River Road Church Baptist

Service of Remembrance

December 21, 2003

Rev. Barbara J. Massey

“Memory - A Safe House”

Henri Nouwen, one of the most profound spiritual writers of our time, spoke of his family’s experience, gathered around their mother’s bed, in her dying hours. He said, “Our prayer was easy, free, spontaneous and natural. It offered us words of greater power and meaning than any of the words we could have said to one another. It provided a sense of togetherness that was more given than made, and it created a place in which we could rest together.”

He goes on to say that their prayers together became the place that they could be together without fear or apprehension. They became like a “safe house” in which they could dwell, communicating to each other without having to grope for inadequate, self-made expressions

As this family said prayers together and in this way comforted each other, these prayers formed the “walls” of a new house, a safe structure in which they felt free to move closer to each other. Their memories of their mother, as she died, became a “safe house” in which to dwell.

Loss, as painful as it is, is a reality. Loss begins at birth. We lose the safety of the womb. We start to school and lose the safety of our family. We grow into adulthood and lose the carefree times of childhood. We relocate and lose the familiarity of places we have known for years, of people and friends who have been our support and mainstay. We become ill and lose our physical independence. We suffer the griefs of parents, children, friends, dying. Though these losses are part of the ordinary life, they cut deep and settle themselves into our hearts and minds and reside steadfastly there, though we seem “okay” on the exterior.

With any loss, there is memory. Even with positive memories, it is difficult, if not impossible, to go there in your mind and heart for very long. We approach gingerly and with reserve, thinking, “I can’t go there.” The hurt is too deep. The memory, too strong. The absence, too great. The pain, too intense. Yet, “going there” becomes a possibility, as we create “a safe house” which we may enter in the face of our pain.

In the days, weeks, months and even years, following the deaths of my beloved parents, to whom I was very close, even the approaching of a memory was as far as I could mentally or emotionally begin to go. I would have to short circuit. The pain was debilitating. I needed, yes, even wanted, a “safe place” to go in my mind.

We can become desperate in our search for this refuge—a place to meet our pain head on—a place to wait for God and to find oneself. A “safe house,” if you will.

There is a story about a man and his wife who visit a little chapel, nestled in a large, downtown church. He says that sometimes he and his wife are the only ones there. The man says in this setting, where there are no others, it gives him a chance to notice details—the light in the stained glass, the carvings on the altar, the tattered little book of matches for lighting the candles. To this couple this chapel has become a place of refuge, a place of shelter, a safe place.

In the safe house of our memory we create a place of refuge. There we can pay attention to detail—the warmth of days past, the etchings of life’s experiences, even the tattered, worn memories with ragged edges. We can embrace the past. We can move toward the light of the future. We are comforted and renewed.

Psalm 27 reads as if it were written by someone desperate for refuge, for a “safe house” in the Lord’s house. Hear these selected verses from this psalm of David:

“The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?

“When evildoers assail me to devour my flesh—my adversaries and my foes—they shall stumble and fall. Though an army encamp against me, my heart shall not fear; though war rise up against me, yet will I be confident.

“One thing I asked of the Lord, that will I seek after: to live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his holy temple.

“For he will hide me in his shelter in the day of trouble; he will conceal me under the cover of his tent; he will set me high on a rock.

“Now my head is lifted up above my enemies all around me, and I will offer in his tent sacrifices with shouts of joy; I will sing and make melody unto the Lord.

“I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living; Wait for the Lord; be strong and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord.”

Memory is healing. It can become our shelter in the day of trouble. Memory can be a “safe house or room”—a secure, safe place to go for a healing visit. It’s a place to wait for those we miss and mourn, but not only that. It is a place to wait for God and find oneself. It is a place to grieve, yes, but it can also be the place where we, as the psalmist says, “sing and make melody unto the Lord.”

 

The “safe house” is not always an ornate room, filled to capacity. It can be very sparse. But it is created from the stuff of real life—a little place that the owner can claim and know well as a private and intimate room of collected thoughts and relational memorabilia. The memories are not always pleasant, but some are. We learn to be comfortable enough with those that are not. We go to this “safe house” when we choose. We stay as long as we want. We think on all we see and experience there. We gain strength and courage to continue the journey. Memory can be healing and welcoming. We can dwell in the house of memory until we are able to absorb what it is that we need to find there. Let us be about creating a safe place, “a safe house,” a place that can be revisited when memory is all that remains.

It’s time to go. We depart the “safe house.” We ease back into the world, and in these holiday times, back into Christmas and into the holidays. And on the doorpost as we exit our “safe house” we see and read these words of David in Psalm 27, “Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait on the Lord.”

We wait. We are stronger. We take courage. And we are safe.

Amen.