"The Fourth Question: What Is My Gift To The Family of The  Earth?
1 Corinthians 12:4-11 (The MESSAGE)
October 25, 2009

God's various gifts are handed out everywhere; but they all originate in God's Spirit.
God's various ministries are carried out everywhere; but they all originate in God's
Spirit. God's various expressions of power are in action everywhere; but God himself is
behind it all. Each person is given something to do that shows who God is: Everyone
gets in on it, everyone benefits. All kinds of things are handed out by the Spirit, and to
all kinds of people! The variety is wonderful: wise counsel, clear understanding, simple
trust, healing the sick, miraculous acts, proclamation, distinguishing between spirits,
tongues, interpretation of tongues.  All these gifts have a common origin, but are
handed out one by one by the one Spirit of God. He decides who gets what, and when.

I received an unexpected email this week from Dan, a former congregant of mine who
has since become a good friend.  For those who were at the community worship at
General Synod this past summer in Grand Rapids, he and his partner were in the choir
and orchestra, having flown up from Dallas with so many others to give us that gift of
music from the Cathedral of Hope.  Dan and his partner are actually from Michigan,
from West Michigan, actually, and much of their family live in the Grand Rapids area.  In
the email Dan sent me, he told me that his partner Dave had gone into the hospital on
August 11 with a series of breathing problems, and, after a series of surgeries, they
found out that he had a form of kidney cancer that had spread to his lungs.  By
September 29, Dave was gone, leaving behind his partner of many, many years, and a
large extended family, a family connected to him by blood and by choice.  I called up
Dan, knowing that he now works at that church I once pastored, just to share my
condolences, and do a little crying with him.  Dave was so young, maybe in his late
forties, early fifties, and it was a shock to Dan, to his family and friends, that he could
be gone from this world so quickly, and so early in his life.  

In all honesty, it felt like an another slap in the face from the universe in this great
season of loss, with so many of our congregants passing on to be with God.  You only
have to look at the back of your bulletin, to see the memorials listed out in honor of
those we have lost recently to the next world.  I don’t know about you, but this season
of loss has become a bit wearisome, and I am really clear that it needs to stop, though I
am also quite aware of how ridiculous that sounds, as if we had that kind of power!  The
families who have suffered these great losses, and those who of us who know them and
journeyed with them, and loved them, all of us are poorer because they are not among
us anymore, and certainly we as a congregation have almost witnessed the passing of
a generation of men but mostly women, who were the backbone of this place.  We must
honor that loss, as people who will miss them, but also as a community, who will
perhaps never see their likes again.  Others will come and go, doing their good work
amongst us, but they are not replaceable, as none of us are, really.  

I asked a good clergy friend of mine if she had seen anything like the wave of loss we’
ve experienced here at this church in the last three months, and she said that she hadn’
t, and certainly I have not either.  I have to say that the funerals are always a bit hard
on us preacher types, especially if we knew and cared for the one who has just died, as
I have for many of those we have lost this past few months, but it’s also a bit harder on
us because, well, you just don’t want to mess up a funeral, you don’t want stumble at
that moment.  I mean, let’s face it—people can get married again, so if you make a
mistake the first time around, sadly, you may get another crack at getting it right the
second or third or fourth time around, but with funerals, well, we all only get one of
those, and everyone deserves to have done it right.  For example, a few weeks ago, at
Beth Robinson’s funeral, I brought in my cell phone to funeral home, thinking I had shut
it off, only to find that it started talking a few seconds before the service started—you’
ve never seen a preacher move so fast in all your life, right out of the room, to shut that
thing up!  Finally, I took the battery out of it, because I couldn’t figure out how to shut it
up!  Thank goodness, Janet and the rest of the family were so forgiving—she said that
she thought Beth would have had a laugh over it, and I think she would as well.
Seriously, for me, I try a little harder at funerals, because everyone deserves a good
exit, a moment to have their life honored, and if I am asked to speak about the person, I
always ask the family about the person, to get a deeper sense of who they are, beyond
what even I knew of them, because I need their help in distilling their life down to a
single moment, maybe a single characteristic, an attribute that was so particular to
them, a gift that they alone seemed to have left behind to those they cared about.  It’s
almost like doing a bit of detective work, that work of uncovering what gift was theirs
alone, what they left behind to their family and friends, their co-workers, and even the
larger community.  

But every once-in-awhile, I get surprised by a family that had never really thought that
out—this is something that hasn’t happened recently, thank goodness—that is, they
can’t quite name what it was their loved one left them, what emotional or spiritual gift
that mom or dad or sister left to them in particular, what was unique and good about
them, what thing they will always be remember for.  That doesn’t mean that they didn’t
have something unique and good to name about their loved one, but only that they
hadn’t thought about it much, and maybe even their deceased loved one hadn’t
thought about it either, hadn’t thought about what gift they alone had offered to the
ones they knew and loved.  I think it’s those folks that Wayne Muller is especially
speaking to in this fourth and final question from his book, How, Then, Shall We Live?,
the fourth question being: What is my gift to the family of the earth?   Of course, the
question implies that isn’t only families and friends, at the end of our lives, who should
be trying to answer that question, that it should be us, in the here and now, that asks
that question of ourselves—what is my great gift to my family, friends, the people here
in this town, the larger world, that I am destined to leave them?  What legacy do I want
to be mine—and what will be the reality of that final gift I give to others, to the family of
the earth.  Sure, we may want to leave behind the legacy of millions of dollars, but let’s
get real here—what will it really be, beyond anything material—what will be the gift I
really give to my family and friends?  Will it be an unflinching and ever faithful
friendship?  Or a keen intelligence that helps solve problems?  Or is it a curiosity about
the world that has continued to beautifully affect my family, and friends?  Is it the joy we
automatically bring to the room?  Or is it a patience with people and processes that has
helped others when they had no patience left?  Is it emotional wisdom, spiritual wisdom,
a wisdom born out of life and hardship and pain and joy, and many, many years having
been lived here on this earth?  Maybe its love, love that doesn’t give up, love that
continues to encircle, love that continues to forgive?  

Or maybe it’s one of the spiritual gifts that Paul speaks of in 1 Corinthians 13, maybe it’
s  wise counsel, clear understanding, simple trust, healing the sick, miraculous acts,
proclamation, distinguishing between spirits, tongues, interpretation of tongues. Sure,
you don’t find a lot of those gifts in the church anymore, but Paul doesn’t list them out
here so calcify them into the tradition of the church—he is not making a case for these
being the only gifts, or the gifts that will forever be present in the church—what he
seems to be wanting to do in this passage is to remind his readers, the church at
Corinth, that there are many gifts God gives us, and some seem big, and some seem
small, but all matter to the community, and all equally matter to God.  Whether we are
Mother Teresa, or simply us, you and me, the gifts we have been given matter to this
world, and though they may seem to matter to no one more than a few people, they still
matter, the gift that is you matters, because every part of the body of Christ, is needed,
and is part of a whole that God has stitched together, and if there is one missing part,
then the whole falls apart.  Everyone has a gift, everyone has something that should be
named, can be named, can be honored, can be said aloud at the end of story here on
earth, and should be named, at the end of life’s journey, that they alone bring to the
party, so to speak.  That’s why I try to do in my funeral planning, in my talking with
families when I am asked to be their voice at the funeral, when they ask me to say what
they cannot say at the moment.  

But we shouldn’t wait until the end to name what makes me special or you unique, or
what we have brought to the party, that we alone possess, in our own special way.  
That is the reason why Wayne Muller wants us to do it now, to name those gifts now, to
name the ways that we will leave the earth richer for our having been here, before we
have to have others name it for us, or we leave this earth unaware of what we gave to
make this world a better place.  Perhaps it’s not something we can easily put our finger
on, what we give, but just because it’s not easy, doesn’t mean that it shouldn’t be
done.   I think some of us fear having to name what we will leave behind because we
are scared that what we name will be so little, so seemingly unimportant.  Perhaps we
think it is our parenting that will be our legacy, but it seems to have such a small effect,
really, in the great scheme of things.  But, of course, it doesn’t: our good parenting will
hopefully make our children’s parenting a good thing, and their children’s parenting
even better—the effects we have on others goes beyond the most immediate thing, the
ripples of a pebble in the sea do have an effect on this world, and, again, each of our
gifts matter.  

Maybe it was in other ways, of course, because they are so many other gifts God gives
to us to give away.  Whatever it is, it is meant to be given away, to be left behind, and
we need to be intentional about it.  One of the interesting things about this passage
from 1 Corinthians is that it is grounded in community, so grounded in life lived
together.  When God gave those gifts to those people two thousand years ago, those
gifts were not meant for them alone—they were meant for the community that they were
immersed in.  When we speak of “my gifts,” we should rather speak of “our gifts,”
because they were never meant for us alone—they were meant for the family of the
earth.  And yet, so many people hoard their gifts, like so many of us hoard our money—
they think it’s meant for them alone, as if God gave them that gift to empower them
alone, or enrich their life alone.  No, for the Corinthians, and for us, your gifts are
meant for me, and my gifts are meant for you.  And, out of this wisdom, this Pauline
wisdom from two thousand years flows the next chapter, which is chapter 13, the great
chapter on love, the one where Paul points us to the heart of matter, which is love,
love, love.  “If I speak in the tongues of angels, but do not have love…” and so it goes.  
The reason why so many of us hoard our gifts, hold onto our gifts, use them only for
ourselves, or only for those closest to us, is because we have not fully gotten to the
heart of the matter, which is love that goes beyond all borders and boundaries.   If we
have been doing that, if we have been thinking that this gift is for us alone, then it’s
time to name it and release it to the rest of us, who need it, who need your mothering or
your musical talents, or your patience with those who try everyone’s patience, or your
wisdom with money, or your kindness to the brokenhearted.   And what we will find from
that moment is that in our giving, we will find that when the time comes for us to take, to
receive rather than give some gift, what we will find is that what we will need will be
before us, will be before us for the taking.  Muller writes these wise words: If we take all
the time, this is selfish and will bring suffering.  If we give all the time, this will lead to
resentment and exhaustion and will bring suffering as well.  Real joy is to be found in
the balance between giving and taking.  Like breathing, we must both inhale and
exhale.  Inhaling is not superior to exhaling; one is no more noble or good than the
other.  They are both necessary.  To name our gift is to also name our need.  (Muller
266)

To name our gift, to know our gift, or even gifts, is so important, because in the knowing
of them, we can use them more effectively, we can be ready to use them when the time
comes when they will be sorely needed.  Muller, again, tells this story:

Leslie was a nurse and midwife.  She worked with a strong, gentle wisdom that women
came to love and to trust.  Leslie seemed to be on call at all times for whoever needed
her.  She especially loved the poor, making extra room for those single, underprivileged
women who could never pay her any money.  When Leslie was a young girl in New
York City, she would buy balloons and hand them out to strangers on the street.  
Whenever she was given anything, she felt a natural impulse to give it away.

When Leslie was pregnant with her second child, she discovered early in the
pregnancy that the fetus had Down syndrome.  Part of her did not want to believe it; the
other part knew it was true.  She wrestled with herself deep in her heart, agonizing over
what she would do.  Should she abort?  This was certainly an option—arguably kind to
the child, clearly easier for her.  Could she keep the baby?  With so many
responsibilities, where could she find the energy, time, and patience to raise a Down
syndrome child?  

Leslie prayed.  She spent countless hours in quiet meditation.  She knew that she
would need to be absolutely precise in her action.  Whatever she chose, it had to be
from her deepest heart—it had to be right, it had to be true.  In the end, after many
weeks of some of the mindful inner conversation she would ever have, she made her
decision.  As one who had helped so many women through the excruciating pain of
bringing life into the world, she was not someone who could stand in the way of yet
another life aching to be born.  She would carry the child, give it life.  Raising the child
would be her practice.  (Muller 272)

It’s almost as if her gifts as a midwife, as a caregiver, as a lover of the poor, it’s almost
as if all her gifts had been given to her for use in that very moment.  Surely, not
everyone could have done what she did, but she could because of who she was and
the gifts God had given to her in particular.  There are moments in our lives when we
discover why we have been given the particular gifts we have been given, why we have
this gift and not another, just as Leslie did.  And yet, if we don’t know what they are, if
we cannot name them to ourselves or to our deepest and closest friends, we may miss
out on the moment when we and our gifts are needed most.  So, what is our gift to the
family of the earth?  What will be that characteristic, that trait, that gift, that will be
spelled out at the end of our lives, at our funerals, as our friends and family come
forward to share their stories of us, or some awkward preacher attempts to distill the
essence of us in three or four paragraphs?  If we don’t know what it is already, if we find
ourselves surprised by what our friends and family might say about us at the funeral, it
might too late—but it isn’t, is it?  Here we are, with another chance, with another
moment, another minute, another day, to discover the good gift that God has given to
us and to us alone.  Amen.