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No Stadium Lasts Forever

No Stadium Lasts Forever

May 28, 2006

Text: 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18 

But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who have died, so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. 14 For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have died.   15 For this we declare to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will by no means precede those who have died.  16 For the Lord himself, with a cry of command, with the archangel's call and with the sound of God's trumpet, will descend from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise first. 17 Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up in the clouds together with them to meet the Lord in the air; and so we will be with the Lord forever. 18 Therefore encourage one another with these words.

NRSV 
 

      Last year, much was made of the destruction of the old Busch Stadium, and the building of the new one.

      As fall progressed, internet blogs, newspaper articles, and t.v./radio shows all focused on “What’s your favorite memory of Busch Stadium?”

      You heard and saw it all. People were saying, “I remember when…” People were hugging, crying…To be honest, I got a little tired of it all.

      Yet, it was a natural thing to do.

      Bernie Miklasz, the Post-Dispatch sportswriter, said that as the number of games in the Old Busch dwindled, he’d sit alone in the press box. In the quiet, after everyone else had left, he would “let the memories seep in.”

      How memories do seep in. The last game I saw at the Old Busch was last September. Walking down the stadium ramps after the game, I’d pause occasionally and look around—knowing that this was the last time I’d see it. I’d remember the 82 World Series, sitting in the loge section by the left field foul pole. The smell of pine tar, and the sponge-iness of the turf. Jack Buck strolling around behind the batting cage, smiling and making easy, casual conversation…

      O.k., I could go on, but if I did, you’d say, “O.k., I’m getting a little tired of this!”

      But when you go to a place that’s familiar, with people you enjoy, sharing and making history: it’s natural to feel a tug at your heart when the Stadium goes down.

      And it was inevitable that the stadium would go down.

I. How many of us have seen stadiums crumble in our lives?

      A spouse kisses a quiet goodbye to a husband or wife of 30, 40, 50 or more years.

      A parent kneels at the grave of a son or daughter, watering the grass with tears.

      A grown child holds the hand of a father or mother as a last breath is drawn.

      A friend sits in a funeral parlor, replaying memories of a pal known since childhood.

      Tears of sorrow shed are the dividend from laughter shared in times past.  Laughter and tears. Hope, heartache. Dawn, dusk. Life, death. All sides of the same coin.

      To be human is to understand this fact of life.

      Robert Frost ended a poem with, Nothing gold can stay.

      And we could add,

      “No stadium lasts forever.”

      How do you live in the shadow of a stadium that’s fallen in your life?

      Paul, who saw it happen many times, has some thoughts. 

      Specifically, he tells us, when the wrecking ball hits our stadium, to do three things:

First—BELIEVE!

      Since we BELIEVE that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have died.  

      When you’ve lost someone close to you, your eyes naturally focus on the past. It’s part of the grieving process. You can’t help but do it. And you can’t turn it off. There’s no magic switch you can flip where you can say, “Oh, I feel better now. I’ll stop grieving.”

      Life doesn’t work that way. The hurt and the pain might not ever completely leave us, especially if a loved one was taken from us abruptly.

      BUT…we who are here this morning, have a distinct advantage.

      When we look back to our last memory of our parent, our spouse, our child, our relative, our friend: another memory mingles with it. We remember the audacious claim made by Jesus’ disciples that there was a man who died, but came back from the dead. There was a man who beat death. There was a man who opened up God’s power to open up the grave and say, “Live again!”

      The disciples experienced Jesus’ Resurrection so powerfully, so realistically, that they could do something no one else could do: LAUGH AT DEATH! For they knew that when they breathed their last, there would be someone with them who knew what death felt like, and who had beat it. The one who would whisper in their ear as they breathed their last, “Fear not.” And the one who, after they died, would lift their hand and say, “Child, arise!”

      That rock-solid experience of the Resurrection is how Paul can write these words. He once said that if Jesus had not been raised from the dead, then we Christians are of all people to be most pitied.

      But then he goes on to say, “But in fact, Jesus has been raised from the dead.” He’d seen the risen Jesus himself.

      And so no wonder, when the wrecking ball crashes into our stadium, Paul shouts above the noise: BELIEVE!

      If we believe, then we can…

DREAM!

      For the Lord himself, with a cry of command, with the archangel's call and with the sound of God's trumpet, will descend from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise first…

      This is Paul’s “dream.” It sounds a bit strange, doesn’t it? It’s terminology we don’t understand. After all, Paul’s world view of the cosmos is quite a bit different from ours.

      That’s o.k. God gave Paul a dream that he could understand.

      And you who believe—God gives you a dream you will understand.

      I was with my Dad at the moment of his death. As I look back at that scene, I now see it in a dream-like way. I hear the Master’s words, “Child, arise!” And my Dad rises from the nursing home bed. He’s no longer that frail, gray-haired man tottering around on a walker. He’s now that strong man who gave me horseback rides on his back. He’s now that man who’d hug me with a bear-like strength, wanting to protect me from the world. He’s now that man with an inner strength that carried him through the Great Depression, and through the depression that came after burying two wives.

      I see my Dad, strong and vibrant again, rising from the bed. His face is bathed in a light I cannot see. And as he walks into that light, I hear him say, “I’ll see you soon, Greggie.”

      BECAUSE you BELIEVE, you can look back at your loved one’s passing, and see it in the light of Easter’s dawn. Dare hear the Master’s voice calling in that room. Dare see your loved one answering. Dare hear a goodbye…a goodbye that will be followed by a hello.

      You who believe—if you look back through Easter eyes upon a loved one’s passing—God gives you a dream. Like a birthday gift, it’s tailored to you. It will give you a comfort and a peace the world can’t understand. Like Paul, your dream will help you say, “O Death, where is your sting? O Grave, where is your victory?”

      And when you can say that with Paul, then you can…

LIVE!

      Therefore encourage one another with these words.

      The word “encourage” literally means, “to put strength into your heart.” When our stadium crumbles, our strength does, too. In the shadow of what used to be, we sit and drink our afternoon tea. There’s a bittersweetness in that cup. It’s the taste of melancholy, as we remember loved ones past.

      But there comes a time to put down that tea.

      It’s when we hear the Gospel.

      JUST AS GOD SAID “HELLO” TO HIS SON WHO DIED…SO WILL GOD LET YOU SAY “HELLO” TO THE ONE TO WHOM YOU LAST SAID, “GOODBYE.”

      You believe that, and you find strength in your heart again. You find strength in your legs to rise up from the shadows of the crumbled stadium, and move out into the sunlight.

      You believe that, and you find the strength to move ahead.

      You believe that, and you discover that God’s not finished with you yet. After all, you’re still alive! God has plans for you, dreams for you, work for you!

      I may have told you this story before, but I think it bears repeating on Memorial Sunday.

      There was a dear saint in the Maplewood church when I was the pastor there. Her name was Tillie. One afternoon, over a bottle of Pepsi in her quaint little kitchen, she told me her story.

      “When my husband Henry died, I thought my life was over. We’d been married 30 years, and all we had was each other. After he passed, I didn’t leave the house for 6 months. Then, one morning I went out to the front yard to get the paper. The sun was shining. Two squirrels were chasing each other. A robin was singing. And I heard a voice say, ‘Tillie, you can either stay in your house for another six months, or you can get out and start living again.’

      “Reverend Greg—I chose to live. And honey, I’m so glad I did!”

      The Gospel for us today is that each of us can choose to live, as well. God through Christ makes it possible. And when it is the right time, when the Spirit has done the Spirit’s work, you can start.

      Remember—

      One field of dreams crumbles…only to make room for another.

      Come, place a flower in the cross.

      Give thanks for the memories shared in the old stadium.

      Give thanks for the memories yet to be made, in the new one God’s building.