The Preaching of the Word at
Westminster Presbyterian Church
Our Purpose is to
Welcome All, Praise God, and Care for the World.
“A Good Goodbye”
Texts: Luke 24:44-53; Psalm 121
A Sermon by Jack Cabaness
Tenth Sunday after Pentecost
August 17, 2014
Please note: This sermon borrows heavily from my friend and mentor Patrick
Willson’s meditation on the farewell scene in the movie Casablanca. Indented text is
quoted directly from Willson’s sermon, “The Good Goodbye,” which was preached at the
Williamsburg (VA) Presbyterian Church, May 16, 2010. On an occasion when it is
difficult to put my own goodbye into words, I am especially grateful for the wisdom and
eloquence of one of my mentors. But I actually begin the sermon by quoting another one
of my favorite writers …
Presbyterian minister and novelist Frederick Buechner depicts the following four
scenes:
A woman with a scarf over her head hoists her six-year-old up onto the first step
of the school bus. "Goodbye," she says.
A father on the phone with his freshman son has just finished bawling him out for
his poor grades. There is mostly silence at the other end of the line. "Well, goodbye," the
father says.
When the girl at the airport hears the announcement that her plane is starting to
board, she turns to the boy who is seeing her off. " I guess this is goodbye," she says.
The noise of the traffic almost drowns out the sound of the word, but the shape of
it lingers on the old man's lips. He tries to look vigorous and resourceful as he holds out
his hand to the other old man. "Goodbye." This time they say it so nearly in unison that it
makes them both smile.
Buechner goes on to write: “It was a long while ago that the words God be with
you disappeared into the word goodbye, but every now and again some trace of them still
glimmers through.”1
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Today is a day for saying goodbye, and it is also a day for speaking the simple,
beautiful, eloquent benediction: God be with you.
We are in a season of goodbyes at Westminster Presbyterian Church. In the last
few months we’ve said goodbye to staff members like Larry Meerdink and Marie Adkins.
And we’ve said goodbye to dear saints of the church like Don George and Wyoma Bean,
who are now part of the church triumphant.
This last week the world has been saying goodbye to Robin Williams. People
who have been deeply touched by his iconic movie roles have been struggling to find
meaning in his death. And here at Westy Pres our hearts continue to go out to Bruce and
Susan Spear, as they grieve for their son Peter.
Most of us are well-practiced at saying goodbye, but that doesn’t make it any
easier.
This last week the world also said goodbye to Lauren Bacall. As great as she and
Bogie were together, my favorite pairing is still Bogart & Ingrid Bergman in the movie
Casablanca. There is a beautiful goodbye scene in that movie.
All the movie, indeed, all of their lives has come down to just this one
moment, this one goodbye. They had left one another before, as the
story goes, in Paris, but no goodbyes had ever been said. She simply
disappeared, leaving him with a rain-spattered note, and because there
had been no goodbyes, both of them were left with wounds never quite
healed.
“I stick my neck out for no one,” Bogart spits out in his disenchantment
and cynicism, “I'm the only cause I'm interested in.” He does stick his
neck out, however, because, I suppose there is something after all more
powerful than either hurt or cynicism. He secures letters of transit for
two people to leave Casablanca and only at the last minute does he
reveal to Ingrid Bergman that she will be leaving with her husband and
not staying with him.
“You're getting on that plane,” he says. “Inside of us we both know you
belong to Victor. You're part of his work, the thing that keeps him
going. If that plane leaves the ground and you're not with him, you'll
regret it: maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the
rest of your life.”
She protests: “But I said I would never leave you.”
“And you never will,” he says, “And you never will. I've got a job to do
too. Where I'm going you can't follow. What I've got to do you can't be
any part of. Ilsa, I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to
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see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of
beans in this crazy world.”
She begins to cry. “Now, now,” he says, and then, “Here's looking at
you, kid.”
Underneath that goodbye the theme song plays softly:
“A kiss is still a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh.
The fundamental things apply, as time goes by.”
My friend and mentor Patrick Willson is a retired Presbyterian pastor, an eloquent
preacher, and an insightful film critic. He has this to say about that final scene:
That elegant and eloquent goodbye scene in Casablanca is so powerful
precisely because it is so truthful. It reminds us that there are tasks
which call us beyond ourselves and beyond what we want; that loving,
really loving, is more than holding and keeping; that loving also means
learning to say goodbye. That great goodbye in Casablanca so moves us
because so much of our lives is spent in saying, goodbye in one way or
another. Our ability to say a good goodbye determines so much the way
we go through life.”2
It begins with our first breath. From the only place we have ever known,
a place warm, dark and secure, we are thrust into the glare and cold of a
world that by comparison seems terribly uncertain and unpredictable.
Unfamiliar hands seize us and jostle us about in shocking ways. We cry
aloud, and from that moment until we draw our last breath, we train our
voices to say goodbye.
Watch parents stand in the pre-school doorway and say their good-byes.
It is a toss-up whether they or their children are the more afraid and
tearful. With weekend retreats and summer camps we practice saying
our goodbyes.
Your father kisses you as you being to walk down the aisle. It is the
beginning of so very much, but it is also the end of something, which
cannot be easily spoken.
The moving van has been packed and gone, leaving you in an empty
house that seems all the emptier for the memories of friends' laughter
filling it.
We practice our goodbyes, loving and giving up those we love as we
move away or they do, as they grow up and we say goodbye to old
relationships for new ones, as those we love die and we say goodbye for
keeps.3
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In the Gospel passage from Luke, which Aimee read a moment ago, Jesus is saying
goodbye to the disciples. It is time for Jesus to do what he needs to do, and it is time for
the disciples to look to their own calling. The disciples are in the process of becoming
apostles. That word apostle means one who is sent. The apostles have their own agenda
now, which is to be sent out to build a church.
Jesus is saying goodbye, and as he says “goodbye,” he promises power to them and
blesses them—he calls down God's favor and goodness and presence upon them. Jesus
leaves them so that he might be more fully present to them. He will be absent, but the
Holy Spirit will be present. The good goodbye—God be with you.
There is a story about Angelo Roncalli, better known to the world as Pope John
XXIII. There were times when the stress of the job made it difficult for him to sleep.
But finally he would say to himself, “So, Angelo, who’s in charge of the church,
anyway? You, or the Holy Spirit? Very well, then, go to sleep.”4
Even during a time of transition, Jesus has promised to bless you and empower you,
to send you the Holy Spirit. After all, who’s in charge anyway?
There is a goodbye scene in the other scripture passage we read this morning,
Psalm 121. It is another one of the pilgrimage songs sung by pilgrims on their way to
Jerusalem. In the opening verses of the Psalm you can hear the call and response as
people in the village bid farewell to the departing pilgrims.
The ones departing sing, “I raise my eyes toward the mountains. Where will my
help come from?” And then they answer their own question, “My help comes from the
Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.”
I suppose that those who live in Colorado are often tempted to hear this verse in
the King James Version, which is worded as a statement and not as a question. “ I will
lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.” The King James Version
makes it sound like our help comes from the mountains. And, indeed, most of us have
felt refreshed by recreating in the mountains.
Did you know that in New York State there is a club called the Adirondack 46ers
for those who have hiked all 46 peaks in the Adirondacks that are over 4,000 feet in
elevation? Coloradans are not likely to be impressed!
When the departing pilgrims raise their eyes toward the surrounding mountains
and hills, they are most likely surveying the landscape for any signs of danger. There
could be robbers lurking in those hills, and the pilgrims have no way of dialing 911 on
their cell phones. As we survey all the potential signs of danger in the landscape, as we
ponder all the unknowns during a time of transition for the church, where will our help
come from? Our help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.
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And then those who remain in the village call out to the departing pilgrims and
sing,
God won’t let your foot slip. Your protector won’t fall asleep on the job.
No! Israel’s protector never sleeps or rests!
The Lord is your protector; the Lord is your shade right beside you.
The sun won’t strike you during the day; neither will the moon at night.
The Lord will protect you from all evil. God will protect your very life.
The Lord will protect you on your journeys—whether going or coming—
from now until forever from now.
The good goodbye. God be with you.
Today is a day for goodbyes, but it is also a day for imparting the blessing God be
with you. God be with you, Westy Pres, as you build a community of faith. God be with
you as you reach out to your neighbors and seek to love and to serve all the people God
gives you to love and to serve.
The Rev. Dr. Jack Cabaness, Pastor
Westminster Presbyterian Church
Westminster, Colorado
Endnotes:
1
Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark.
2
Indented text is quoted directly from a sermon by the Rev. Patrick Willson, “The Good
Goodbye,” which was preached at the Williamsburg (VA) Presbyterian Church, May 16,
2010.
3
Ibid.
4
Story from Thomas G. Long, who teaches preaching at Candler School of Theology.
I’ve lost track of the original source.
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