IN MEMORIAM
Pierce Allen Getz
November 4, 1929—March 30, 2007
preached by
Rev. James D. Brown
Market Square Presbyterian Church
April 4, 2007
Scripture: 2 Timothy 1:1-10
When life tumbles in as it did this past Friday, we find ourselves grasping at something to hold on to—some frame of reference, some glimmer of hope that all will be well again. This was certainly true of me—along with the rest of you. In fact, we are here today in search of solid ground on which to stand.
As I talked with many of you and as I turned the pages of Scripture this week, I was led to a passage that I don't believe I've ever used before as the basis for a meditation at a memorial service. But when I read it through I found myself thinking that Paul had written it not just to Timothy, but to each and every one of us for this particular moment—as we celebrate the life of Pierce Getz while at the same time witnessing to the resurrection of Jesus from the dead.
In the same manner that Paul expressed his love for Timothy, we now thank God as we go about remembering Pierce in our conversation with one another, in our dreams and in our thoughts and prayers. What I have found exceedingly helpful personally—and I hope you will too, is the trilogy Paul uses to describe God's gift to Timothy. I'm sure you can see the connection to Pierce's life in verse 7: "For God didn't give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love, of self-discipline." Let's think on these three qualities that make for a good and faithful life.
Pierce Getz knew in his heart and soul what Paul is talking about when he says that God gives a spirit of power. Paul elucidates his own meaning with a rhapsody of praise. Not because of anything we have done or deserved, God's purpose and grace have been granted to us as a free gift. All this "has been revealed through the appearance of our Savior Jesus Christ, who has destroyed death, and brought life and immortality to light through the Gospel."
It is so important to start here, for this was the driving conviction undergirding everything Pierce did. This week Gene shared with me two things she found in Pierce's wallet. We all do well to remember the calling cards of one kind or another we carry around with us in our purses and wallets. Let me quote from one of the two worn scraps of paper that have all the markings of having been in Pierce's wallet for a long, long time. It's the text of "King of My Soul."
King of my soul, a crown of thorns
and woven of my wrong
They twined around thy bleeding brow
and sang their scornful song;
And thou wast purest of the pure
and past all praising mild,
And loving unto death, that I
and God be reconciled.
King of my soul, a crown of love,
and woven through the years,
I lay on thine immortal head
and dew it with my tears.
My Lord and Savior, joy and peace,
my perfect life to be,
All to thy boundless grace I owe
and consecrate to thee.
While we rightly think of Pierce Getz as a musician with enormous talent, his own self image was that of a child of God, rejoicing in the God News of God's grace through his music and the whole of his life. Those of you who have sung with Pierce or studied with him across the past half century and more, know this to be true. With Luther and others, he believed that music is "the living voice of the Gospel," and in Johann Sebastian Bach, especially, he found a kindred soul. I recently shared with Pierce a quote from Robin Leaver, who teaches at the Westminster Choir College, about something Bach wrote in the margin of his Bible: "Where there is devotional music, God with his grace is always present." Pierce lived this truth in every practice session, every rehearsal, every performance. This is the solid ground on which Pierce lived out his days.
The second note has to do with a spirit of love. I have seen and heard a flood of comments the last few days about Pierce's love for his companions along life's way. Right after his devotion to God comes the love of his family, his wife Gene, and Joe and Anita and his grandchildren Josh and Danny and nephews David and Steven and all the rest. Pierce was devoted to Gene—you oonly had to look in his eyes as he helped her in and out of the car before her recent surgery, and you knew. And when he talked about Joe and Anita and Josh and Danny, he took on the appearance of a court jester head over heals in love with life itself.
When I first met Pierce ten years ago, Josh had just been born, and that was the beginning of stories of pure delight told by Pierce and the rest of the family. Pierce could barely contain himself when he shared incidents like the one when the whole family was headed into the dining room for dinner, and Josh veered off toward the living room. "Where are going?" Pierce asked him. Josh never missed a beat. "I'm going to turn the TV on to calm you down." Pierce was a punster and a bit of a tease—with all of us. Once Genee felt the need to damper this tendency down a bit when Pierce was egging the family on. "Grandpa's always kidding with us," she said. Josh was quick to reply, "Except when he tells us he loves us." It's no wonder Danny's prayer at dinner the other night began, "Dear God, we already miss Grandpa 10,000 per cent."
We all do. That's why I hear you talking about him as a mentor and father figure and teacher and role model. Those of you who have sung in Pierce's choirs have seen his face glowing with love as you intoned words like, "No more a stranger or a guest, but like a child at home." Who among us will ever forget the hauntingly beautiful words of "A Child My Choice," with Pierce's face all aglow:
Let folly praise that fancy loves,
I praise and love that child,
Whose heart no thought,
Whose tongue no word,
Whose hand no deed defiled.
I praise him most, I love Him best
All praise and love is His.
While Him I love, in Him I live,
and cannot live amiss.
Alas! He weeps, He sighs, He pants,
Yet do his angels sing:
Out of his tears, His sighs and throbs,
Doth bud a joyful spring.
Almighty Babe, whose tender arms
can force all foes to fly,
Correct my faults, protect my life,
Direct me when I die.
I praise him most, I love him best,
All praise and love is his;
while Him I love, in Him I live,
and cannot live amiss.
Octavio Paz's defines love like this: "Love is intensity, that second in which the doors of time and space open for just a crack." Pierce had those moments when the veil between this world and the next fluttered open for an instant, and in his company so have we, in large measure because he wanted us to experience with him, in song and word and deed, the living voice of the Gospel.
Lastly comes self-discipline. I can't tell you how many of you have said words to the effect—"Pierce was a task master, but because of him I grew more personally and musically than I ever imagined I could." Who could forget the sign he placed in our choir room for a number of years: PERFECTION IS OUR GOAL; EXCELLENCE WILL BE TOLERATED.
In my mind's eye I can look up now, into the choir loft, and see Pierce in the fading light of a Saturday afternoon practicing the music for Sunday's service as if nothing else mattered but to come as close to perfection as he possibly could. We kidded him about his self-discipline, his drive to use his gifts to the fullest, and how at times we felt more than a little overwhelmed by it all. But now, especially now, we give thanks to God for his poking and prodding at us so we could achieve more than we ever expected. Who among us, with Pierce's passing, has not said to himself or herself, "Carpe diem, I'd better seize the moments I have in this life, for I will pass this way but once and I had best make good use of all my days."
Lest this sound too daunting, we do well to remember that a necessary and saving grace in Pierce's self-discipline was the fact that he did have a sense of humor and could laugh at himself when need be. Gene and Joe told me a story the other day that leads me to believe that the Getz clan must be carrying a special self-discipline gene in their family tree. Pierce had given a prayer at the dinner table and concluded with an "Ah-men." Josh, who is getting good Lutheran training, interjected, "Grandpa, it's supposed to be 'Amen.' Do it again." To which Pierce replied, "You mean the 'Amen'?" "No," said Josh, "Do the whole prayer over again." Tell me that doesn't sound like choir practice!
So much more could be said. Pierce wouldn't want that--in fact, humble man that he was, he would he would have hoped for a little less of a public celebration of his life than what we're having today. But if we did not take these moments to share and cherish what he has meant in our lives, I think the very pipes in the organ might sound forth on their own.
We give thanks to God for this good and kind and faithful mentor and colleague and husband and father and grandpa and friend--this giant of a man. In his striving to honor God's spirit of power and love and self-discipline in his life, he has left a lasting mark on each of us. In these next few moments let us meditate and grieve and rejoice as we listen to a work that was the final number at Pierce's recent noon-time recital at Pine Street Presbyterian Church, a piece that so touched him that he later commented that it might be good to have it played at his memorial service some day. That day, in God's good time, is now. Let us pay close and careful attention as Shelly Moorman-Stahlman plays "Benedictus" by Alec Rowley, expecting the doors of time and space to open for just a crack.