Delivered by The Rev. James West Mathieson on November 29, 2016
John Ruef had a great sense of humor. And if you question his humor, consider the idea that he named me in his final request to be the “preacher” and give the sermon at his Burial Service.
John, you see, was noted for his brevity in the length of his sermons – 4 to 5 minutes at the most. One person remarked after church, “we never get our seats warm when John preaches.”
I, on the other hand, am a story teller. There is no limit to what I have to say. The seats of the congregation are given a lot of time to warm up.
Now I know John is laughing in Heaven.
John really was the “ideal” – the role model that every Episcopal priest yearns to be. Brilliant -- educated at the best schools, a teacher, a degree that would be the envy of each of us. John not only memorized his sermons, he memorized the Prayer Book, the hymnal, the Bible. Plus, he was the published author of a commentary on “Paul’s First Letter to Corinth.”
John and I would travel together to various functions: clergy conferences, retreats, funerals. We would travel along – mostly just rattling along, story after story -- John laughing at the appropriate time, quiet and respectful at other times. But even if I ran out of stories that simply kill time I would engage John in various questions: academic or pastoral or church problems.
That was the best of times – an unfolding of that wonderful mind. A disciplined mind! Words coming forth that unraveled the mysterious, the rough prattle, the puzzles that a priest is so often confronted with to realize “the ocean is too big and my boat is so small.”
How lucky I was to have John as a friend – a friend who never made me look small or ignorant. When I would say something questionable, John would say, “Really!” and I knew something was wrong. Somehow, he was able to make me feel like a fellow priest. I was an equal. What a beautiful gift.
The other day I opened John’s book on “Paul to the Corinth.” There on the first page: “To Jim on his birthday – a fellow priest and a good friend.”
A fellow priest: John and I were so different in so many ways. I was raised up a “low-church” Virginian. John was an Anglo-Catholic – raised in the Bastion of Anglo-Catholicism, Chicago. I had never seen Eucharistic vestments until Seminary. John was raised in all that Liturgical mystery that was a mystery to me. John had been raised in the North; I had been blessed by being raised in Southern Virginia -- different societies. But we were fellow priests, brought together in a pilgrimage under the traditions of the Episcopal Church that brought us together.
Both called by God to God’s ministry;
- to baptize God’s children;
- to preach His word;
- to teach in His name;
- to offer absolution and blessing – not ours but God’s;
- to consecrate and share the Eucharist;
- to not judge, but to love.
All in God’s name.
A unique relationship that would make us equals in the call of God.
John was a priest, but his face lit up when he received the Sacrament from another priest – God’s blessing to both: priest, communicant. His great hands received the Body of Christ as if a wonderful gift -- holding the wafer as if touching the Holiness of God. There was a humbleness that only spoke of a man who knew God personally.
John and I love the traditions of the church, with love for the symbolism that our church structures convey to all who enter into the Holy places of God. They are the living tools that the priests teach our faith with – tools that symbolize what we are in our relationship to God -- the Baptismal font, the nave, the people of God all on our pilgrimage to God’s beauty. I love the symbol of the lectern, the Bible, the pulpit. I am filled with awe by the altar of God.
John, a priest, felt the same inner joy and truth that I felt. He experienced the same love that every priest always has experienced for over 1000 years.
One day I came to John complaining. That one of the priestly traditions has been neglected or forgotten and John surprised me by saying to me. “So?” It was a teaching moment – one priest to another. “We can love so much that this leads us to understand God -- that the tools become God in our minds.” John was telling me: They are beautiful; maybe even will always be part of the growing experience of God’s presence. But they are not God! And God is our journey! So anything short of God really doesn’t matter.
You see, I see the world -- like a box of Whitman’s Sampler. You open them up and you can love them all – each in their own way is the essence of God. But John might hold out to me a chocolate covered cherry – just one. At first, not so different from the many candies, but when you took that bite you would never forget that flavor. Its promise enters you as a clear truth never to be forgotten.
John never forgot. There is only one God. There is only one Lord. All this is our journey. All the rest – only an outside layer – are much the same to be found but not to be God.
So we come together today to offer John to God, maybe the most humbling act for a priest -- the burial office offering a personal soul to God.
John was a priest who used the simple word “so” to teach another. The prize is the presence of God and another word, “really” to give us pause. And now we rejoice that that prize is now John’s new reality. Sitting beside our Lord, thankfully growing from strength to strength – one with our Lord!
It is my hope that now John is sitting as in a class – a disciple with the ultimate professor -- absorbing the true wisdom of the ages. What a joy -- especially for one who loved the wisdoms of these earthly ages!
“Yet shall I see God; whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold and not as a stranger.”
God bless John. You have meant so much to so many. We will miss you.
Amen.
Prayer from the Prayer Book, page 481
Many thanks to Mary Catherine Plaster for transcribing the homily.