A Time to Die

Texts: Jeremiah 31:31-34; Hebrews 5:5-10; John 12:20-33

One of the most underrated books of the Bible must surely be the Book of Ecclesiastes, which is a pity because, of all the Wisdom literature, it is at least as wise as the others and by far the most entertaining!  Most of us probably know only the famous passage in chapter 3 (A Time for Everything), and even then we may know it better from the song version than the original text.  And we have at least one good excuse; it very rarely turns up in our Lectionary for reading on a Sunday morning.  And that, too, is a pity, particularly today, when it would have provided a perfect overture for this morning's gospel reading.

Here's the opening one-and-a-half verses of chapter 3:  There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die.  And, of course, the author goes on for another six or so verses giving other examples of what he has in mind – a time for this and a time for that.  As I have said in the notes in the pewsheet, our Scriptures treat this whole issue of time (or timing) as one of major importance.  Time is built into the very structure of the universe, as our autumn season is presently reminding us.  It is time for fruit and seed to fall to the ground and die; it is time for deciduous trees to shed their leaves; it is time (alas!) for grass to have a bit of a growth spurt to prepare for the harsher times to come.

Timing is also important for us.  Gestation is supposed to take 37 weeks.  As we have seen in the paper recently, to let a pregnancy go much beyond that is dangerous; indeed, in that particular case it was fatal.  For birth to occur too prematurely can be equally hazardous to the baby's health.  There is a time (a right time) to be born.  And the importance of timing in our lives doesn't stop with our birth, as any parent knows.  Development takes time; children need time to be children if they are to become healthy adults.  Girls need time to become women if they are to become good mothers, and boys need to become men before they can become good fathers.  Physiologically and psychologically there is a right time for each of the major stages of our lives.

Just how important that can be has been brought home to me on many occasions during my ministry.  In the Waikato I worked with a group of people for whom a huge issue was the passing of the family farm from one generation to another, including the passing on of the family homestead.  Most townies have probably never had to face these sorts of issues in quite the same way.  But think for a moment what a potent mix is involved in these sorts of cases, where the business and the family home is all mixed up together.  What is best for the business?  The farmer is in his fifties or sixties; he has built up a huge amount of knowledge and experience and he loves the farm dearly.  But – physically he's not the man he once was; like a rugby player his body is beginning to rebel.  And perhaps he's a bit set in his ways, not so open to innovation and taking calculated risks.

Is his son (or daughter) ready to take over?  Unlike the parent, the child has been to Lincoln or Massey and is highly qualified.   Maybe even study trips overseas.  Up with all the latest ideas, and, of course, is computer-literate!  But is he or she ready?  Can they work together through the transition, or would it be better for the old man to ride off into the sunset?  And then there's the homestead – who is to be the boss of that?  Is Mum ready to yield pride of place to daughter-in-law?  There is a time to work and a time to retire, a time to take charge and a time to hand over authority, a time to come and a time to go.

In Wellington the worse mistake I ever made in ministry was to agree to a request from a member of the family to suggest to Mum, then well into her eighties, that it was time to start thinking about moving from her home of fifty years that was up about as many steps to something smaller, more convenient and, above all, on the flat.  Needless to say she sent me back down the 50 steps with my mission unaccomplished!

Then there's the whole issue of retirement.  I've always been a reformer at heart.  Usually when someone proposes a change I'm at least open to considering it fairly, but I have to say that I'm still not sure that I favour the abolition of a compulsory retirement date.  Yes, I understand the arguments, but I can also cite many examples where the outcome has been a mess.  People have stayed on too long, driving younger and more capable people away.  Boxers are not the only ones who don't know when to quit.  In my public service days I saw countless examples of people retiring reluctantly – "I'm only going because I have to" – only to discover that retirement was thoroughly enjoyable.  There is a time and a season for everything.

Then there is the whole question of drivers' licences.  This was a constant source of angst among the elderly folk who came to our midweek service in Wellington.  They were lovely people, but the language they used about the M.O.T people who tested them to see if they were still fit to drive was often slanderous, to put it mildly!  It's a nice idea to think that we know when the time has come for us, but I have to say that my own experience contradicts that.  Since I have announced my retirement I have been amused by the people of my own age busily assuring me that I am retiring too soon!

There is, says the wise author of the Book of Ecclesiastes, a time to die.  We all know when it is too soon, but how many of us know when it is time?  One of the most difficult questions I was ever asked by my young Bible class in Otaki was on this very question: if when we die we go to be with Jesus, why is my Gran so afraid of dying?  Good question, young man – go and ask your Father!  We all know there is a time to die, but how many of us prepare for that time?  How many of us can talk about it with our loved ones and make sensible arrangements for it?

Our gospel reading this morning is about all this.  Some Greeks (or, as we would say today, some Gentiles) make a tentative approach, not to Jesus, but to one of his disciples, Philip, as a sort of intermediary.  Presumably they weren't sure if they would be received by Jesus himself.  Perhaps Philip wasn't sure either.  Instead of going to Jesus he passed their request to Andrew, one of the inner circle, who took Philip to Jesus with their request.  Jesus responded in a surprising way; not with a "yes" or a "no", but with an interpretation of the significance of their request.  He saw it as an indication that his hour had come; it was time for him to die.  With the Gentiles beginning to come to him his earthly mission was complete – it was time to go to Jerusalem and suffer his saving death.  It was time to die.

Of course, he wasn't overjoyed at the prospect; on the contrary his heart was troubled.  Yet he accepted that it was time, and from then on everything he did was by was by of preparation for it.  In particular he prepared those around him for his death.

During our lives we face many "deaths", some of which I have touched on in this sermon this morning.  They can be quite painful, but if done in time and with purpose they can lead to renewal and refreshment.  They often involve loss, giving something up, and if we allow ourselves to focus only on that it's no wonder that we often delay too long.  As people of faith we need to look at the positive – not what am I giving up but what do I still have?  And what will I have instead?  More time for other things, perhaps, more time for thinking, for praying, for being with others.  More time in short for the really important things in life.

Jesus saw his death on the cross as his opportunity to glorify God.  In the same way we need to ask ourselves why we are often reluctant to let go, and trust in God's promise that when we do he has better things in store for us – as individuals and as communities of faith.  And   Lent is the right season for this activity under heaven.  Amen.