Sermon February 9, 2014

THE FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY

Year A

February 9, 2014

Matthew 5:13-20

Pastor David Tryggestad

Concordia Evangelical Lutheran Church

Duluth, Minnesota

The call came around 9:30 p.m. I knew the voice on the other end of the phone.

“She’s taken a turn for the worse. We have to make a decision. She has a DNR order—Do Not Resuscitate—and I know she would not want to continue to live like this.”

“I’ll come in the morning,” I said.

When I called the next morning before leaving the house, I asked her husband how she was doing. He said, “She is somewhat better. Her fever has dropped to 99 degrees.”

When I arrived at the facility, I squeezed into the open elevator with seven bright children, three or four years old, I would guess (our grandson is four). Three women were with the children, one middle-aged and the other two very young. “Do you like my shirt?” one of the children exclaimed, showing the special design on it. Another pointed to my hat and grinned.

We all got off on the same floor. Since I was last on the elevator, I was first off, and I turned left down the hall.

When I arrived at the room, I saw that the bed was stripped, and she wasn’t in her usual chair. She wasn’t in the room at all. Had I not talked to her husband 30 minutes earlier, I might have come to the wrong conclusion. When I stepped back into the hallway, a staff person further down the hall, standing over a cart laden with supplies and meds asked, “Can I help you?” When I told him who I was, he said, “Just a minute. I think she’s in the shower, but I’ll check to make sure.” When he returned, he said it would be about 20 minutes. Could I wait?

I told him I would go to the lounge at the end of the hallway and look for a cup of coffee. He said, “I’ll take you there. You can watch the hockey game.”

“That’s right,” I said. “The Olympics is starting today.”

When I entered the large room at the end of the hall, I was surprised to see that the TV mounted on the back wall black; it wasn’t turned on. Then I saw what the staff person was talking about. All the tables and chairs in the room had been pushed back against the walls. Sixteen residents, all but one in a wheelchair, were sitting in a large circle, facing toward the middle. Several staff persons stood alongside and behind. I noted one resident in particular, our beloved centenarian. And the seven little children were there, also, five of them sitting on the floor in an open spot at the edge of the circle, and the other two standing in the center of the ring, each holding a plastic, child-sized hockey stick. I noted that two of the residents also had hockey sticks. A fluorescent yellow tennis ball served as the puck. Everyone was getting into the game, players and spectators alike. When any of the players with hockey sticks would hit the ball, a cheer would go up. Even those without sticks would use their feet when the ball came their way. I was amazed when the little boy who had shown me his shirt in the elevator willingly offered the ball to another child, even though it had come to him. I was even more amazed when our beloved centenarian stopped the ball under her foot as it came toward her, and she deftly kicked it back into the center of the ring. A cheer went up, and one of the staff persons said to a visitor, “She’s 102 years old!”

The hockey sticks were passed around. All the children had a chance, and many of the residents did, too, some of them with the help of a staff person.

No one was in a hurry. Perhaps this event was the highlight of the day for the residents, maybe even the highlight of the week. The staff were gentle and patient. Everyone spoke in encouraging tones. When someone hit the ball with their stick or even their foot,

a large cheer went up. It could have been the Olympics—it was the Olympics, their own kind of Olympics. And everyone was a winner!

A physical therapist—another one of “our own”—came in, warmly greeting by name several of the resident “hockey players” and taking one whose turn it was for therapy.

The 20 minutes went by, then 25, and I reluctantly pulled myself away from this glimpse of the kingdom of heaven at play.

As I walked down the hall toward the resident’s room, the staff person who had helped me when I first arrived greeted me again, smiling, and told me that the woman was in her room. Another staff person was with her, making up the bed with fresh linens.

She smiled when she was me and then she left us alone.

After our time together, I left her room, grateful for this place and for those faithful and gentle folk who work there. As I was waiting for the elevator, along came the seven little children, led by their patient and loving staff person and two helpers. The children seemed happy to see me again. Once in the elevator, the leader said to the children, “Now you know how to play floor hockey, and when the weather gets warmer, you can play hockey in your garage.” “I don’t have a hockey stick,” the boy with the special shirt exclaimed, a somewhat worried expression on his face.

“You are the salt of the earth . . . you are the light of the world.”

This little light of mine, I’m gonna’ let it shine! . . . .

Hide it under a bushel? No! I’m gonna’ let it shine! . . .

All around the neighborhood, I’m gonna’ let it shine! . . .

“. . . let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”

Mother Teresa purportedly said, “We’re not all called to do great things, but we’re all called to do little things with great love.”

Francis of Assisi purportedly said, “Preach the Gospel at all times. Use words if necessary.”

Thanks be to God!