Gertrude Baron
(February 11, 1919-August 12, 2009)
August 15, 2009
St. Mark’s Lutheran Church, Fargo
Micah 6.60-8; Psalm 100
I am going to be about as honest as I can be: I am very honored to be the one to preach and preside at this service. I am not happy that Gertrude has left us. Not by any means. But I am happy that I was able to be available to do this service and to celebrate the remarkable life of this remarkable woman.
And she was remarkable. Even if you knew nothing of her personal life, even if you had met her only once, you knew that Gertrude Baron was remarkable. She was, to put it as simply as possible, a class act. She exuded class and refinement. And she had a wonderful perspective on life. She did things in a way that was a little different from the rest of us.
Last week, I shared Holy Communion with Gertrude at MeritCare. She was not feeling well that day and some of the sparkle just wasn’t there on that morning. But still, we had, as usual, a very nice conversation. At one point she remarked about my weight loss. Over the last two years, I lost about 75 pounds. At first, in her very typical kind of way, Gertrude was concerned that maybe I wasn’t well. But I said, “You know, Gertrude, I feel better than I have in many years.”
She smiled and said in that way of her, a sparkle in her eyes, “You know, life is always better skinnier.”
For all the remarkable aspects of this woman, for all that sparkle and dazzle that she reflected to those around her, she was, underneath it all, surprisingly a very humble woman. There was a sense of true humility in her. It was there just as present in her as her quiet strength and noble character were. It was just a part of who she was.
In these past few days, I have listened to many people who have shared their thoughts about Gertrude with me—about what a wonderful woman she was and how much they are going to miss her. Fro those of who knew her and cared for her, a woman like Gertrude leaves a very large absence in our lives. She herself might be surprised by that statement. Which only endears her all the more to those of who cared for her.
When her niece, Mary, and I met to discuss this service, Mary said we needed to use the two scriptures we just heard, the reading from Micah and Psalm 100. Both, in their own way, perfectly reflect who Gertrude was and her relationship with God.
First, we have Micah. In this great reading, we find a simple formula. We find that God does not require over-the-top things from us. God does not require grand sacrifices or spectacular displays of devotion.
What does God require? God wants us to do justice, to love kindness and to walk humbly with our God. Those were ideals Gertrude certainly lived out in her life.
For all the sparkle we saw in those eyes, for all the glamour she seemed to posses, ultimately she was a woman who, by her actions and her life, did justice, loved kindness and truly walked humbled with her God. Those of us who knew her and saw that side of her were often amazed by the strength and the spiritual fortitude she possessed. And that spiritually sound, wonderfully humble side of her perfectly balanced the shine and the polished grace she possessed.
Then, we have Psalm 100. This Psalm is the psalm that is used traditionally on the Third Sunday of Easter, which is often called Jubilate Sunday, especially among German Lutherans. The joy we find in this psalm is a very unique kind of joy. Joy is a word we find again and again in scripture, but it doesn’t always mean the same thing. The joy that is experienced in this psalm is very much like the joy of Easter. It is a joy that comes to us not as a kind of joy of anticipation such as we experience in Advent, waiting expectantly for the Christ Child. Nor is it the joy we experience elsewhere—a kind of glowing, fuzzy happy feeling we occasionally feel when everything fine.
Rather an Easter Joy is an experience of sorrow being turned into joy. And that kind of joy is the most exquisite kind of joy. In those moments when we have known sorry—deep, clenching sorrow—we often kind ourselves amazed when joy comes back into our lives. We find ourselves almost breathless at the startling reversal of fortune we find when our sorrows turn into joy.
This psalm of joyfulness and gladness is probably the most appropriate scripture we have to celebrate the life of Gertrude Baron. For Gertrude lived a life of true joy. That doesn’t mean she didn’t have heartaches and pains and troubles in her life. She did. Gertrude knew pain in her life. She knew disappointment. She knew frustration. And just because she knew joy, didn’t mean she went around all the time with a grin on her face and a constantly happy-go-lucky attitude. The joy that Gertrude knew was very much an Easter joy. It was a joy that came from sorrow. It was a joy that turned pain and sorrow upside down. It was a defiant joy. It was a joy that said, as Gertrude herself would say, sorrow will not win out. Pain will not triumph. Frustration will not be the last word. The last word will always, always be joy.
Gertrude had true joy and gladness in her knowledge that her God was good, that her God’s mercy was everlasting, that her God’s faithfulness truly did endure from age to age. We saw that joy in her God and in the simple things of this life come out in remarkable ways.
Last August, I was covering here at St. Mark's. On that hot and very windy Sunday as I was walking into church, Naomi Franek was helping Gertrude out of her car while we talked about how hot and windy it was. At one point I said, (I have no idea where this came from), “Can you imagine the havoc a day like this did to women in the 1960s with those ratted up beehive/bouffants?”
Gertrude laughed. “Some of us still have ratted up bouffants,” she said.
I, in my typical way, said, “Bouffants! Now that was a classy style for women. Every woman looked good in a bouffant.”
To which Gertrude said, “That is so true! I agree completely.”
Of course I couldn’t let that matter settle there, so I said, “I am going to say a prayer this morning to the Lord to bring back the bouffant.”
Gertrude, not to one-upped, said, “I pray that prayer every single day.”
To some people, this interchange might seem frivolous.
To some, who might not have known Gertrude, this story would seem maybe somewhat fluffy. But for those of us who knew Gertrude, we knew that in those simple things, like a happy exchange of words about something as simple and, for us, as beautiful as bouffants, that was nothing more than a simple outpouring of joy into our lives. In a sense, this is what it means to walk humbly. In sense, this is what it means to sing joyfully. In a sense, this is what it means to take joy in the little things God grants in this life.
I am grateful on this morning that, for Gertrude, her joy is now fully realized. In this moment, every one of her sorrows has been turned upside down. Gertrude has entered those gates with thanksgiving. She has gone into those courts with praise. Joy is now the one emotion that will never be taken from her again.
As we go from here this morning, we do so knowing that, yes, yet again, Gertrude was right. Sorrow does not win out in the end. Pain does not triumph.
Gertrude was right. The last word is the one word should that sustains us and keeps us going.
Joy.
(February 11, 1919-August 12, 2009)
August 15, 2009
St. Mark’s Lutheran Church, Fargo
Micah 6.60-8; Psalm 100
I am going to be about as honest as I can be: I am very honored to be the one to preach and preside at this service. I am not happy that Gertrude has left us. Not by any means. But I am happy that I was able to be available to do this service and to celebrate the remarkable life of this remarkable woman.
And she was remarkable. Even if you knew nothing of her personal life, even if you had met her only once, you knew that Gertrude Baron was remarkable. She was, to put it as simply as possible, a class act. She exuded class and refinement. And she had a wonderful perspective on life. She did things in a way that was a little different from the rest of us.
Last week, I shared Holy Communion with Gertrude at MeritCare. She was not feeling well that day and some of the sparkle just wasn’t there on that morning. But still, we had, as usual, a very nice conversation. At one point she remarked about my weight loss. Over the last two years, I lost about 75 pounds. At first, in her very typical kind of way, Gertrude was concerned that maybe I wasn’t well. But I said, “You know, Gertrude, I feel better than I have in many years.”
She smiled and said in that way of her, a sparkle in her eyes, “You know, life is always better skinnier.”
For all the remarkable aspects of this woman, for all that sparkle and dazzle that she reflected to those around her, she was, underneath it all, surprisingly a very humble woman. There was a sense of true humility in her. It was there just as present in her as her quiet strength and noble character were. It was just a part of who she was.
In these past few days, I have listened to many people who have shared their thoughts about Gertrude with me—about what a wonderful woman she was and how much they are going to miss her. Fro those of who knew her and cared for her, a woman like Gertrude leaves a very large absence in our lives. She herself might be surprised by that statement. Which only endears her all the more to those of who cared for her.
When her niece, Mary, and I met to discuss this service, Mary said we needed to use the two scriptures we just heard, the reading from Micah and Psalm 100. Both, in their own way, perfectly reflect who Gertrude was and her relationship with God.
First, we have Micah. In this great reading, we find a simple formula. We find that God does not require over-the-top things from us. God does not require grand sacrifices or spectacular displays of devotion.
What does God require? God wants us to do justice, to love kindness and to walk humbly with our God. Those were ideals Gertrude certainly lived out in her life.
For all the sparkle we saw in those eyes, for all the glamour she seemed to posses, ultimately she was a woman who, by her actions and her life, did justice, loved kindness and truly walked humbled with her God. Those of us who knew her and saw that side of her were often amazed by the strength and the spiritual fortitude she possessed. And that spiritually sound, wonderfully humble side of her perfectly balanced the shine and the polished grace she possessed.
Then, we have Psalm 100. This Psalm is the psalm that is used traditionally on the Third Sunday of Easter, which is often called Jubilate Sunday, especially among German Lutherans. The joy we find in this psalm is a very unique kind of joy. Joy is a word we find again and again in scripture, but it doesn’t always mean the same thing. The joy that is experienced in this psalm is very much like the joy of Easter. It is a joy that comes to us not as a kind of joy of anticipation such as we experience in Advent, waiting expectantly for the Christ Child. Nor is it the joy we experience elsewhere—a kind of glowing, fuzzy happy feeling we occasionally feel when everything fine.
Rather an Easter Joy is an experience of sorrow being turned into joy. And that kind of joy is the most exquisite kind of joy. In those moments when we have known sorry—deep, clenching sorrow—we often kind ourselves amazed when joy comes back into our lives. We find ourselves almost breathless at the startling reversal of fortune we find when our sorrows turn into joy.
This psalm of joyfulness and gladness is probably the most appropriate scripture we have to celebrate the life of Gertrude Baron. For Gertrude lived a life of true joy. That doesn’t mean she didn’t have heartaches and pains and troubles in her life. She did. Gertrude knew pain in her life. She knew disappointment. She knew frustration. And just because she knew joy, didn’t mean she went around all the time with a grin on her face and a constantly happy-go-lucky attitude. The joy that Gertrude knew was very much an Easter joy. It was a joy that came from sorrow. It was a joy that turned pain and sorrow upside down. It was a defiant joy. It was a joy that said, as Gertrude herself would say, sorrow will not win out. Pain will not triumph. Frustration will not be the last word. The last word will always, always be joy.
Gertrude had true joy and gladness in her knowledge that her God was good, that her God’s mercy was everlasting, that her God’s faithfulness truly did endure from age to age. We saw that joy in her God and in the simple things of this life come out in remarkable ways.
Last August, I was covering here at St. Mark's. On that hot and very windy Sunday as I was walking into church, Naomi Franek was helping Gertrude out of her car while we talked about how hot and windy it was. At one point I said, (I have no idea where this came from), “Can you imagine the havoc a day like this did to women in the 1960s with those ratted up beehive/bouffants?”
Gertrude laughed. “Some of us still have ratted up bouffants,” she said.
I, in my typical way, said, “Bouffants! Now that was a classy style for women. Every woman looked good in a bouffant.”
To which Gertrude said, “That is so true! I agree completely.”
Of course I couldn’t let that matter settle there, so I said, “I am going to say a prayer this morning to the Lord to bring back the bouffant.”
Gertrude, not to one-upped, said, “I pray that prayer every single day.”
To some people, this interchange might seem frivolous.
To some, who might not have known Gertrude, this story would seem maybe somewhat fluffy. But for those of us who knew Gertrude, we knew that in those simple things, like a happy exchange of words about something as simple and, for us, as beautiful as bouffants, that was nothing more than a simple outpouring of joy into our lives. In a sense, this is what it means to walk humbly. In sense, this is what it means to sing joyfully. In a sense, this is what it means to take joy in the little things God grants in this life.
I am grateful on this morning that, for Gertrude, her joy is now fully realized. In this moment, every one of her sorrows has been turned upside down. Gertrude has entered those gates with thanksgiving. She has gone into those courts with praise. Joy is now the one emotion that will never be taken from her again.
As we go from here this morning, we do so knowing that, yes, yet again, Gertrude was right. Sorrow does not win out in the end. Pain does not triumph.
Gertrude was right. The last word is the one word should that sustains us and keeps us going.
Joy.
1 comment:
Your sermons have become more passionate as has your delivery and I love it!
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Jenifer
Wireless Home Alarm Security Systems
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