Josh 24:1-3, 14-18; Psalm 78           Keeping Faith    E/GR               Nov. 6/05

1) Re-member.  Interesting word.  What will we let into our minds again?  And how will we make sense of it in our lives?  What would the people of Israel in our scripture from Joshua remember?  They were coming to a crisis point.  There were people alive who had lived through the trials of the exodus, who had experienced the miracles and God at work in the wilderness.  But those brave people are aging and dying.   Joshua asks, ?Who are you going to serve?  How will you keep the faith??  There were many gods around them to claim their allegiance.  Joshua reminds them it is God who set them free, provided food and water and led them safely through the wilderness.  The people do choose God and to repeat this story of God?s saving power, when they gather to worship.  So others will know and tell the stories.  The retelling of their history annually is a large part of why the Jewish faith is vital today.  Those experiences of God at work in the lives of the people are remembered.

2)Today we remember important people in our history.  We remember those who sacrificed in War.

My neighbour Joan shared some of her father?s poetry that helps us remember.

I read of deeds of bravery that are so often done.

The parts you only get to know, that affect the mentioned one.

Like pilots who have saved their kites and set them safely down,

To be rebuilt and sent back out with crews so brave and young.

Or watch the valiant bombardier as he staggers towards the door,

Not knowing that the day is bright, for his eyes they are no more.

Oh please, dear God put an end to these sights which we behold -

These things that send out men so young and bring them back so old.

We remember many sacrifices ? families who waited, families who still mourn those brave men and women who died or lived to return and bear the horror and the honour.

The Bugle Calls by Carol Cole Turman, St. Mar­tin, Man.

The bugle calls again today.  We are to remember - tragic times, war times, those times

Years ago - but relived today in heart and soul and mind.  I remember.

Not the wars or those who died.  For I never knew them.  Yet I remember.

I remember one Remembrance Day when just a child in school.  A poppy on our blazers. 

Someone read ?in Flander?s Field.?  A record played the bugle calls.

Then the needle would scratch and lag as we bowed our heads in silent prayer beneath a lowered flag. 

Then off home I?d run in great anticipation of a free afternoon from school. 

No lectures! No classes!  In the front door - letting it bang.  I?d never even heard it. 

But mother chided me as she wiped tears from behind her glasses.

?Why are you crying, mother?  I?m sorry I let the door bang.?

Mom gave a little smile.  Then she told me this story through tears she could not hide.

?You never knew your uncle, Ira was his name.  We were close, so very close.

We knew each other?s every thought.  He gave me this little jack-knife, his favorite.

Then that last day came.  The bugle called - he answered.  To serve his native land. 

Just a boy of twenty-one.  Khaki clothed, a duffle bag, a perceptive smile,

He said his last good-byes, and kissed us all.  Then walked down the road, turned - and waved his hand.

Through the distance from the house, to where he stood, a million memories surged our hearts.

I could not see his eyes, but there were tears I just knew. A train whistled - it would be taking us far apart.  And yet he lingered near the gate.  Looking back, again he?d wave his hand. 

He?d turn and walk then look back again.  At his home, his family

He would fight for us - die for us, in a war he didn?t understand.

And so he went to join the marching boots - The Winnipeg Grenadiers. 

He?d wear his uniform well. Do what must be done.

Hong Kong! Where was Hong Kong?  A million miles - maybe more

From the sounds, the voices so dear, so loving to his ears.

Now your Grandma has his medals, I have his jack-knife, memories, a few pictures,

Ira - standing with his horses.  Ira and I standing by the house.  Ira - a portrait in uniform. 

Ira! Ira!  A telegram - Ira lost his life.  A buddy of his had gone with him. 

He said he saw Ira die.  He said he?d tell us one day.  When he could.  When he found the words. 

When - when?  No, he?s never told us.  And years have gone by.  Private Ira Pontius. 

His name is inscribed on a monument for those with unknown graves.  No Flander?s Field.  No cross. 

No poppies blowing.  And that?s why today your mother cried.?

No, I never knew my Uncle, but I have two brothers of my own.

So on this day I remember my mother?s story.  My mother?s tears.

I wear a poppy, bow my head, in respect to days I?d never known.  I remember, yes, I remember. 

But most of all, pray for peace so my brothers won?t have to answer the bugle?s call. 

3)Like the Israelites in our scripture, we remember our faith story as well.  In our Psalm, we are called to tell the stories of God at work among us ? stories of strength, forgiveness, grace and love.  To repeat these stories till our children and grandchildren can say every line, sing every song, and know what is coming ahead in the plot.  We remember together. 

    In Edward Hays? story The Ethiopian Tattoo Shop, a cosmic pilgrim travels to the holy city of Jerusalem and enters an ancient shop off one of the narrow, stoned paved streets in the old part of the city.

The man asked him, ?Do you want a tattoo??  A tattoo? For a pilgrim from Kansas?

?Does it hurt,? he asked.

?You feel nothing! For three genera­tions my family has been tattooing our people who come to Jerusalem on pilgrimage. Not only are the designs ancient, so are the methods. I will tattoo you as my father, my grandfa­ther, and my great-grandfather tat­tooed ? without pain!?

?Do I take some drug??

?No,? he replied. ?I will tell you a story, and it will absorb you so that there will be no room in you for pain. Close your eyes and listen. Each story is not long, but you will see how it can fill every corner of your consciousness.?  And he began...

When the night (and the stories) came to an end and dawn tiptoed into the tattoo shop, the pilgrim was told that his entire body was covered with the invisible images of the stories and their symbols. ?They are indelibly tattooed on your inner self,? he said. ?They will be a part of you as long as you exist ? which is forever.?

The stories, oh the stories of our remembering, of our faith, let us tell them until they are indelibly tattooed on our children?s inner self.

4)As well as remember, we are called to hope.  Those of us with nieces, nephews, children at work or home, or grandchildren, can relate to this young woman?s story.

O how I dream of my unborn baby. How I dream of the time her eyes first recognize me, the hesitation as she smiles for the first time, the surprise at the sound of her giggle, her first shaky grasp of my fingers. And when I think like that, I think it has all been worth it. 0 how I long for what she could do in the world, the words that she?ll use, the expressions of love she will adopt, the awe she will experi­ence at the world. And I worry about preparing her for life: the violence that will scar her innocence, the pain that will teach her about love. But my anticipation outweighs my fear, my hope for her overwhelms my anxiety, because I love her already. My living now, is full of expectation because of this baby not yet arrived. And so, I wait in hope.

5)So let us wait in hope as we remember all who suffer because there is no peace.  As we remember all who sacrificed that there might be peace.  As we remember all who work still for peace.  We remember the story of our faith, how God worked through history and continues today in our lives.  We remember those who dare to hope even in difficult  circumstances because they know that God is with them.  We re-member so we may hope with them.