For My Dad

William Frederick Busse

August 26, 1930 – November 16, 2019

            Dad once told me that he hated going to funerals where the person who had died was lauded and praised as being this perfect and saintly being – especially when everyone sitting in the pews knew full well that the deceased was definitely not perfect or saintly.

            So to honor my sweet dad, I thought I would tell you a few of the ways that he was not perfect.

            Dad was a terrible speller. I suspect that many of us here already know the story about when he worked for Pillsbury and had to turn in a report. Thankfully, my mom, who is a good speller, proofread it for him or else he would have turned in an entire report about angle food cake.

            The last time he let me read their Christmas letter was many years ago, and the reason that was the last time was because I teased him about spelling the word grateful as greatful. He swore up and down that he had spellchecked the letter, and it hadn’t caught greatful. But I assured him that it was not spelled that way. I don’t think he appreciated my teasing, because he never let me look at the Christmas letter before it was sent out again.

            My sister called my dad, “One Trip Busse.” Our mom said he would carry Jill, Brad and two bags of groceries into the house rather than make two trips.

            My dad was obsessively early – to everything. I too would rather be early than late, but Dad took this to an extreme. We learned to stall when we were getting ready to go some place so we wouldn’t arrive at whatever our destination was quite so painfully early. That would make him impatient – another one of his less than perfect character traits – and he would do his dramatic Bill Busse sigh. It was a sigh that I have inherited. Or he would do his signature puffing out of his cheeks and blow the air out slowly. But even though it bugged him, we would stall anyway.

            I don’t know if this particular story is based on fact or if it is family legend, or maybe I just dreamed it, but one time my parents were so early to a party the hostess was still in the bathtub. Dad wanted to be early.

            But for all of the things that made him less than perfect, he was also so many things that made him, if not perfect, than pretty darn close.

            He was kind. Dad was shy and reserved, so to people who did not know him very well, he could come across as stern, even imposing. But that stern exterior was misleading. Dad was kind. Since he died, I have had several friends reach out to me to tell me that Dad was always so kind to them.

            For any impatience he showed when we weren’t moving out of the door fast enough, he could also be incredibly patient. When I was a very little girl, I used to wear my baby locket to church on Sundays. It was a small necklace with a fine gold chain that would get tangled up in knots if you looked at it wrong. But Dad would sit on Sunday mornings and untangle it, one knot at a time. Maybe he muttered impatiently or sighed while he did it, I don’t remember, but he got it done.

            Dad wanted to get things done. One of the things that made our dad who he was, was that he took responsibility seriously. It might be because he was the oldest child and the oldest son. It might be just how he was made. But he never, not to my knowledge, failed in his responsibilities to his family, to his work and so on. He took care of things. He took care of us. That’s what made these last years so hard and so challenging for him. He was used to taking care of things. If Bill Busse saw something that needed to be done, he did it. He didn’t wait for others to step up. He just did it.

            But as his health failed and his body slowed down, he couldn’t do that anymore. He couldn’t take care of things like he wanted to, and I know that frustrated him. It frustrated him because one of his best character traits was that he showed his love for us by taking care of us. And he loved us all so much. He loved his immediate family. He loved his extended family. He loved his grandkids. He loved his great grandkids. And he and my mom loved our friends. Our friends, whether they were Jill’s, Brad’s or mine, always felt like they were at home in our home. My friend, Ellen, said she felt like his third daughter.

            He loved us and he was so proud of us. Every accomplishment, no matter how small or seemingly infinitesimal, made him so proud. When I was serving the church in Minnesota, Dad was the treasurer, and I would invite him to attend my elder training sessions. He would always provoke me with some argumentative question. I realized that it wasn’t because he wanted to argue with me; he wanted me to push back and teach. He was proud of my teaching. He was so proud of all of us.

            When I posted on social media that Dad died, Shannon, another dear friend from seminary days and who met Dad several times, wrote to me that he delighted in all of us. Jill’s friend, Karen, said the same thing. He delighted in us. It was obvious. He delighted in his family, his wife and children and grandchildren and great grandchildren and his extended family. He delighted in all of us.

            Our dad wasn’t perfect, none of us are, but he loved us more than he could show or even express. He was proud of us. He delighted in us. He loved us. He was a good man and he loved us. At 89 he lived a good, long, full life. And I know that where he is now, it doesn’t matter if you can spell or if you are a One Trip Busse or a Fussy Busse, because now his strength is restored, and he is mounted up with wings like eagles. He can once more run and not be weary, he can walk and not faint.

            But Dad you did it again. We stalled and stalled and stalled, but you went earlier than any of us were ready for; no matter how we tried to slow you down, you still went too early. But I know you’ll be waiting for us to hurry up and arrive. You’ll be waiting for us. Thanks be to God.

God of the Living

Luke 20: 27-38

November 10, 2019

            “I’ll be waiting on the far side banks of Jordan. I’ll be waiting drawing pictures in the sand. And when I see you coming, I will rise up with a shout, and come running through the shallow waters, reaching for your hand.”

            This is a favorite gospel song of mine. I first heard it – well I’ve only heard it – on Alison Krauss’s and The Cox Family record, I Know Who Holds Tomorrow. But they do a magnificent job of it, so if you’re interested I highly recommend you checking them out.

            This is a song of reassurance from an aging husband to his also aging wife as they prepare for the journey from this world to the next. He tells her that the lures of this world no longer make him want to stay, but his one regret will be leaving her behind. So if he goes first, he will be waiting for her on the far side banks of Jordan. He will wait there until she makes the journey as well.

            The sentiments of this song are more than just comforting and reassuring. They reflect what so many of us believe about dying. When we die, we believe we will be met by the people we love who have gone before. We will be met by the saints we lifted up last Sunday in our worship service. They will be waiting for us on the far side banks of the river Jordan.

            I’ll be honest, this passage and this belief about the next life hits me on a deeply personal level right now. Tomorrow is the 71^st anniversary of my parents’ first date. 71 years as sweethearts and almost 69 years of marriage. As my family tries to emotionally and intellectually prepare for my dad’s transition from this life to the next one, I take great comfort and find even greater hope in the thought that he and my mom will be reunited in heaven; 71 years here, an eternity there.

            It is because of this hope that I find Jesus’ response to the Sadducees in today’s passage from Luke’s gospel unsettling. It is a disconcerting story to say the least, and we need to try and understand what is happening in it. It begins with a confrontation, but for once it is the Sadducees who are questioning Jesus, not the Pharisees. The Sadducees, according to the text, come to Jesus with the firm belief that there is no resurrection. Yet with this belief in mind, they questioned Jesus about that very topic – that same concept they firmly did not believe in. Their motives were to put Jesus on the spot, to find another reason for discounting him and his claims about God and the kingdom. As was so often the case, they hoped to make Jesus look foolish.

            The Sadducees were of one faction in Jewish society. They heralded from the priestly class and believed solely in the Pentateuch – the first five books of the Bible: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy. If resurrection did not appear in those five books, then it wasn’t going to be found anywhere.

            Unlike the Sadducees, the Pharisees did believe in the resurrection after death. They had been debating and arguing about the resurrection or the lack thereof with the Sadducees for a long, long time. I suspect that the Sadducees point in bringing Jesus into that discourse seemed to be a perfect way to stir things up – again.

            They question they ask was based on a law found in Deuteronomy about the perpetuation of family line. It is known as the levirate law – if a man dies and leaves his wife childless, then it is the husband’s brother’s responsibility and duty to marry the wife. That way they can have children and the family name, which always came through the man, would continue. The first husband will not be forgotten in Israel, because through his brother, he had children. This is not a law that I would agree to, but that perpetuation of the line, of the name, was an essential part of that culture.

            So the Sadducees’ question to Jesus was based on that law. But the Sadducees use an example that pushes the law to the level of ridiculousness. Seven brothers marry the same woman. The brothers are fulfilling their duty to the law and to the first brother. But all of them die without a child. Then the woman also dies. Here is the  sticking point; in this so-called resurrection of which you speak, Jesus, who will the woman be married to?

            This is not the first time that Jesus has been baited. In Luke’s gospel, this is the third and final question asked of Jesus that ultimately sets the powers that be against him. But with each one, Jesus modeled how to answer the true intent of the question without giving way to frustration and even anger over the questioner’s methods or reason for asking.

            Jesus knows they are trying to set him up, but he does not evade the question or dismiss it as ridiculous. He says,

            “Those who belong to this age marry and are given in marriage, but those who are considered worthy of a place in that age and in the resurrection from the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage.”

            It’s apples to oranges, Jesus tells them. In this age, in this life, on this earth, marriage is a part of life. At that time, marriage was an absolute necessity, not only for continuing the family name and for remembrance of that name in Israel, but also for the protection of the woman. But in the age to come, marriage will not be a part of that life. So their question about which brother is the true husband to the woman will not be an issue. It will not matter in the age to come.

            With their question, the Sadducees imply that if resurrection is real than it is merely a continuation of life as usual. One commentator said that their question really means that they saw resurrection as “an eternity of more of the same.” But Jesus discounts that understanding. This age, this reality that we live in now, is nothing like the age to come. There won’t be marriage. More importantly, there won’t be death. The people of that age will be like the angels. They will be children of God. Death will no longer be a consequence of living.

            Death will no longer be a consequence of living.

            But Jesus doesn’t stop there. He turns the law of Moses back on them. You can look to Moses for proof of the resurrection. You can look to the very Pentateuch that you hold onto so tightly. Moses himself said that God was the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob. We know that these three patriarchs died long ago, but God is the God of the living. These patriarchs live on through God, the God of the living.

            Jesus answered their question by pointing out their error in thinking about the resurrection. And he answered it by appealing to the very scripture they thought proved resurrection false. But where does that leave us?

            Where does it leave us when we wonder about who will be waiting for us in heaven? Will husbands be waiting for their wives, and wives for their husbands? Will I be reunited with the people I have loved and lost, my saints? Will my friends and family hear the voices of their loved ones calling to them? Will someone be waiting for us on the far side banks of the Jordan?

            It seems to me that Jesus does not deny this about the resurrection, but he will not make resurrection sound like an eternity of more of the same either. What I do think Jesus makes pointedly clear is that resurrected life will not just be a continuation of what we have now. It will be fundamentally different. It will be fundamentally better.

            But does better mean no relationship? It is hard from this passage alone to know how to answer that. But here’s the thing, what do we know about Jesus? What do we know about God the Father through the Son?

            We know that God cared and cares about relationship. God has been trying to get us back into right relationship with God since Adam and Eve said,

“Did that snake just talk to us?”

Jesus came to restore right relationship with God and with one another. No, none of our earthly relationships are perfect. They are all flawed because we are all flawed. But we believe that our God is a God of love and justice and mercy. God cares about souls, but Jesus came because God also cares about our bodies, our lives here and now. Jesus said that the kingdom of God was not some far off place, but right here in our midst. So I think, no I believe, that the love we have here, the relationships we have here, will be with us in the kingdom. They will be perfected and better and changed, but that love won’t be gone. It will just be complete. God is the God of the living. In that we place our hope, our trust, our relationship, our future, our past, our present. God is the God of the living.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia!” Amen.

Salvation Has Come -- All Saints' Day

Luke 19:1-10

November 3, 2019

            “Short people got no reason. Short people got no reason. Short people got no reason to live.     They got little hands. And little eyes. And they walk around. Tellin' great big lies. They got little noses. And tiny little teeth. They wear platform shoes. On their nasty little feet. I don’t want no short people. Don’t want no short people. Don’t want no short people round here.”

            If you can remember pop music from the late 70’s and early 80’s you probably remember that song. Randy Newman wrote it, performed it, and sent it to the top of the music charts as a novelty song. The funny thing is that his goal was not to write a novelty song; he was actually writing a song about the ridiculousness of prejudice. How ridiculous it is to be biased against someone because of their height or any reason for that matter. But the song was misinterpreted over and over again, so we remember it as a weird and funny little ditty about short people.

            For those of you who may be vertically challenged, please do not take offense that I used this song. I too am vertically challenged, and so are my darling husband and my best friend, Ellen, who is here with us today. We are some of those short people, and so is one of the main characters in this story from Luke’s gospel.

            Whenever I read the story of Zacchaeus, I can’t help but think of Randy Newman’s song. Zacchaeus was described quite clearly as being “short of stature.” This is not typical in any of the gospels. Usually when we read a description of someone, they are described by their position in life or their status. Their physical characteristics are not depicted. A widow is described as a widow, which tells us her married status and her social status. A leper is a leper, so we know that means this person has a skin disease and is marginalized because of it. Lazarus the beggar was covered in sores, but we are not privy to the color of his eyes. The prodigal son was reckless and foolhardy while his older brother was hyper responsible, but not once do we hear anything about what they looked like. We have limited information about Zacchaeus as well, but we know one thing: he was short.

            He was so short that when he wanted to see Jesus, when he wanted to see what all the fuss was about this man passing through Jericho, he couldn’t get a good view of him because he was short and the crowd apparently was not. So he climbed a sycamore tree to see Jesus. He was up in that tree, looking down, when Jesus walked underneath the tree and noticed him.

            Think about the power of that: Jesus noticed him. I suspect that very few people in that crowd would have noticed Zacchaeus, even though he was watching all of the activity from up in a tree. But Jesus noticed him. Jesus noticed the people who were on the margins. Jesus noticed the people who both stood outside the boundaries of the crowd and those who were lost in it. Jesus noticed Zacchaeus. And when he did notice him, he didn’t just glance at him and continue on his way. He called up to him.

            "Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today."

            Jesus noticed Zacchaeus. He noticed him and he called him out for special attention. Jesus did not only call up to Zacchaeus, acknowledging his presence in the tree, he told him he would be staying at his house that very day. Zacchaeus responded by doing just what Jesus told him to do. He hurried down out that tree, thrilled that he would have the honor of hosting Jesus that day.

            As so often was the case, Jesus’ choice of dinner companions made other people grumble. The Pharisees and scribes grumbled that Jesus ate with sinners, people who lived on the edges of what was right and wrong. Zacchaeus was a tax collector, so he had his own special category of sin. Tax collectors were Jews who worked with Rome in their financial oppression of the people. Sometimes people categorized as sinners were there because they had no options. But tax collectors did. So while we like to sing Vacation Bible school songs about wee little Zacchaeus, he was a sinner with a choice. And that choice had made him wealthy.

When the people in this crowd around Jesus saw and heard Jesus tell Zacchaeus to come down from the tree and make ready his house for Jesus to stay there, they had the same reaction as the Pharisees and scribes. They grumbled and murmured that this man, this Zacchaeus was a sinner. He was a tax collector, but Jesus was going to eat in his house?! Didn’t Jesus realize who this guy was? Didn’t Jesus understand what this guy did?

            Maybe it was the fact that Jesus noticed him, even though he was sitting above them in a tree. Maybe it was the fact that Jesus called up to him and announced for all to hear that he would be staying in Zacchaeus’ house. Maybe it was because Zacchaeus was short but not deaf and he heard the grumbling about him, but something triggered Zacchaeus to declare that he would give back and he would pay back.

“Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.’”

Jesus responded, "Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost." 

Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham.

Zacchaeus was a sinner, but he was also a son of Abraham. He was a child of God’s covenant with Abraham. He was a child of the promise. And he was lost. Jesus came not just for the sinners that the people could feel sorry for; those people who sinned because they were out of options. Jesus also came for the sinners who chose freely and openly to sin, and commenced to sin with boldness.

That was Zacchaeus wasn’t it? His sin had made him a wealthy man, and that wealth came on the backs of his own people. But Jesus noticed him. Jesus called to him. Jesus was willing to come to his house and eat at his table and share in his hospitality. Salvation came to Zacchaeus that day because he was also lost and he was also a son of Abraham.

What might Jesus have meant when he said that Zacchaeus was a son of Abraham? As I said already that meant that Zacchaeus was a descendent of the covenant that God made with Abraham; what was that covenant? God promised Abraham that he would be a blessing, that his descendents would number as many as the sand under his feet and the stars in the sky above his head. And not only would Abraham’s descendents be blessed because of Abraham, every family in every nation on earth would be blessed through him. Zacchaeus would have been more directly and genealogically a child of Abraham than you or I, but if God’s covenant means what I think it means, we too are children of Abraham. That means that people in every nation around the world are children of Abraham. I wonder how many sinners there are in those numbers. I wonder how many lost folks there are in those nations. I wonder how many of them have sinned because they had no choice and sinned because they did.

Jesus came for all of them. Jesus came for us. Jesus came for me. But while I rejoice and give thanks that Jesus came for me, and that Jesus came for those sinners who were pushed into transgressions corner, I have a much harder time rejoicing that Jesus came for the people like Zacchaeus. I have difficulty being happy for their salvation when they have sinned like Zacchaeus sinned. But he too was a son of Abraham. He too was lost and Jesus found him. Jesus noticed him, when no one else did. Jesus noticed and welcomed him and broke bread with him. Even Zacchaeus could be a saint.

Today we celebrate All Saints Day, the day when we lift up that great cloud of witnesses. We remember the “big” saints of the church: Mother Teresa and Dr. King and Bishop Oscar Romero and all of those people who have been martyred and persecuted for their faith. But we also remember the other saints. We remember the people in our own lives who loved us and taught us and grew our faith in ways we may not have realized. I remember my grandfather who challenged me in faith and I remember my grandmother who shared her faith with me in song and prayers. We all have those people, those saints, on whose shoulders we stand.

If the story of Zacchaeus teaches us anything, it teaches us that to be a saint does not mean to be perfect. While holiness or virtuousness may be attached to the word by definition, I think a saint is someone who understood that God was present in their life, worked in their life and they tried to respond. My gramma was not perfect, but according to my definition, she was a saint. And she helped me in my faith. Zacchaeus was a sinner. He was not perfect. He harmed people by choice. But maybe just maybe he is also a saint. Certainly his story teaches us about faith. It challenges our own. And Jesus declared that salvation came to him too: Zacchaeus, a tax collector, a sinner, a wealthy short man so eager to see Jesus that he climbed a tree. Zacchaeus, far from perfect, but maybe just maybe a saint. Thanks be to God for the saints all around us, for those imperfect people who sin and repent and seek God. Thanks be to God for the saints all around us, those sinners who receive salvation, those lost who are found. Thanks be to God for the saints all around us. Thanks be to God.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.” Amen.