Dr. Robert L. Randall

July 31, 2005

It’s been exactly 6 months since I’ve last preached to you.  A lot has happened here at St. Peter’s since then, but I don’t want to talk about that this morning.  I want to share with you some life lessons from three events that have occurred since I’ve stood before you.  Two of those events were funerals; one was a wedding.

The most recent funeral was for my Aunt Minnie.  I preached her funeral sermon, as I seem to be doing for all the members of my extended family who have died, including even my own mother’s. Aunt Minnie had been a constant presence in my life ever since I was born.  I saw her nearly every day until I went off to college.  Christmas Eves were always spent with Aunt Minnie, either at our house or her house.  Her serene face and quiet manner were familiar and comforting.  

Aunt Minnie lived by herself after Uncle Rick died. As she got older and weaker, she was determined to stay in her home, and determined to take care of herself. More than anything else, however, she didn’t want to be a bother to anyone, she didn’t want to inconvenience anyone, and so she never asked for help, even when she needed it. She fell off the porch and hurt her wrist but didn’t call any of us family members for help.  She fell in the garden and had to crawl to the house, but she didn’t call any of us for help.  Then one day not long ago, when Minnie didn’t look well, my dad asked her how she was doing and if he could help, and she said, “Oh, well, I’ll get by.” The next morning someone who had not seen her for a while called her, and Aunt Minnie said she couldn’t talk because she wasn’t feeling well and had to go to the doctor.  At 7 p.m. that same day, my dad went to Aunt Minnie’s house and found her dead in the hallway.  She had bled to death. There were ample signs that she had been bleeding in other parts of the house. Eventually she must have gotten so weak that she passed out, hitting her head as she fell for the last time.

At her funeral I expressed my affection for her but also my frustration with her.  If only she had been able to reach out for help she might still be alive.  If only she had realized how important she was to us, and had given us the privilege of caring for her, she might still be here for us to enjoy.

Dear friends, the life lesson is this: learn to ask for help. Learn to ask for help.  If you feel you’re too proud to ask for help, get over it.  If you are embarrassed or ashamed to admit your weakness, get over it. If you are anxious about being a bother or a burden to others, get over it. If you think you can handle things all by yourself, wise up.  Learn to ask for help.  I wish Aunt Minnie had.  

The second funeral was one that I could not preach because I was out of town.  That was the funeral of Dr. Robert Laaser.  I regret that I could not have been here then, and so these few words I say are my parting words for him now.

I am very aware that many of you have never heard Bob lead worship or preach, even some of you who have been here for many years.  I’m also very aware that some individuals are tired of hearing about Bob and his ministry, as if his time was the golden age against which any minister is judged and any ministry of St. Peter’s is evaluated. 

I think there is some misunderstanding here.  There is no Laaser cult. People in this congregation today who knew him and appreciated him are not trying to turn back the clock to repeat the Laaser years.  There were policies and practices during his time that we wouldn’t want to follow now and shouldn’t follow now.

So what is it that keeps his memory alive?  It wasn’t his administrative abilities.  It wasn’t his one on one relationships with people. He had limitations in both of these areas.  But what he had was a special ability to create an atmosphere during worship of holiness and tenderness.

The poetry of his words and the lyrical cadence of his voice lifted the spirit. The insightfulness of his thoughts opened minds. But most of all, most of all, his prayers and preaching touched the heart.  His words had a tender heartbeat that made you feel understood.  He gave voice to all the private sorrows and inner yearnings and passionate dreams and human foibles that fill the human breast. And through it all he kept offering one distilled message of encouragement, one faithful way to endure and honor God, and that was to “hang in there.”

Bob Laaser was born with a gift for speaking, and during his ministry he worked on crafting a sermon.  But what gave him the capacity for preaching with a heartbeat was his pain. All of his life he struggled with depressive thoughts and emotions.  He once shared with us staff that everyday as a child he was afraid that his parents would put him in the orphanage close to their house.  He grew up sensitive, vulnerable, with a deep feeling for the secrets and fears that lurk within.

Now what is the life lesson we can learn here?  It’s this:  Bob Laaser turned his pain into a blessing. Rather than retreat into himself, rather than become cynical at life, he used his pain to touch the hearts of others.  He knew loneliness and so spoke to the lonely.  He knew fear and so he spoke to those who trembled at blood pressure readings, at the doctor’s diagnosis, at the coming of death.  He knew the great temptation to give up and so he constantly encouraged us to “hang in there.”  

The life lesson we learn here is to take whatever pain or limitation or struggle we have and find a way to wrestle a blessing from it.  Don’t just endure.  Don’t just grit your teeth. Don’t just waste away.  Find some way, with God’s help, to transform your pain into something that brings light and even joy. That’s part of the gift Dr. Lasser imparted, to whom I now say, “Dear Bob, finally rest in peace.”

And now some words about a wedding.  About a month ago I performed the wedding for my niece, Jenny Randall, who some of you met when she and her family sang with me here at church last Christmas. You might have also met her fiancé, Russ Wilson---a fine fellow.  Our little country church, Zion UCC, down around Arthur, Illinois was beautifully decorated and filled with love. Jenny had invited four of her musical friends from Elmhurst College to sing together during the ceremony. The plan was for these two young women and two young men to begin singing the song, “Make of Our Hand One Hand”, during which I would step aside allowing Jenny and Russ to come forward to the altar to light their unity candle.

The quartet began.  From the first note a hush fell.  Their lovely voices, without musical backup, merged and caressed each word and brought an inner shiver of teary emotion.  They finished the first verse and began the second when I heard in the background a guttural whisper from the groom: “Uncle Bob, Uncle Bob.” Suddenly I woke up and realized that I had not moved.  I had been so mesmerized by the singing that I had not yet stepped aside to let Jenny and Russ come forth to light their marriage candle.

Strangely enough this pleased me, and there is a life lesson here, too. I knew this wasn’t a senior moment, that my mind wasn’t slipping, although I’m sure Sharon might have a different opinion at times.  What was happening was that for once I was actually letting myself be caught up in a moment of a service that I was leading. I was living fully in the present moment, taking it all in, immersed in what was happening around me. 

Most of the time we ministers cannot really worship when we are leading the worship.  We are in our head more than in the service.  We are not fully present to what’s going on. During the singing of a hymn or even when someone else prays, our mind is on the next thing up, or reviewing how to move from here to there, or quickly rehearsing our sermon.  But this time there I stood, appropriately out of my head and fully into the moment—a beautiful moment I would not have wanted to miss.

And so I suggest to you, live more fully in the present moment.  Let yourself taste it and smell it; let it wash over you and soak deep within you. Do this with what seems like ordinary moments and you’ll find they have a wonderful quality about them.  Do this with joyful moments and you’ll find they have hidden qualities of meaning.  Do this even with sad moments and you’ll find that they may become some of the most holy moments you have ever experienced.

Two funerals and a wedding: three life lessons.  I hope they become part of God’s guidance for your life, as they have for mine.

Amen