Preaching In The Public Square...Continued from page 3

And Matt ? our strong, gentle son, colleague, brother and friend would want us this day to cling to that same faith
            A faith that offers, anticipates bright days of hope.

The glad day ? even beyond this life ? is our certain hope for Matt.
            And that glad day is what we cling to for comfort in our loss

That confidence, that hopefulness, in bright days allows the same Psalmist David ? who cried out How Long? to also say in Ps. 23 ?

The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not be in want
He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul
He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name sake.
Even if I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for you are with me,
your rod and your staff they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me, in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil, my cup overflows
Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever

This was Matt's hope

This is the hope to which we must cling. Amen.

Theological Reflection: 

I preached this sermon at Forest Lawn Memorial Park, on an outdoor stage with a mosaic of the founding fathers and a huge American flag behind me. I was not preaching in a church.  I was preaching in a public square, in a venue that had overtones of law and justice, of patriotism and sacrifice, and of faith.  I came to this venue as the family pastor. This was a very public funeral.  A number of theological/pastoral factors guided my thinking as I reflected and then wrote this message.

First, I wanted to be a poet.  Alan Roxburgh speaks of the poet as a key  for church leaders (The Missionary Congregation, Leadership and Liminality, Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1997, p. 58). The poet is one who seeks to articulate an experience, to capture in words the stirrings in the hearts of people.    People assembled at this event with a range of emotions: "we gather here, we are filled with sadness and grief, and we are filled with anger and resolve."  Matt was the first police officer killed in the line of duty in over eighty years. Matt was a young man and a young officer. This event, and the brutality of this event hung like a thick mist over the funeral and the days leading up to it.  I had to try to name those feelings.

Second, I wanted to articulate, and not in any way minimize, the horror and the senselessness of this event.  When tragedy strikes, our bent is to try to make sense of it, to bring some type of resolution, to tie up the loose ends, and to show how God is making it all work out. So we hear phrases like: "It was his time;" "God needed him in heaven;"  "There is a larger purpose that we can't see."  Sometimes we try to say too much.  Sometimes, most of the time, when we come face to face with enormous events, it is best just to be silent, present with others, but silent.  There are no words and there are few adequate explanations. Louis Smedes, who taught at Fuller Theological Seminary, was getting to the heart of the unsettledness as he reflected on the events of September 11, 2001. His words do not bring resolution.  I appreciate his frankness.  Smedes writes: