I cannot hope to add to the
moving chorus of remembrance and praise we have heard this morning in memory of
Ben Bradlee. The range and depth of the
remarks offered show the extent to which the nation, the world, his family, his
friends loved, admired, and valued this remarkable man. In the role of
preacher, there is not a lot I can add to these tributes.
But because I am a preacher, it falls to me to say a
brief word about what Christian faith proclaims in regard to such a long,
blessed, and accomplished life. We heard
three readings from scripture today. We
heard the words of Ecclesiastes telling us there is a season and a time for
everything. We heard from Psalm 23 the
assurance of God's presence with us as we make our ways through life-- the
valley of the shadow of death. We heard Paul's famous discourse to the
Corinthians on the nature of love. Each one of these passages reminds us of the
final assurance of Biblical religion--Judaism and Christianity in particular,
but Islam, too--that human beings matter, that our lives and experiences, our
joys and our struggles, are written on the heart of the one at the center of
creation.
As I listened to these
readings, though, a single phrase caught my ear. Near the end of Paul's words on love, we
heard this:
For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will
see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I
have been fully known. [I Corinthians 13:12]
Most of us in this room are
knowing, worldly types, and we live our lives thinking that we know what’s
really going on. But Paul suggests a
deeper mystery about human experience:
in our earthly state, we only see "through a glass
darkly". We know the part, not the
whole. Our day-to-day lives are spent
focused on the claims that tell us they are urgent. We do not normally attend to the things that
actually matter.
So we see things through a
glass darkly. But every once in a while,
a person appears among us who allows us to see things more clearly. In the dim light of day-to-day life, we don't
see very well at all. But then people
come along, not very often but just enough, to point us toward what really
counts. These people are not usually
conventionally pious, but they help us see things from God’s point of view. They point us toward justice. They point us toward compassion. They point us toward truth. They point us toward the sheer exuberance of
being alive, of the breadth and depth of human existence and all its
possibilities.
Without trying to sound
sentimental in a way he would have found painful, I want to suggest that Ben
Bradlee was one of these people. In his professional life, in his family life,
in his friendships, in his role as a public figure and citizen, Ben Bradlee’s
work and values and commitments helped us see through the dim darkness of our
present moment into a glimpse of what life is finally all about. For people of faith, the final truth about
life and God and the universe and every one of us is embodied in the word love.
Love is acted out in close relationships as affection and in our social
relationships as justice. When we see
through that dark glass we see a universe where power and violence and
selfishness will always give way to love and justice and hope.
In his poem "Blizzard
of One", the great American poet (and former Poet Laureate) Mark Strand
says this:
From the shadow of domes in the city of domes,
A snowflake, a blizzard of one, weightless, entered
your room
And made its way to the arm of the chair where you,
looking up
From your book, saw it the moment it landed. That's
all
There was to it. [Mark
Strand, “Blizzard of One”]
When I heard of Ben
Bradlee's passing I thought immediately of this poem--not only because it
enacts an experience of plainspoken grace in an everyday moment. I thought of it because, frankly, Ben
Bradlee was a blizzard of one. A single human being, like a snowflake precious
in his uniqueness, who went through life generating the energy of a
snowstorm. A human blizzard of life,
love, energy, work, and charm.
I thank God for making,
redeeming, and sustaining a universe in which love, justice, and compassion are
finally the things that matter. I thank
God for sending us messengers who help us see through the dark glass of life
into the luminous truth at the heart of the cosmos. I thank God that our personal, public, and
spiritual lives are knit together in a
single continuous fabric of love and justice and hope. In other words, I thank
God for Ben Bradlee. Amen.
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