January 18, 2003
Psalm 98
    NRSV KJV CEV
Romans 8:35, 37-39
    NRSV KJV CEV
2 Timothy 4:7-8
    NRSV KJV CEV

Memorial Sermon
for The Reverend Norman S. Ream, D.D.

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;

       I fled Him; down the arches of the years;

I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways

      Of my own mind; and in the midst of tear

I hid from Him, and under running laughter,

     Up vistaed hopes I sped;

      And shot, precipitated,

Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears,

      From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.

That is the beginning of Francis Thompson’s ‘The Hound of Heaven.’ It is a classic work describing the constant presence of God, even when we run away. I suppose it echoes Paul’s words to the church at Rome reminding us that “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creations, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”  I understand that Thompson’s poem was a favorite of Norman Ream. I’m not surprised. It is the reflection of one who seeks, confident that the One sought is greater – greater even than the search itself.

Our lives are always in need of seekers, of questioners. Questioners are the ones who challenge us to live differently, to see with new perspectives or to think in a different direction. Jesus was that kind of person. His questions  and the challenge of his life continue to confront, to provoke, and yes, to comfort us to this day. That he still  has that effect on us is why we’re followers. And, it’s the reason that some of the brightest minds and purest hearts have followed him as he pointed them to the God who is ground of being and source of life and hope.

So, questioners follow and, often, followers question – it’s the natural way. Long ago one who fled down the nights and days only to confront God in his own heart wrote these words:

Late have I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient, ever new, late have I loved you! You were within me, but I was outside, and it was there that I searched for you. In my unloveliness I plunged into the lovely thing which you created. You were with me, but I was not with you. Created things kept me from you; yet if they had not been in you they would not have been at all. You called, you shouted and you broke through my deafness. You flashed, you shone, and you dispelled my blindness . . . You touched me and I burned for your peace . . . You have made us for yourself and our hearts are restless until they rest in you, O God.

Augustine’s confession of his search and struggle is loaded with questions, with doubts, and a restless heart that sought and sought until it was found. While Augustine of Hippo and Norman of Salt Lake City, Wauwatosa, and Estes Park were centuries apart, and in more ways than one, I sense that, nevertheless, they were fellow travelers. They were seekers.

I did not know Norm Ream well. We were introduced in 1995 and it was not until about three years ago that we began an interesting, though sporadic, email exchange. Early on, after the niceties, Norm asked me, “Why is there anything?”  I asked in return, “How do you want me to approach it: ontologically, epistemologically, phenomenologically, or theologically?” And, as they say, the fight was on. We often did not agree, but appreciated each other’s search and respected each other’s mind. Norm Ream, I believe, was a restless heart, a questioner, a pilgrim, one who knew that life here is only a sojourn along the way to that which is greater. He searched for God in himself, in society, in nature, and I think he was teased on in the search because he caught glimpses of the Deus absconditus – the hidden God – again and again.

I was presented with a collection of ‘Normisms.’  Their pithiness and the truth of his observations struck me. Let me share some with you:

Religion is an inner quality of life and it pays inward spiritual dividends.

Real happiness must be made not found and the material for making it is always in our own hands.

The kingdom of heaven is within us and we will never find it anywhere else if we cannot find it there first.

Preserve the highest value.

One day, in God’s own good time, I shall become the person he desires me to be. Then I shall be saved.

The questions, the way of the pilgrimage does not stop for you or for me. Today we say “farewell” to one that walked the journey and sought to climb the distant mountain. As the writer to Timothy says, he has “fought the good fight, finished the race, kept the faith.”  It is the example of Norm’s faithfulness that will serve us best as we continue our own pilgrimages. He never stopped thinking, questioning, seeking, looking, or longing for the God who loved him and beckoned to him in so many ways.

It is not enough to merely ask the questions, one is to live like the One being pursued. I so appreciated one of Norm’s statements on the need to live our faith. He said, “If religion does not exist in our conduct it does not exist in our mind and heart.” The essence of Christian faith and the goal of life as a Christ-follower is transformation. If we are not made different by what we seek, question, think, and, yes, believe, then, truly it doesn’t exist.

Norm asked me, “Why is there anything?” The best answer I can think of is from Julianna of Norwich, a fourteenth century English hermit and mystic. Julianna had a vision of Christ holding what appeared to be a hazelnut and she asked what it was. He said, “It is all that is.”  She looked and exclaimed, “My Lord, it is so small – how can it endure?” “It is,” he said, “because I love it and because I love it, it will continue.”  I’m not sure if I ever shared that with Norm, but today I am fairly confident that he knows it.

The “Hound of Heaven” has captured a restless heart and now he knows the fullness of God’s presence, a presence from which not even death can keep us. As Thompson concluded:

“All which I took from thee I did but take,

            Not for thy harms,

But just that thou might’st seek it in My arms.

            All of which thy child’s mistake

Fancies as lost, I have for thee at home:

            Rise, clasp my hand and come!”

                        Halts by me that footfall:

                        Is my gloom, after all,

Shade of his hand, outstretched caressingly!

            “Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,

            I am He Whom thou seekest!

            Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me.”

Rest in peace.

Let us pray: