Adam Winter, Jr., died at age 24 on December 7th. His father, one of the owners of my bank, asked me to officiate his funeral. The sermon is below, the bulletin can be found here, and his obituary is here.
----------------------------------
The reading from the book of Psalms that
we just heard read so beautifully by Adam’s grandfather Roger is probably the
most commonly read passage from the Bible at funerals. While it certainly has words of comfort and
peace, the fact of the matter is that we truly are in the midst of what the
psalmist describes as “the valley of the shadow of death”. It’s not where any of us want to be. Adam Jr. died on Monday, very suddenly and
very unexpectedly and at a shockingly young age. And so here we are – in the valley of the
shadow of death. Comfort and peace and
hope will come, but we are here for now.
We’ve heard from some of Adam’s closest
friends and from his father in the letter that he wrote to honor him. I only met him one time in passing, but over
the last week, I feel like I’ve gotten to know him just a little bit. He was not only a smart guy who made
excellent grades in school, but he was a very deep thinker. Adam Sr. showed me a stack of books he had
been reading for fun, and let me tell you, they are the types of heavy-duty
philosophy books that I’ve had to read in seminary – NOT the types of books I
would be reading for fun. I have a
feeling that Adam and I would have enjoyed a robust philosophical, and maybe
even theological discussion, while imbibing in a little whisky. And from what I’ve gathered, Adam inherited his
father’s stubbornness and intense passion, and so such a discussion would
likely have been lively and possibly even a little heated.
The psalmist declares that “God leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's
sake.” The word righteousness often
makes people think of “self-righteousness”, or being “holier than thou.” But here, righteousness refers to “right
behavior” within the larger human family.
These paths of righteousness look different in different contexts, and
with different people, but Adam certainly lived out aspects of this in his
generosity and self-giving. He worked as
a counselor with Camp Kesem, a camp for children whose parents have cancer, for
two summers in a row and was preparing for a third summer. He was instrumental in getting a campus
chapter up and running at the University of Colorado Boulder in 2013. While we certainly aren’t going to take up an
offering today in this service, I would strongly encourage you to consider
making a donation to Camp Kesem to help continue the generous work of
righteousness that Adam started.
Before we can get to comfort and peace
and hope, it’s interesting to note that many think that Psalm 23 is actually an
extension of Psalm 22. Psalm 22 begins,
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning? O my god, I cry by day, but you do not
answer, and by night, but find no rest.”
This is how some of us feel right
now. Where is God in all of this? Why did he allow this to happen? How could anything good come from this? You may be angry with God, or angry with Adam,
or even angry with yourself. God is OK
with your anger, and Adam would be too.
Let yourself be angry. It’s
OK.
In the grieving process, anger often turns
to a deep sadness and maybe even depression or a sense of abandonment. That may be where you are right now. The psalmist’s deep sense of abandonment, heard
in those haunting words “My God, my God, why have your forsaken me,” were
repeated by Jesus when he was in his moment of deepest despair on the
cross.
This
despair is healed in these beautiful words: even in the darkest valley of the
shadow death, “I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff –
they comfort me” and for Jesus, the despair was more fully healed when God raised
him from the dead on Easter day.
Even though it may seem absurd right
now, there is hope, and there is comfort, and there is peace. It may not happen right away, and it may seem
out of reach for some time.
“…for you are with me.” God is with us in the midst of our suffering
and pain. Sometimes, we experience God’s
presence in intense moments of prayer or perhaps at the altar rail at Holy
Communion, but more often we experience God’s presence in the ordinary course
of our everyday lives. Maybe a hug from
a friend, or in someone offering to do something tedious for you just because they
love you. Maybe it’s in sharing a meal
with your family or friends, or maybe God’s presence is made known to you up in
the mountains as you hike, or with a sunrise, or the gust of the wind. Or maybe you experience his comforting presence
as you listen to music.
Not
only does our faith give us comfort in the knowledge of God’s presence, but our
faith also gives us hope. The author of
the book of Hebrews says it this way: “Now faith is the
assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things yet unseen.” Hope is a tricky thing because it often
entails believing in something that isn’t scientifically proven, something “yet
unseen.” Hope, for many of us, is the
conviction that life does not end in death, but rather that death transforms us
into a life with God and those whom we love that lasts forever.
I was talking with Connor, one of Adam’s best friends,
last night, and he said something very interesting: he said, “You know, Adam is still very much
alive. The fact that we’re talking about
him right now means the neurons in our brains are recording bits of Adam that
will never go away.” I’ve been thinking
about that, and I think maybe he’s on to something. There is hope – hope for resurrection, hope
for everlasting life, hope that we will see Adam again one day – but maybe that
hope manifests itself through our cherished memories and conversations about
Adam, in listening to the music that he loved, in not letting Adam’s impact on
this world die. While he’s no longer physically with us, his life continues in
these things, and they give us glimpses of hope to hang on to.
And
so we grieve, and mourn, and yet we have hope.
Hope of continued life beyond the grave, with God and with those whom we
love. May each of us experience God’s comforting
presence in the coming weeks and months in the midst of our pain, and may Adam
rest in peace, and rise in glory. Amen.
