When the Death of a Loved Friend Makes Us Pause
Written by Tom Cooper
The sudden death of a friend we have loved brings both deep sadness and introspection. We grieve personally and for the family, but we also have to confront our own mortality (never a comfortable topic). The death of our peers carries an existential quality, because their passing reminds us that we, just like them, could die as they have – suddenly and with no warning.
For pastors, the death of a friend carries yet another dimension, as when someone in our community dies we are asked to reflect on that person’s life on behalf of, and in service to, that community. A couple of weeks ago as I was preparing to fly to Toronto to mourn a friend’s passing and support his family in this challenging moment, I was asked to do the sermon for his funeral. This gave me the privilege to think further, and more deeply, about this very good friend; what his life meant, and why he was who he was.
This experience made me ask a question that haunts all of us, and pastors most of all: What will the preacher at my funeral say?
I’d like to share the outline of that sermon. I am a fellow struggler, with all of you on this journey of life, death and purpose. May this encourage us all to pause and think about our lives and our legacies.
“Do you not know, have you not heard, that a prince and a great man has fallen this day in Israel?" - King David, to his servants, (2nd Samuel 3:38)
“So you also, when you have done all that is commanded you, say, ‘We are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty.’” - Jesus, to his disciples, (Luke 17:10)
There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. - (1 John 4:8)
These Scripture passages remind me of my good friend, as does the Irish proverb: “When I count my blessings, I count you twice.”
The array of touching eulogies given by his friends, co-workers, and family members recall many remarkable qualities that my friend possessed. As for myself, I was thinking of four words that embody how we all experienced this person.
If you were younger than him, he was a rudder – an example, a guide, a mentor. My son Jonathan learned this 25 years ago, at the age of 12. My friend called him and invited him out to play basketball followed by coffee, a muffin, and a chat. This tradition continued. As was their habit, the last time he was in Vancouver several months ago, he and my now 37 year old son Jonathan had lunch.
If you worked with him, or volunteered with him, you know that he acted with integrity and honour. He was the very definition of what the Jewish community calls a “mensch.”
If you had the privilege to be a close friend or a family member of his, he was what we often call a prince: a man of courage and heart, someone whose character matched their gracious words.
And, finally, what would God call my dear friend? This is the question that would interest him the most. And I know that I enter dangerous terrain in asking this question… and it would not be the first time for me.
I think our Lord would call him his servant – and from where we sit, a good and faithful one.
Let us clear up any confusion today in case anyone is unsure why he was a rudder, mensch, and prince. He was indeed:
A loving husband
A generous father
A volunteer for those who were mentally ill
Engaged in helping to feed and clothe people at home and abroad
Impeccably honest and hard-working
But if you want to know what made him tick, what compass he used to find true north, the answer I think he would give is this: He was a pilgrim, a follower of Jesus.
It was through his relationship with God that he anchored his life both in word and deed.
I am sure if he had just sat through his funeral and all the accolades he received, he would gently and modestly remind us of the words of Jesus mentioned earlier:
“I was only doing what I was told to do--I am an unworthy servant and have only done my duty.”
In Matthew’s gospel, Jesus also said, “Well done, good and faithful servant. .... Enter into the joy of your master.”’ (Matthew 25:23)
Embrace the joy, dear friend. You have earned it.
Amen.
Blessings,
Tom