A Remembrance of John Oestmann
Note: this sermon was shared at the funeral for John Oestmann today. I offer it here for those unable to attend the service, but also for anyone who has struggled with an untimely loss of a loved one.
I first met
John Oestmann when I became the pastor at Prosper United Methodist eight years
ago. And did this guy make an impression! It isn’t often that I am made to feel
small around others—but John was a giant in every way you can imagine. People
always say, “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” Well, that was never truer than
when one considers our husband, father, brother, son, and friend, John. Many of
us might have crossed the street when we saw this large, tattooed, sometimes
Mohawked man approaching us. And if we did cross that road, we would miss out
on knowing one of the best, most genuine, most dependable men we would ever
meet. But the lasting impression John gave had little to do with his appearance
and everything to do with the way he lived his life. One of my favorite lines
from Pulp Fiction is, “Just because
you are a character doesn’t mean you have character.” We all know John was a
character and had character.
John, with his two sons James and Ethan (left), Peyton, Chance, and our James (back row). |
I have John
to thank for the only times my son James ever painted his fingernails—when he
was in Mr Oestmann’s cabin at Camp Bridgeport. John’s love of the church camp
is legendary—so much that the camp itself posted a tribute to John on its
Facebook page yesterday. I had always heard of John’s Bridgeport exploits
second hand until this past summer, when Pastor Jason, John, and I were all at
camp together, though in different cabins. John’s towering, unique voice could
be heard from anywhere: “OMEGA!,” leading the cheers of his group. His presence
at Bridgeport next summer and beyond will be dearly missed.
Several
years ago I began recruiting a new Disciple Bible Study class at the church,
and one of my target couples was John and Angela. Angela remembered the other
day me sending her 100s of emails asking for one good reason they should not
participate. Finally she relented and she and John signed up with another dozen
or so folks. We met every week in my home for nearly a year. And several years
later, I can still say it was one of the best groups I have ever participated
in—largely because of John. At the end of class when others were often
uncomfortable praying, John stepped up. When the discussion bogged down, or we
chased too many rabbits, John brought us back on track. When I was absent I
knew John would faithfully substitute for me; and when I was assigned to
another church in Dallas, I asked John to take on the teaching duties for the
next year. Of course he excelled at it.
John was skilled
at his work as an electrician too. Several years ago I set up an above ground
pool at the parsonage. John came over to convert the outlet to something that
would work with water, potentially saving all of us from electrocution. When
our boys needed ceiling fans installed this summer, it was clear Christy would not
allow me anywhere near it—so we called John, of course. He picked Ethan up from
Bridgeport, then spent a couple of hours in my sons’ rooms doing this job for
us—Ethan hadn’t seen his mom or family in a week but John still made time to
help us out. Our James was thrilled to have both Ethan and Mr Oestmann in our
home.
John was the
ultimate husband and father. He cherished Angela: “Husbands, love your wives,
just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.” And you weren’t
around John long before the stories of his kids’ latest achievements were
shared. He was very, very proud of Ethan, James, and Lilah.
The other
night as I sat with family planning this service, we spoke about John’s faith.
I thumbed through his Lutheran Bible, highlighted and full of pages of notes.
Here are a few random scriptures he noted: Psalm 33:12: “Happy is the nation
whose God is the Lord, the people whom he has chosen as his heritage.” We know
John was a patriot and proudly served our nation in the military. Jesus’ words
from John 14:27—Pastor Sam read them a moment ago: “Peace I leave with you, my
peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your
hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” And this, also from the
Gospel of John: “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for
one’s friends.”
John was a
man of great faith, and his untimely death no doubt has caused many of us to
question our faith. Many of us are angry—we have lost someone dear to us and we
want answers. We may even direct that anger toward God—and let me say that is
not only ok but healthy. God can certainly handle our grief. Shouting to God,
“WHY?” is an act of prayer, even when we do not intend it to be. But trying to
find answers in such a situation can also lead to frustration. John’s death is
unfair but it was not caused by God—God did not take John from us or have any
more important need for him elsewhere. God’s heart broke as much as anyone
else’s last Friday. Scripture tells us that Jesus himself experienced grief in
the face of death.
One of
Jesus’ closest friends, Lazarus, also died a premature death, and it broke
Jesus’ heart—he wept openly. Yet in spite of his grief he saw a deeper meaning
in his friend’s death: it was meant for God’s glory, that Jesus may be
glorified in it. What did he mean by that? Well, not that God caused Lazarus’
death, but that even in the most raw of human emotions—the loss of our
beloved—somehow the light of God’s hope and power can be seen. Offering words
of comfort to the grieving—including himself—Jesus said, “I am the resurrection
and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and
everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” This is a promise John
held at the very center of his being—faith in Jesus Christ’s power over death and
life—and it is that faith that will carry us through our questions, doubt, and
anger. Later Jesus, from the Cross, cried out: “My God, my God, why have you
forsaken me?,” quoting from Psalm 22. He felt abandoned by God, as many of us
do today. But that’s only verse one of the psalm; it also reads, “All the ends
of the earth shall remember and turn to the Lord; and all the families of the
nations shall worship before him.” That journey from despair to hope is one
that God promises to walk with us: Psalm 55:22 says this: “Cast your burden on
the Lord, and God will sustain you.”
Eleanor Roosevelt
once said, “Life was meant to be lived.” This was how John approached his life,
and it is the best way I can think of to honor his memory. There is a large,
John-sized hole in our lives now—how can we fill that hole for each other, so that
we can experience the healing power of love over the coming days? Maybe we can
do that by being more available to each other—not just when things need to be
fixed but the few extra moments of holding a hand or sharing an encouraging
word.
A few years
ago I came across this quote from Earnest Hemingway, who, like John, was an
avid outdoorsman. From his classic A
Farewell to Arms, Hemingway said: “The world breaks everyone, and some
become strong at the broken places.” My prayer for those of us who are broken
today is that we will be made strong in those broken places.
The other
night at the Oestmann home we formed a circle in the middle of the room:
Angela, Ethan, James, Lilah, John’s parents, sister and brothers, their
spouses, Erica, others. We shared many tears together. We remembered John and
honored his life. We prayed together. And as we shared holy time in the circle,
my eyes kept returning to the mantle over the fireplace where this scripture
can be found:
“Weeping may linger for
a night, but joy comes in the morning” (Psalm 30:5).
Angela and the rest of the Oestmann family, I am
so glad that scripture is in such a prominent place in the home. There’s no
better word for you today. Our weeping may linger, but joy is coming. At this
time of year we anticipate God’s coming to us in Jesus Christ. Jesus said this:
“No one will take your joy away from you.” And so may each of you—family and
friends of John Oestmann—may each of you know that joy. May the God of joy wipe
away your tears and bring healing and restoration to your life. May you know,
as John did, the great promise of our faith, that nothing in life or in death
can ever separate us from God’s great love in Jesus Christ. In the name of the
Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen.
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