I got the word the day before yesterday that Reverend John Mahler died, peacefully in his sleep, early on Wednesday morning, January 17, 2024. Pastor John served churches in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania, in Owego New York, and in Vermont. He was an exemplary man of God.

Prior to going to seminary, I was an intern at First Presbyterian Union Church, Owego NY, from 1977-79, during Pastor John’s ministry there. I knew I was called to ministry but was pretty clueless about what pastoral ministry was all about. Those two years, under Pastor John’s direction, were so formative for me. His mentorship, his instruction, his manner of correcting, with grace and compassion, the things I got wrong: these made such a difference, changing the way I thought about seminary, teaching me what pastoral ministry is about. 45 years later, I am still so very grateful.

I remember in August of 1977, there was a graveside service. I had never been to one, let alone spoken at one. It was hot that afternoon, a typical upstate muggy late summer day. Pastor John was all dressed in black, complete with a Geneva gown and a stole. I was wearing what would eventually become my standard uniform: black slacks, white shirt, dark pullover vest, dark tie.

(I was still figuring out my uniform, in those days. I would not have chosen to wear a tie, but a month earlier in the church office Pastor John had looked at me, and paused, and then said, “If you want people to take you seriously as a ministry student, you need to wear a tie.” I could tell there was no scold in his voice: just a reflection on the reality that, for better or worse, what you wear is part of the message. So at the graveside I was wearing a tie.)

I could feel little trickles of sweat making their way down my spine, and as the people were gathering at the grave, I offered a quiet aside to Pastor John about how hot it was. He was wearing a heavier outfit than I was, so I knew he had to be sweating a lot, but I was the one complaining. He looked at me and said, “The best advice I can give you about this is, decide that it doesn’t bother you.”

So I decided that it didn’t bother me. Pastor John started the service. His rich voice carried easily to the back row of the mourners. He had told me the day before that I had to come to the graveside, to watch and learn, and he had assigned me two passages to read out of the little green 1946 Book of Common Worship that Presbyterians used back then: one of the scripture readings, one of the prayers. As I mentioned a minute ago, I had never spoken at a service before. At the proper moment, Pastor John looked over at me, and gave me just enough nod to make sure I knew he was handing me the baton.

I read the text of Psalm 130: “Out of the depths have I cried unto Thee, O Lord: Lord, hear my voice” in all its King James glory. I had expected to be anxious about speaking like this in public: but the text of the psalm picked me up and carried me, and I read the text with earnest compassion. I thought to myself, “Hey, that sounded pretty good.”

Pastor John preached, reflecting on Jesus’ words to Martha: “I am the resurrection and the life.” His graveside sermon was only four or five minutes long, reminding us that in the face of death we turn to Jesus, because he is the one who holds us, redeems us, comforts us in life and in death: he is the resurrection and the life. Then he prayed the pastoral prayer, and drew us all deeply into the presence of the Lord with his heartfelt words of intercession.

He began the words of committal: “we commend the soul of our brother departed … earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.” Then he again nodded to me.

I prayed the words of the shorter prayer that comes next, straight out of the book: “O Lord, support us all the day long, until the shadows lengthen and the evening comes, and the busy world is hushed, and the fever of life is over, and our work is done. Then in Thy mercy grant us a safe lodging, and a holy rest, and peace at the last; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.” I hardly knew what I was praying, but my voice sounded resonant in my ears, and I thought, “I can do this! This is my calling!” Then Pastor John led us in the Lord’s Prayer, and gave the benediction.

The next day we had a brief stand-up meeting in the neutral zone, the office of the church secretary, in between Pastor John’s office and mine. The secretary, Harriet Johnson, was not there; she might have had a medical appointment or some other business: I don’t really remember.

(I do remember that she had a poster on her wall that declared: “All emergencies must be cleared through this office at least three weeks in advance.” I have always admired that saying: but in 40 years of ordained ministry, I was never able to enforce that rule. But I speculate that Harriet Johnson may well have succeeded in doing so.)

Pastor John and I talked for a minute or two about Sunday School plans and the youth group, and then he said, “I want to tell you that you did a good job, reading at the graveside service. Just remember, though, that a funeral is about the grace of Jesus. And that means it’s not about you. I know that if you remember that, you’ll be a good minister.”

In the 1946 Book of Common Worship, between the words of committal that Pastor John read and the prayer I prayed after that, there are three more lines of text: a single verse, Revelation 14:13. We did not use that quotation at the graveside service that August afternoon, but I will venture to use it in this remembrance: “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from henceforth: Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors; and their works do follow them.”

So I offer, in good Reformed style, a three point not-quite-sermon. It will not be much longer than the graveside sermon Pastor John offered that hot long-ago afternoon.

Point 1. The verse declares a blessing from God on those who die in the Lord. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ is very big: just prior to his arrest, he told the multitudes that when he was “lifted up from the earth” he would draw everyone to himself. We all know the most famous verse in the Bible, John 3:16: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son … ” But not all of us know the next verse, John 3:17: “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order to save the world through him.” And I John 2:2 insists that whenever we sin, “we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the Righteous: and he is the atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not only for ours, but for the sins of the whole world.”

There are many people who do not know this. Many who have heard it, but do not believe it. They do not recognize that the intention of God Almighty is to save the world: including them. And so they come to the end of their days in fearfulness, or in defiance, or in perplexity. But there are others who do know that our Lord is out to save the world, the whole world, they have heard the testimony of the Bible, and they believe the testimony that earnest believers have shared with them, and so when their time has come, they feel a rich confidence in their soul: “ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life, through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

I do not wish to belittle the human feelings that we have, as death approaches, for ourselves or for one of our loved ones. I myself have been on a journey these last ten months, dealing day by day with this colon cancer diagnosis: with colonoscopy, surgery, radiation, and chemotherapy, with lots of symptoms and side effects, with several hospitalizations. I have felt bewilderment, anxiety, weakness, and pain. I will not dismiss the reality of these feelings, for myself or for anyone else dealing with potential end-of-life concerns. But I will affirm what the first section of this Bible quote declares: there is a blessing on those who die in the Lord, because in the midst of all the troubles we face, we have heard the testimony of Jesus, who is the resurrection and the life, and that testimony spoke to our souls, and we got it: we became confident that it is true. We came to know that in life and in death, we belong to the Lord.

Point 2. That was a long first point: this second one is brief. After a life of hustle and bustle, after a life of challenge, after a life of good things we worked hard to achieve and hard things that came upon us, maybe from our own bad decisions, maybe in spite of our good decisions: we have rest. This affirmation comes from the Spirit of God. The trouble, the struggle, don’t get the last word. When we come to the end of our earthly life, we rest in the Lord.

Point 3. And our works follow us. What we do makes a difference. All the ways that our love, our compassion, our kindness, our actions on behalf of others have been expressed: all the hearts we have touched have felt the grace of God, through our best efforts and through our clumsy efforts.

The Facebook page of First Presbyterian Union Church of Owego NY has been overflowing with testimonies since the announcement Wednesday morning: dozens of variations on “this is how Pastor John affected my life.”

You saw, of course, how when Pastor John instructed me to decide that the heat and the sweat didn’t bother me, that wasn’t just about graveside services on hot afternoons. It was about deciding what things are worth fussing about, and what things can be shrugged off. It was a parable, delivered in just one sentence: you can choose not to be bothered by every bothersome thing that comes along, maybe saving up your bothering for when it really counts.

I’m sure you saw as well how his commenting on my readings at the service included praise and rebuke and encouragement: the praise offered generously, the rebuke presented briefly and kindly, the encouragement to apply the lesson and grow as a minister. He had observed the pride within me at reading well, and knew it was part of his job as mentor to address it: but he refrained from harshness and did not dwell on it, giving me the chance to hear and apply the lesson on my own, instead of insistently pressing me to get it, right that moment. I must admit in all honesty that I did not get it, right at that moment. But eventually I did get it, as his words worked their way into my soul.

Even telling me to wear a tie was about more than the tie. It was an indication that the message you present includes more than the words you say: it’s the whole person: the things you do, the tone of your voice and the look on your face, what you wear, who you are: how you as a whole person interact with the people around you.

Our works follow us. The good we do in this world keeps on doing good, even when we are gone. The good John Mahler did in this world keeps on doing good. I know this, because the good John Mahler did in my life keeps on doing good. His example, his words, his ministry made me into a much better pastor than I would have been without his mentoring. And if you had the privilege of receiving his ministry, you know it, too.

Sermons are speeches, a verbal event where someone in the pulpit speaks to those in the pew. This is a not-quite-sermon: it’s words on a screen, presented as a remembrance of someone who made a profound effect on my life. I’ll close it off saying the words with which I have almost always closed my funeral sermons.

“In a day or two we might begin to forget about John Mahler. People do that: they forget. Someone has made a difference in our lives, but now he’s gone, and we start to forget. Yet if we forget, our lives will forever be the poorer for having forgotten. Or we can remember: and if we remember, if we remember the example of Pastor John, if we emulate the ministry of John Mahler, our lives will forever be the richer, as his life, his insights, his compassion, continue to work in our lives.”

“Blessed be the dead who die in the Lord from henceforth. Yea, saith the Spirit, for they do rest from their labors; and their works do follow them.“ Amen.