I voted. I wrote a funeral sermon.
All right, I did a few more things. I took my computer to the computer doctor, and luckily, they were able to fix it quickly. I wrote a funeral bulletin, and an annual report which had something to do with the church as a community, and I met with another family about a funeral, which will take place on Friday.
But in my mind, it comes down to this: I voted. I wrote a funeral sermon.
I don't know much (or anything) about the politics of the person at whose funeral I will preach tomorrow. I know that she liked Ronald Reagan, because he said, "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!" She was a German immigrant, had lived through World War Ii, and was sponsored to come to the United States by a Lutheran Church in Minneapolis.
What I know is that she taught her children to pray. What I know is that she liked to sing, to swim, to bike, to garden. What is know is that she is inscribed on the palms of God's hands.
While I was writing this evening, I had one ear on the election results. We were trying to find out about a friend who was a candidate for state office in another state. We heard that there was a barrage of negative ads in the final days of the campaign, accusing our friend of being self-serving. (He had served long ago in another state legislature.) We know our friend to be a person of integrity, the opposite of self-serving. You might not agree with his politics, but he is NOT self-serving. That is politics, I suppose.
Earlier today, I voted. I voted because I do think it is important. I want to create more equitable communities, healthier communities. And, I'll confess, as much as I want my candidates to win, I am just as jazzed by the fact that my state consistently has the highest voter turnout in the nation. I'm proud to see high school students working as election judges. Still, I vote because I have hope: hope that my community can become a better place, where justice and kindness will flourish. When my candidate loses, my hopes are wounded.
Today, I voted. But tonight I wrote a funeral sermon, and another kind of hope. I wrote about the hope for the eternal city, where love has the last word, where death is no more. I wrote about the hope for the crystal river, where the saints will gather, where we will meet again, singing.