, and then, in 1992, sought the presidential nomination. He won the New Hampshire primary, but eventually ran second in the primaries behind Bill Clinton.

Some people saw his decision as a contradiction of his earlier choice to focus on his family. In an interview during the Presidential campaign, he was asked why he wanted to return to the political battleground.

His reply is striking:

"I know what this country has to do and where we have to go to avoid the economic decline that I experienced as a child. So what am I supposed to do? Sit back in Lowell, Massachusetts, make my money as a lawyer, protect my family, and say, 'Well, the rest of you are on your own'? ... I have an obligation to give back ..."

His cancer ultimately returned, and he passed away in January, 1997.

But the words he spoke in that interview speak volumes today.

I HAVE AN OBLIGATION TO GIVE BACK.

You take care of family, but there comes a time when you broaden that, or you're not true to God's calling of you. You have to say with Tsongas, "I DO have an obligation to give back. How can I make a difference in the lives of those who live outside my house? How can I make a difference to those who will come after me?"

How can you?

By way of illustration, let me tell you this painful story.

Every year the Boy Scouts in this area have a Spring Camporee, where scouts from all over the area camp out for a weekend. From a past sermon, you might recall that I have little love for camping-I have a tremendous love for my son, and that's why I'll go.

This year's spring camporee was held last month at Jefferson County Fair Grounds in Hillsboro. As I drove Cameron to it late on a Friday afternoon, it should come as no surprise to you that it started raining. Hard. And the temperature started dropping. Fast. By the time we got to the campsite, which was already packed with other troops, the road was a sea of mud. To make things worse, our troop's tent trailer hadn't arrived. So our boys and their parents huddled under a makeshift canopy, in the middle of a drenched field that was supposed to be our campsite.

Finally the trailer arrived. Like water-soaked zombies, we trudge silently to it, to unload the tents and supplies. The trailer door opens, and on the inside of the door I see names of past Scoutmasters of Troop 824, written by them in magic marker. One of the names I see is that of John Bohn, a member of our church and chair of our Ad Council.

And it dawned on me, as the rain pelted down, as the temperature was plummeting, as the wind was whipping up: Because of John Bohn's past dedication to scouting-because of what he had done to promote and sustain scouting in this area-because he had helped make sure Troop 824 had an active camping program: because of all this, because of John Bohn, on that Friday night, I WAS IN ABSOLUTE AGONY.

Thank you, John.

Actually, seeing his name on that trailer door impressed me, as I now look back-from a warm, dry, and more comfortable vantage point.

None of the boys last month who opened that door to get the tents out knew who this man was; his 3.5 years as scoutmaster ended in 2000. They only knew him as letters on the inside of a trailer's door.

Yet for those 3.5 years, he helped shape Troop 824. He guided the organization and administration. He no doubt implemented new ideas and procedures.

Then it was over, time to retire from the post. He took the red magic marker, signed his name, and went on.

Earlier this week I called him, and we talked about his tenure as scoutmaster. It had to be a labor of love, because the time commitment was enormous. But one thing he said stood out. He said,

"It's a lot of little things that make a difference, not one big thing."

Hmmm. Maybe that's what a legacy is for most of us.

The legacy we leave isn't usually a great big thing we do. It's a lot of little things, that-when we've done them-at the end of our life we can with pride sign our name to.

You and I may not have the opportunity to influence the big picture like Paul Tsongas had. You and I might not leave this planet having had the opportunity to lead a great cause, or write a best seller. We might not have the opportunity to do great things. But every one of us has an opportunity to do small things in great ways.

So...what's your legacy? What are the small things you can do in great ways? What are the little things you can do that will make a difference?

Let me suggest two characteristics of a lasting legacy.

It starts from your heart.

Is it a passion you have for something? [Something that fascinates you, that you can get lost in. A passion that's contagious to others?]

Is it a compassion you have for someone? [Someone stirred your heart, and moved you to action where you don't count the cost.]

Is it a talent you have?

Is it a vision you see?

Living from your heart is the beginning of living your legacy. It's as if your heart gives you the direction God intends for your life.

Come to think of it, the second mark of a lasting legacy is that...

It points to God.

When you do the small things in great ways, you can't point to yourself. You can't say, "Look at me, how great I am." That's not a legacy-that's vanity. No, a legacy comes from losing yourself in the little things, so the great big God can be better seen and experienced.

Doing small things in great ways is a simple way of saying thanks to God. It is a gift you give back to God, for the opportunity of living in such a beautiful world.

A great example of someone who left a legacy like this is Moses.

God gave him a vision: "Go down, tell Pharoah, 'Let my people go!'"

Moses followed the vision. For 40 years he did a lot of small things in great ways. People looked upon him as their greatest leader, and heaped all sorts of praise on him. But in the words you heard from him this morning, what did he want to be remembered for? It's as if Moses is stating his legacy. He seems to be saying, "When you look at me, REMEMBER WHAT THE LORD SAID AND DID THROUGH ME."

Yes, Moses is a great example of someone who left a legacy.

Maybe a helpful exercise in reflecting on the legacy you want to leave behind is to remember the people who were like Moses to you. Remember someone who made a profound difference in your life-by how they said or did some little thing that impressed you.

Get that person vividly in your mind's eye. Then take that flower, come forward, and put it in the cross in honor of that person's legacy.

As you do so, from your heart say to that person,

"Thank you for that part of you that lives in me. Dear Lord, let me make such a difference in those who come after me."

Remembering a person like this helps you see how you are to live, how you are to do a small thing in a great way. That person will help you live in such a way that, when your tenure is finished, you can pick up that magic marker and write your name on the trailer door. And that will feel goooood, deep down in your soul.

Doesn't matter if it's raining or not.