My homily for my brother, friend and colleague in church: Rick Weber. It was a good day!
Let me get this out there
right at the start: I LOVED Rick Weber. He was a big, bold and beautiful personality
who lived a full life with vigor and integrity.
And I have to tell you that I loved everything about this man: I loved his art –
I loved his laughter – I loved his singing voice – I loved his faith – I loved
his tenacity – I loved his service to Christ and the world – and I loved the
way he loved everyone he
met.
I LOVED Rick Weber – so before I go any
further I have to ask you – have I made this clear? That I LOVED Rick Weber? It is important
for the preacher to know if he or she is communicating with the gathered
faithful, so I want to be certain that there is no ambiguity about my first
point.
As a pastor, you see, it is
both my deepest conviction AND my public duty to share with you some truths
from within the foundation of the Christian tradition. And I could not stand before you today as one
who loved Rick in this life if I didn’t also remind you of the fact that God’s
love enveloped him in his death. If I
were here just on my own authority – with just my own words to raise up – I
couldn’t do it. I miss Rick too much and his absence causes me too much pain.
But as St. Paul said to the
very early church: Beloved we do not
want you to grieve as those who have no hope – so I need to talk to you about
hope and grief. You will
grieve – you will cry and ache and miss and fret – you will be angry and empty
and bewildered at times because that is only human. You will
grieve and we shouldn’t pretend otherwise. We should not truncate our grief,
abort its own unique mission in our hearts or try to snap out of it just to
satisfy some shallow social expectations of getting back to business, ok
Losing a man as
BIG as Rick Weber hurts – it hurts like hell – and we shouldn’t
try to pretend
that it doesn’t. Last week, as I
was trying to pull this homily together, I broke down three or four times in
violent crying jags. I couldn’t help it
– AND – I didn’t want to help it because the emptiness and sadness I felt in
those moments was somehow deeply connected to the love I shared with Rick
during the seven years I had the privilege to serve him as his pastor and
friend.
So, I gave myself permission
to cry and weep and feel the bottomless ache in my heart. The apostle Paul, did NOT tell us not to grieve. Rather, he taught us that in the midst of our
sorrow, we must not grieve as those who have no hope. By faith, you see,
we DO have hope: one of the most
profound and demanding truths in the Christian tradition is our conviction that
when we were baptized into the com-munity of faith we were simultaneously
baptized into Christ’s death. So that
just as Jesus was raised from the dead by the glorious power of God’s love, so
too shall we be raised up into God’s love.
Jesus wasn’t
kidding when he told us: come unto me
all ye who are tired and heavy laden and I shall give you rest. It will be a rest from fear and anxiety in
this life, and it shall be a rest from all pain and sorrow in the life to come
because where I am going, he told us in John’s gospel, you are going, too. And if Rick Weber
trusted anything, it was that God was present with him in all of his trials and
pains, joys and sorrows in this life – AND – that God would fully embrace him
in love when this life was over. That’s why Rick wasn’t afraid of death: he had hope.
Even when his
tired, sweet body was broken and worn out he had hope. A hope born of God raising Christ from the
dead – a hope grounded in his own baptism – a hope that trusted that God’s love
is not only greater than our imagination and ability to comprehend, but that it
is also greater than death. It was an innocent, pure and child-like faith that
was rock solid. I’m not sure I’ve ever met such a faithful man.
So we gather today to grieve
– but that grief is saturated in love – for like our brother Rick Weber we do
not grieve as those who have no hope.
I remember the first time I
ever saw Rick: he was walking across the
lawn at Tanglewood. I had just been
called from Arizona to serve First Church as pastor and teacher – and we were
coming through just to check in before spending a month in London – so I
happened to mention to Jennifer Kerwood, the chair of the search committee,
that Dianne and I had never been to Tanglewood.
We wondered if there might be time for the search committee and their
families to join us for an outing to Tanglewood. As she does so well, Jennifer made it happen
and we met for a picnic on the lawn before a Mahler symphony.
So as we were taking in the
beauty – and sipping wine in high style on a golden Berkshire evening – there
came Rick making his way across the vast lawn with Donna. He was working hard but had a huge smile on
his face. And after taking a seat and sharing introductions, he went on to tell
me that he’d played golf earlier that day and did a fine job. He was beaming and radiant – and so glad to
be alive. After eating a little gouda
cheese, he turned back to me and said with that killer smile: and now I get to spend some time this evening
with my dear wife and our new pastor in all this beauty surrounded by all some
incredible music. Man, is this life
good.
In that moment, I
fell in love with Rick Weber. I had watched him struggle across the lawn. I was
in awe of his strength and stamina. But I was totaled knocked out by his exuberance
and commitment to the joy of living. And that awe and
respect only ripened in the years that I knew him. As we worshipped together –
and served First Church together – and visited in his home or in the hospital,
I came to see that this man was truly filled with the Holy Spirit in such a way
that nothing in this life
would kill his joy.
Like St. Paul
before him, he KNEW that in everything God works for good with those who
love the Lord. So he could move through
his days knowing that nothing would ever be able to separate him from the love
of God – not life nor death, not angels or principalities, not things present
nor things to come, not powers, height nor depth nor anything else in all
creation.
In fact, I came to think of
Rick Weber as a living icon of St. Paul in the 21st century. One of my favorite passages in the Bible is
Romans 5 wherein Paul tells us that because of the joy he has known in God’s
grace, we now boast in our sufferings, knowing that our
suffering produces endurance, and
endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us,
because hope is God’s love being poured
into our hearts through the Holy Spirit. And every time
he came down this aisle for Eucharist – and it became harder and harder – there
was an almost beatific smile on his face because my man knew that this wasn’t
the end of his story. His pain and his
wounds were just another way to be closer to the God he loved.
And when I would
go to offer him the bread, the body of Christ, he would almost always take my
hand and hold it for a moment – he would smile in a way that was filled with
such depth and faith – before kissing me on the check and saying: I love you.
Beloved, we do not grieve as those who have no
hope. We grieve as people who know that God loves us no matter how hard our
life is. We grieve as those who know that this present darkness is not the end
of the story.
As an artist, a husband, a
father, a teacher, an athlete, a friend and an incredible servant of our Lord
and Savior Jesus Christ, Rick Weber was a man of this kind of hope. In a moment you will hear a few other
remembrances from those who knew Rick in some of the circles he worked in. So let me close by saying that in addition to
the love he shared with me and so many others – and the powerful reality of his
hope and faith in the Lord – I believe that Rick was very intentional as an
artist in expressing his awareness of God’s abiding and transforming beauty in
the world within the most mundane things.
As one theologian put it, he had the ability to show us the
extraordinary in the ordinary.
We talked a lot about art
both because he loved the “en plein eir” movement that began in France in the
1870s – the open air school of artistic expression that celebrated natural
light and outdoor realities in all their sacred and commonplace glories - but
also because as a musician I wanted to hear how this visual artist understood
his creativity as a sacred calling. And
time after time, whether it was in his living room, his bedroom or this
Sanctuary, when he would display his paintings he would talk to me about what
the images he painted represented – how the trees symbolized the history of his
family, how the clouds showed some-thing of his father, his wife and his son –
how the vastness of some of his canvases hinted at the enormity of God’s love.
In our culture, too many
think of art as an extra – an incidental – something to consider after all the
bottom lines are resolved and accounted for. But not my man, Rick: like the artist and theologian, Mako
Fujimura, he understood that his dedication to advancing beauty was NOT a useless
act of leisure. No, “every act of creativity is, directly or indirectly,
an intuitive response to offer to God what He has given to us.” Rick saw and
experienced the enormity of God’s grace. So as the depth psychologist,
Carl Jung once wrote, we paint the images our soul needs to see. I believe that part of what Rick expressed in
his painting was the depth of his faith – the incomprehensibility of God’s
endless love that is greater than all pain – and he did it in ways that our small
minds might taste and see.
This is
iconography – in a distinctly Western and modernist form, to be sure – but iconography
nonetheless. Because icons are physical
representations of spiritual truths too great for words – they are visual
prayers for our eyes – that always point beyond us to the grace of God. And I see Rick’s
profound, child-like but life-tested faith and experience of God’s grace in
everything he painted – and in almost everything he did.
Once we were talking about
one of his first dates with Donna – he took her into NYC from New Jersey – he
wanted to show her a good time. And no
sooner had they gotten out of the train station in Times Square when they were
surrounded by a gang of young men who were intent on robbing them. Donna said they could see the mounted
policeman off in the distance, but he wasn’t going to do them any good because
these young thugs were intent of separating Rick from the money he had saved to
take his sweetie on this date?
So what did Rick
do? Did he try to run for it? Or fight
off the muggers? Did he try to distract these bandits so that Donna might
escape? Did he scream for help and hope
for the best? No with a
child-like faith and profound innocence he told the chief mugger that he only
had enough money on him to take his sweetheart out to dinner and a show – it
wasn’t very much money at all – but that was all he had. So could he please just let them go?
And… he did – he
let them go! We were laughing about it
the other day saying that given Rick’s sincerity and his profound innocence, he
probably converted that young mugger in that moment from a life of crime! We don’t know for sure, of course, but he let
them GO!!!
No wonder Rick requested that
both Psalm 23 and Revelations 21 be read at his memorial service – they both
evoke a trust that nothing can separate us from God’s love – yea though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil for THOU art my
comforter and thy STAFF shall protect me. Even at the end of our lives we shall
be restored to perfection with the Lord in ways that are too great for human
words and we shall dwell in the house of the Lord for- ever. And now that has taken place for Rick Weber –
he lived fully in God’s grace in this live – and now he has returned home to
perfection in the Lord’s embrace forever.
When Donna and I were talking
last week on the day Rick died, I mentioned to her that I believe that every
dying person offers those of us who remain a gift in their death if we have
eyes to see.
Sometimes we don’t get it –
and sometimes the death is too complicated – but in a good death, I have come
to see that the dying person wants to bring comfort to those who are living by
sharing a quiet gift or even a gentle message. So she told me that she had been
wondering why there had been so many ups and downs with Rick’s health over the
past five weeks. What was God saying in
all of this? If this was really the time for him to go, why were there so many
complications? At some point, however, it came to her that perhaps there was
still something to be accomplished before Rick was ready to let go and return
to the Lord.
She didn’t know
what it was – or who had to do what – but when she stopped worrying about what
was going on and trusted that this too was part of God’s love, she was more at
peace. So when she got
the call to go to the hospital last Sunday morning because Rick’s time was
close, she thought: I’ve never been with
a person when they died – I’m kind of frightened about this – but as she sat
with her husband and he slowly and peacefully left this life she said: I wasn’t afraid. In fact, she saw
Rick leave this life in a way that was saturated in peace as a quiet serenity washed
over him – and she knew it was alright.
Behold, the Spirit of the
Lord says to us in Scripture: I make all things new… I will be your God and you will be my people and I shall wipe away every tear from your eyes. Death
will be no more; neither shall there be mourning
or crying or pain for you for the first things have passed away.
Today
I give thanks to God for sharing Rick Weber with us: his love, his art, his faith, his family, his
laughter, his music and even his death have been sacred gifts – and as much as
I miss him, I am so very grateful for them all.
1 comment:
Rick Weber was an incredible artist. His work will be enjoyed for years to come.
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