Friday, April 1, 2011

Tribute to A Life Well Lived

My grandfather recently passed at the age of 94. He is a larger-than-life patriarchal figure in our family. Here is a eulogy I wrote in honor of his praiseworthy life:

I’m honored to share a few words in memory and loving praise of my grandfather. Perhaps the best way to summarize his life is the phrase, “a life well lived.” We all want to live such a life, and my grandfather did.

What makes for a life well lived? Jesus answered this question when he said, “He who would be greatest must be the servant of all.” My grandfather was a servant of all. Without glory or attention he served as the janitor for his church, raised three daughters, and loved one woman for 73 years. He worked with his hands and by the sweat of his brow contributed much to society and required little from it. He taught several grandchildren how to fish, how to work, and how to be men. He was a simple man, a man of honesty, integrity and hard work; an elegant example of the generation Brokaw aptly called “The Greatest Generation.” It is because of my grandfather that I have determined never to praise unworthy men, for I know how a man ought to be.

We will all remember his stories; the stories are what made him. From the purely comic ones, like the story of the psychotic stray cat pulling on the screen door, or the dismembered frogs his mother demanded he put out of their misery, to the stories of his Texas relatives, stories of growing up in the Great Depression, boning more hams than any human should be able to in a day, and of course, meeting Grandma, marrying young by today’s standards, and raising three daughters in a 900 square foot home in suburban Kansas City.

He loved to remind me of the summer I spent with them as a young boy. I now identify that summer as perhaps the greatest single memory and formative experience of my childhood. He would tell me the story of my first fishing trip, when we rose at 5am to see the sunrise over the Missouri hills. Apparently I made some comment about the unusual size of the sun, and then proceeded to tell my mom about it over the phone. I was in awe at just how majestic the sun could look so early in the morning. In so many words, grandpa suggested that this must be the first time I had dragged my sorry carcass out of bed early enough to see a sunrise. He was right. He introduced me to the beauty, glory and simplicity of nature, and taught me that the highest praise we can offer the best scenes of life is our receptive silence.

For all his strength my grandpa was a proud and fragile man. Every one of my years on this earth he served me, giving me encouragement, discipline, unjustified praise and even money when I was a struggling college student. This selfless love for me proved stronger than his fear of flying. I will never forget that perhaps the purest act of love ever expressed towards me by another human being was when my grandpa, at the age of 78, boarded an airplane for the first time to honor me with his presence on my wedding day. Please understand, it is not simply that this act is a beautiful sentiment to share with you all. I am different because I have been loved like that. Everyone needs to believe that someone thinks them worthy of extravagant love; that someone in this world finds them to be extraordinary and convinces them of it by consistent action. My grandpa did this for me.

He also knew suffering in a way I have never experienced, but weathered his life’s relentless pains with dignity. He outlived most of his friends and all of his siblings. When I saw his grief at his youngest daughter Wanda’s funeral, I wanted so badly to take his pain away as he had done so many times for others. Now there will be “no more pain, no more sorrow, no more suffering, for the former things have passed away. (Rev. 21)” His days of suffering in this broken world are over.

My grandfather was no theologian, but he was living theology. He possessed no formal education, but he was wise. He was no orator, but when he spoke, we all listened. He was never a mover and shaker in his church, but gave that community his heart and soul for 67 years. He was never a rich man, but he was rich in everything that counts—in love and virtue. He never learned the Internet, but his connection with us is substantial and lasting.

And one last brief thought that I think he would want me to mention: My grandpa grew to love and serve Jesus Christ at Evangel Temple. He committed his life to the savior because he knew he was not enough to overcome his own imperfections. He knew he was not simply okay the way he was. He trusted that God’s love could accept him as he was and lead him into an extraordinary life, and I trust that you will honor my grandpa’s legacy by reconsidering the teaching of Jesus today. He promises to give not just enduring life, but “the good life;” “a life well lived.”