Into Your Hands I Commit My Spirit
This is the sermon I preached on Saturday, March 13, 2010 for one of the saints at Epiphany whom God called to home last week. Though you may not have known Ken, the question asked of you remains the same, "Are you ready to face the monster?"
Psalm 31:5 Into your hands I commit my spirit; redeem me, O LORD, the God of truth.
When we were little children, we had to sleep with the light on because we were afraid – afraid of the monsters living in the closet or under the bed. Monsters that would grab us as soon as Mom and Dad left the room or the light went out. So we would lie there with our eyes wide open, afraid of what that monster might do as soon as our eyelids closed and we drifted off to sleep.
Fortunately, we are all grown up now. But, in a very real sense, there is still a monster lurking in our closet that makes it very hard to be at peace. And this one isn’t imaginary. It is all too real – life’s ultimate, inevitable realty. It is a monster that everyone has to face. The monster of death comes out of the closet every time we have to go to a funeral. It comes close and breathes on our neck when a person our own age dies. It touches us and reminds us he is here when someone close to us has died. One day the monster will catch every one of us and throw our bodies into the casket.
Are you ready to face the monster of death?
You know Ken. He was always concerned about other people. He wanted his children to call him to make sure they had arrived home safely. Even when he was in hospice care, he wanted them to call. During my devotions with Ken in his home the last few years we spoke about his health, about his beloved Carol whom he missed terribly, about his cancer, about Angel, about his family, and especially about those dentures. Boy, he did not like those dentures.
The last time I visited with Ken in his home, it was on a Thursday. He was worried that when he went to the doctor on Friday he would be told he had a new cancer – a death sentence. But he was even more concerned about how his family would take the news if he had another cancer.
But as concerned as he was about you, his children and grandchildren, he was even more concerned about your spiritual safety – about your faith in Jesus as your Savior. We talked about that a lot. He so desperately wanted you to have what he had, to enjoy what he enjoyed, to have the peace that dwelt in him even as he was dying. He was so proud of the faith that he and Carol instilled in you through Epiphany Lutheran and he just wanted you to continue in that faith. To make sure that you believed in Jesus as your Savior from sin so that you can go where he is now. To be with him and Carol. To be with your Savior in the paradise of heaven.
The monster of death will eventually grab hold of each one of us. Are you ready to face death? Are you ready to face the monster in your closet? Ken was.
The devotion text that I had with Ken on Monday morning in hospice was a verse from Psalm 31: “Into your hands I commit my spirit; redeem me, O LORD, the God of truth.” These words are familiar to every Christian because Jesus used them as His dying prayer on the cross. They are loved by every Christian because we can use them as our dying prayer, too. It was Ken’s dying prayer, to commit his spirit into the Lord’s hands for safekeeping.
Committing one’s spirit into the Lord’s hands is not a fatalistic act of helpless resignation. It is an act of calm confidence that comes from faith in Jesus.
Every time I spoke with Ken in our visits, he talked about heaven. He wanted to go there so greatly. He was old. He was tired. He was lonely. He wanted to be with Jesus. He wanted to be with Carol. It wasn’t a helpless resignation. It was a calm confidence. He knew what was waiting for him on the other side of death. He knew that he was a stranger here and heaven was his home.
But still he was a little scared. Death is scary. Because it is not natural. It is a terrible rending of the soul from the body. And so there was a quiver in his voice and a few tears as he talked that Thursday about the possibility of another cancer. I told him that many times we look at something like cancer as something to be afraid of and complain to God about. I told him that if had had this cancer, it may be God’s way of calling him home to heaven sooner. To remove him from this valley of death to place him in the green pastures and quiet waters of paradise. To take him from this world of pain and suffering and place him before the throne of the Lamb of God in heaven where there is no weeping or crying. And I could just see the relief that washed over his face.
And by God’s grace, He used that cancer to grant Ken his prayer and give him a blessed death in the Lord.
But Ken’s faith wasn’t just at the end of his life. God had blessed Ken with a faith from little on – since the Holy Spirit had called Ken to faith through the Sacrament of Holy Baptism in his parent’s congregation in Milwaukee. With that splash of water and God’s Word, the Holy Spirit made Ken a dear child of His heavenly Father.
The last time Ken was in church he was beaming. He was so proud. His prayer had been answered – at least for that day. All of his family were gathered together in the Lord’s house to celebrate His great granddaughter’s baptism. That day we witnessed the beginning of faith. Today we witness the blessed end of that faith. All in Jesus. All to His glory.
Ken confirmed his baptismal faith in his confirmation promises as he stood before the Lord’s altar all those years ago at Epiphany. That was the first time Ken received the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper. It was Christ’s body and blood that Ken received as he knelt at the Lord’s Table to taste forgiveness, to drink in Christ’s sacrifice, to be strengthened for life. On Monday, after our devotion I asked Ken if he would like to receive the Lord’s Supper again. The drugs were making him sleepy during our devotion, but he woke up right away and said, “Oh, yeah, Pastor.” And what a privilege for me to give a dying child of God, the very body and blood of the Son of God one last time.
Ken loved to sit in the pews at Epiphany before the beautiful stained glass window of Jesus the Good Shepherd. He confessed that he was a poor, miserable sinner. That he was a sheep who liked to stray. That he was a lost son who like to waste his heavenly Father’s inheritance. Even when Ken could no longer come to church, he desired to confess his sins. When I would ask him, “Ken is this your confession,” he would answer with a little tear in his eye, “Yes, Pastor.”
But Ken heard the voice of His Good Shepherd calling him, restoring him, forgiving him. The Good Shepherd who laid down His life for His sheep. Other shepherds are afraid to walk through dark valleys and dangerous places. But your Good Shepherd has already overpowered the enemies of Christ who come as wolves in sheep’s clothing. He has put the monster of death in chains when the Creator of life died on the cross. The sacrificial Lamb of Jesus has conquered the roaring lion of Satan. Now you can be like Ken. Through faith in Jesus you have nothing to be afraid of.
“Into your hands I commend my spirit.” The next time you hear those words in church will be in three weeks on Good Friday. The King dies for His subjects. The Shepherd lays down His life for sheep who love to wander. The Creator allows His creatures to crucify Him. The Savior that is shunned, ridiculed, mocked, spat upon by Jews, by Romans, by you, by me.
He died for you – He did not wait for you to die for Him. He came for you – He did not wait for you to come. He took your sins – He did not wait for you to give them. And then He suffered for you, was forsaken for you, hung for you, and died for you. All so that you might be with Him in heaven. As He dies He prays, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” And on Good Friday, like today, there is mourning, there is sorrow, there is darkness.
But all of that changes with Christ’s resurrection on Easter Sunday. The nightlight that kept the monster away in your childhood sleep has become another light that keeps the monster of death away. It is the bright light of the resurrection that shines from the open Easter tomb.
For although today is a day of sorrow, it is also a day of rejoicing. For Ken’s spirit is with the Lord. His suffering is over. He is in paradise. He is no longer dying. He has been given life eternal. He is no longer lonely. He is with the Jesus, with Carol, and with all the other saints and the angels around the throne of the Good Shepherd.
There’s nothing to be afraid of. The monster of death has been chained by the Lord of life. The nightlight from the resurrection tomb shines brightly. For Jesus died on the cross and rose alive from the grave so that as Ken died we know He is alive with His resurrected Lord. For they both prayed the same prayer, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” May their prayer be our prayer, today, tomorrow and on our death bed. Amen.
Psalm 31:5 Into your hands I commit my spirit; redeem me, O LORD, the God of truth.
Fortunately, we are all grown up now. But, in a very real sense, there is still a monster lurking in our closet that makes it very hard to be at peace. And this one isn’t imaginary. It is all too real – life’s ultimate, inevitable realty. It is a monster that everyone has to face. The monster of death comes out of the closet every time we have to go to a funeral. It comes close and breathes on our neck when a person our own age dies. It touches us and reminds us he is here when someone close to us has died. One day the monster will catch every one of us and throw our bodies into the casket.
Are you ready to face the monster of death?
You know Ken. He was always concerned about other people. He wanted his children to call him to make sure they had arrived home safely. Even when he was in hospice care, he wanted them to call. During my devotions with Ken in his home the last few years we spoke about his health, about his beloved Carol whom he missed terribly, about his cancer, about Angel, about his family, and especially about those dentures. Boy, he did not like those dentures.
The last time I visited with Ken in his home, it was on a Thursday. He was worried that when he went to the doctor on Friday he would be told he had a new cancer – a death sentence. But he was even more concerned about how his family would take the news if he had another cancer.
But as concerned as he was about you, his children and grandchildren, he was even more concerned about your spiritual safety – about your faith in Jesus as your Savior. We talked about that a lot. He so desperately wanted you to have what he had, to enjoy what he enjoyed, to have the peace that dwelt in him even as he was dying. He was so proud of the faith that he and Carol instilled in you through Epiphany Lutheran and he just wanted you to continue in that faith. To make sure that you believed in Jesus as your Savior from sin so that you can go where he is now. To be with him and Carol. To be with your Savior in the paradise of heaven.
The monster of death will eventually grab hold of each one of us. Are you ready to face death? Are you ready to face the monster in your closet? Ken was.
The devotion text that I had with Ken on Monday morning in hospice was a verse from Psalm 31: “Into your hands I commit my spirit; redeem me, O LORD, the God of truth.” These words are familiar to every Christian because Jesus used them as His dying prayer on the cross. They are loved by every Christian because we can use them as our dying prayer, too. It was Ken’s dying prayer, to commit his spirit into the Lord’s hands for safekeeping.
Committing one’s spirit into the Lord’s hands is not a fatalistic act of helpless resignation. It is an act of calm confidence that comes from faith in Jesus.
Every time I spoke with Ken in our visits, he talked about heaven. He wanted to go there so greatly. He was old. He was tired. He was lonely. He wanted to be with Jesus. He wanted to be with Carol. It wasn’t a helpless resignation. It was a calm confidence. He knew what was waiting for him on the other side of death. He knew that he was a stranger here and heaven was his home.
But still he was a little scared. Death is scary. Because it is not natural. It is a terrible rending of the soul from the body. And so there was a quiver in his voice and a few tears as he talked that Thursday about the possibility of another cancer. I told him that many times we look at something like cancer as something to be afraid of and complain to God about. I told him that if had had this cancer, it may be God’s way of calling him home to heaven sooner. To remove him from this valley of death to place him in the green pastures and quiet waters of paradise. To take him from this world of pain and suffering and place him before the throne of the Lamb of God in heaven where there is no weeping or crying. And I could just see the relief that washed over his face.
And by God’s grace, He used that cancer to grant Ken his prayer and give him a blessed death in the Lord.
But Ken’s faith wasn’t just at the end of his life. God had blessed Ken with a faith from little on – since the Holy Spirit had called Ken to faith through the Sacrament of Holy Baptism in his parent’s congregation in Milwaukee. With that splash of water and God’s Word, the Holy Spirit made Ken a dear child of His heavenly Father.
The last time Ken was in church he was beaming. He was so proud. His prayer had been answered – at least for that day. All of his family were gathered together in the Lord’s house to celebrate His great granddaughter’s baptism. That day we witnessed the beginning of faith. Today we witness the blessed end of that faith. All in Jesus. All to His glory.
Ken confirmed his baptismal faith in his confirmation promises as he stood before the Lord’s altar all those years ago at Epiphany. That was the first time Ken received the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper. It was Christ’s body and blood that Ken received as he knelt at the Lord’s Table to taste forgiveness, to drink in Christ’s sacrifice, to be strengthened for life. On Monday, after our devotion I asked Ken if he would like to receive the Lord’s Supper again. The drugs were making him sleepy during our devotion, but he woke up right away and said, “Oh, yeah, Pastor.” And what a privilege for me to give a dying child of God, the very body and blood of the Son of God one last time.
Ken loved to sit in the pews at Epiphany before the beautiful stained glass window of Jesus the Good Shepherd. He confessed that he was a poor, miserable sinner. That he was a sheep who liked to stray. That he was a lost son who like to waste his heavenly Father’s inheritance. Even when Ken could no longer come to church, he desired to confess his sins. When I would ask him, “Ken is this your confession,” he would answer with a little tear in his eye, “Yes, Pastor.”
But Ken heard the voice of His Good Shepherd calling him, restoring him, forgiving him. The Good Shepherd who laid down His life for His sheep. Other shepherds are afraid to walk through dark valleys and dangerous places. But your Good Shepherd has already overpowered the enemies of Christ who come as wolves in sheep’s clothing. He has put the monster of death in chains when the Creator of life died on the cross. The sacrificial Lamb of Jesus has conquered the roaring lion of Satan. Now you can be like Ken. Through faith in Jesus you have nothing to be afraid of.
“Into your hands I commend my spirit.” The next time you hear those words in church will be in three weeks on Good Friday. The King dies for His subjects. The Shepherd lays down His life for sheep who love to wander. The Creator allows His creatures to crucify Him. The Savior that is shunned, ridiculed, mocked, spat upon by Jews, by Romans, by you, by me.
He died for you – He did not wait for you to die for Him. He came for you – He did not wait for you to come. He took your sins – He did not wait for you to give them. And then He suffered for you, was forsaken for you, hung for you, and died for you. All so that you might be with Him in heaven. As He dies He prays, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” And on Good Friday, like today, there is mourning, there is sorrow, there is darkness.
But all of that changes with Christ’s resurrection on Easter Sunday. The nightlight that kept the monster away in your childhood sleep has become another light that keeps the monster of death away. It is the bright light of the resurrection that shines from the open Easter tomb.
For although today is a day of sorrow, it is also a day of rejoicing. For Ken’s spirit is with the Lord. His suffering is over. He is in paradise. He is no longer dying. He has been given life eternal. He is no longer lonely. He is with the Jesus, with Carol, and with all the other saints and the angels around the throne of the Good Shepherd.
There’s nothing to be afraid of. The monster of death has been chained by the Lord of life. The nightlight from the resurrection tomb shines brightly. For Jesus died on the cross and rose alive from the grave so that as Ken died we know He is alive with His resurrected Lord. For they both prayed the same prayer, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” May their prayer be our prayer, today, tomorrow and on our death bed. Amen.
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