Memory Markers
Sunday, May 1, 2022
The Rev. Dr. Tim Hart-Andersen

Joshua 4:1-9; 1 Peter 2:1-10
Most of us understand what was happening that day
down at the Jordan, when God told Joshua to get some
rocks from the riverbed as memory markers. I do it all the
time. Our backyard is full of stones I’ve carried from some
place or some experience I wanted to remember.
On every long walk we’ve taken – across England, or
Wales, or Scotland and other places – I’ve picked up rocks
to remind me of that particular pilgrimage. I even have
rocks I foolishly picked up and put in my backpack early
on the 500-mile Camino. Sometimes I pay dearly for this
compulsion.
I remember a hike with a couple friends outside Red
Lodge, Montana. We ascended six miles up to Lake Mary
– a breathtaking blue body of water nestled in the
Beartooth Mountains. I spied a small granite boulder I
knew would be a wonderful reminder forever of the
gratitude I felt for the beauty of that place and that
moment. I picked it up and proceeded to carry it back
down the mountain. It was a lot heavier after six miles.
That rock now lives on my office desk, and it reminds me
more of my bone-crushing descent than of the grandeur of
the lake. Here it is.
Maybe that’s how it was for the twelve Israelites who
selected the dozen stones in the Jordan River bed. They
were heavy, as they were told to carry them on their
shoulders. And they had to haul them some distance from
the middle of the river to the place where they were set up
to mark forever the memory of crossing the Jordan into
freedom. They were raising, in the words of our opening
hymn, an “Ebenezer” to always mark that place. Ebenezer
means “stone of help.” It was a memory marker for
Samuel and the Hebrew people – and people have been
singing about it ever since, wondering what it means.
The Hebrews of old were vigilant about their history, and
those stones were meant to help them remember. They
were rocky reminders of the trauma of enslavement in
Egypt and the liberating exodus to the Land of Promise.
The ritual of going back to the stones and hearing the
story told again and again gave them resilience. They
were never to forget that narrative. They put it on their
doorposts and bound it on their foreheads and told it to
their children.
They drew strength from the legacy of their forbears, and
today Jews carry forward the account of how God saved
them. If you’ve ever been to a bar- or bat-mitzvah you’ve
seen the modern enactment of this commandment. The
youth are schooled in the story. They learn to recite it in
Hebrew. They read it in Torah. They take to heart the
narrative of their people.
They become a living legacy of Judaism. The stones still
speak.
Today at Westminster is Legacy Sunday, when we honor
those who have made commitments in their estate plans
or wills to support the church. But those legacies –
generous support in perpetuity – are more than financial
gifts. They’re really aimed at the future of our
congregation. They are among our congregation’s
memory markers, gifts entrusted to the church to ensure
the traditions and stories and faith of this people are
passed on for generations to come. Like those Jordan River
stones, they are for those who will follow us. They are for
the children.
It’s not merely Westminster’s own congregational story
that concerns us as a legacy. That would be too small, too
self-focused. These legacies mark the story of a people of
faith that has spanned the globe and taken root in every
age over the last 2000 years. It’s the story of a Hebrew
child named Jesus, born of Mary, who grew up to teach
and heal and bless those who were poor and dispossessed
and excluded from places of power and privilege.
It’s the story of how his life threatened empire and was
therefore betrayed and tried and crucified. It’s the story of
his breaking free of death and giving new life to the
movement that became the church of Jesus Christ,
empowered by the Spirit to preach and teach and join in
God’s unfolding love and justice.
That legacy shows up here at Westminster in our church
school and educational ministries, in our worship and
music, in our care for one another, in our open and
affirming welcome. It shows up in our work with others
for justice in the city and our advocacy at the statehouse.
We see it in our partnerships with the national
Presbyterian Church (USA) and with congregations in
Cuba, Cameroon, and Palestine. It’s growing on our green
roof and in our use of solar energy and in our ethical
investment policies.
Westminster’s commitment to follow the long story of the
risen Jesus shows up over and over again when we walk
our faith into the world, live it out, and teach it to our
children. In the words of scripture, we have “become like
living stones…built into a spiritual house. (I Peter 2:5)
The 12 stones the ancient Israelites retrieved from the river
were to be vivid reminders of what God had done. Like
rock cairns found along pathways around the world, left
as a sign that someone had come that way and a signal to
those who would follow, which way to go – those 12
stones became memory markers that are – as the text says
– “there to this very day.”
The stones set up by the tribes of Israel may still be there,
but we don’t know where. They were likely not far from
Jericho, a city that existed when the Israelites entered the
land. Scripture says the place was called Gilgal, which
means circle of stones. Those 12 rocks were the scaleddown
ancient Palestinian equivalent of Stonehenge, set up
around the same time: a circle of stones with a ceremonial
purpose.
It turns out the Bible speaks of many gilgals in ancient
Israel. They were piled up whenever and wherever the
people wanted to remember. The actual stones, those
collective rock cairns, may be lost to history, but the story
of the Hebrew people lives on. They carry the story into
the future – bearing that narrative along, especially in the
lives of their children. They themselves have become
memory markers.
What did those stones by the Jordan remember? They
were not set there to establish dominance or make a
political point. None of that appears in the story. They
were not set up to demonstrate conquest or stake a claim
to the land. They were laid down, rather, as signs of
thanksgiving, markers of gratitude. The Israelites had
come through fire and water into freedom. God had been
merciful and faithful.
“Once you were no people,” I Peter says, “But now you
are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but
now you have received mercy.” (I Peter 2:10)
The author of those words might as well have been
speaking centuries before, at the raising of the 12 stones.
They marked the crossing over from bondage to liberation
and signaled that God had formed them into a people, a
people now raising a sign and a song of thanksgiving.
Every one of the 150-plus legacy commitments to
Westminster that we know about is a sign of gratitude.
Like those Jordan River stones, estate gifts to the church
are not meant to commemorate someone’s
accomplishments in life as their claim to fame. They are
simply tangible expressions of gratitude to God. An
Ebenezer. A Gilgal.
Legacies, whether thousands of years ago in ancient Israel
in the rocks raised by the Jordan, or in the witness of the
living stones of the early church, or in our time in this
congregation, legacies are not about the past. They point
to the promise of the years to come. The people of God,
formed in the image and likeness of God, recipients of the
mercy and faithfulness of God, bear that promise into the
future.
Once you were no people, but now you are God’s people;
once you had not received mercy, but now you have
received mercy.
At his death in 1914, church member Charles Thompson
made the first documented legacy gift to Westminster. In
his last will and testament he left the church $5,000 to start
an endowment. That gift of gratitude set the course for our
congregation to build a foundation of financial stability
that today provides around 20% of our annual operating
ministry and mission budget and 100% of our property
budget.
Thompson was an elder in our congregation who served
as Clerk of Session – the highest lay office in a
Presbyterian congregation – for 35 years, from 1880 to
1914. He was a lawyer who maintained a residence at the
Continental Hotel, still one block west of the church, in
order to be close to Westminster. The Continental is now
owned and managed as affordable housing by our nonprofit
partner Aeon. Descendants of Charles Thompson
are still active members of our congregation.
Thompson became a well-known elder in the national
Presbyterian Church, considered one of the foremost
experts on Presbyterian governance. He was elected to
serve as Vice-Moderator of the General Assembly. He was
credited with saving Macalester College from financial
ruin in the lean years of the late 19th century. Here at
Westminster, he also served as Superintendent of the
Sunday School; he was concerned for the children, and
that drove his legacy commitment.
In his will, Thompson wrote these forward-looking words:
“No one but God alone knows how much I love and
honor that church . . .What a great work this church is
doing…I want to have some little part of the work of
[Westminster] after I have gone.” (Charles Thompson,
Last Will & Testament, 1914)
No doubt Thompson was familiar with the words from I
Peter: “Like living stones, let yourselves be built into a
spiritual house.”
Those stones hauled out of the Jordan River must have
been heavy, hoisted up onto shoulders. They were
weighed down with the abundance of God’s mercy and
the profusion of thanksgiving of a people newly formed.
Like that granite boulder that seemed to get bigger and
bigger the longer I carried it down the mountain, gratitude
to God in the memory markers we leave is a legacy that
multiplies over time.
Our gratitude is not left behind in the past, but instead
helps the people of God become living stones that will
share the story of the love and justice of Jesus Christ for
generations to come.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
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