Note: Dad died on January 25th, 2010. It was the first funeral sermon I ever delivered.
Protestant Theologian Karl Barth once wrote about the difficulty of the preacher’s task. According to Barth, before the preacher sat the Scripture, the Word of God, mystery beyond all understanding. And just past the Scripture sat the body of Christ, the congregation, mystery beyond all understanding. I wonder what Barth might have made of the funeral sermon, where the mystery of the Word and the mystery of the congregation contemplates the mystery of eternal life.
For it is eternal life that we are here to contemplate. The Christian pilgrim has completed his earthly journey and has gone home, to the source of his life, to the source of all life. And it is worth reviewing that life as we consider our own journeys.
Dad’s early life was not easy. While he was still a child his father, a Norfolk police officer, was diagnosed with tuberculosis. The entire family was uprooted and moved to New Mexico. There was grueling poverty, many nights Dad had only a piece of fried fat back and a single potato to eat. It was all to no avail, for his father would never recover. After Dad’s father died the family moved back east… times were still tough, and there were more moves. As soon as he was able to he escaped, enlisting in the Army. He had been promised he would not be sent to Korea, so of course, that is exactly where they sent him. During one firefight he was shot through both legs while his buddy, standing next to him, was killed. Dad was young and angry and refused the Purple Heart. He was patched up and returned to combat, surviving the war and returning to Tidewater.
There was an early marriage and a daughter. That marriage failed, and when his ex-wife re-married, lawyers bullied him into giving up the child for adoption. Loss was a constant in his life.
Then an amazing thing happened. He met Mom. They were married and two years later Mom was expecting. Dad’s pain was not over. Paul David Brinn, named for a beloved pastor, was born with significant birth defects and only lived for twelve weeks. Dad was already a firefighter, and his colleagues took up collections to help with medical bills. Mom and I recently found the letter that was sent to each fire station soliciting donations.
I was born two years later and barely survived infancy. But I did survive, and then Michelle and Amy came along. The Brinn family had a comfortable working class life, though church was left to Mom. When I entered Scouting, Dad became good friends with a local volunteer, Bill Hill. Several years later Dad was with Bill when he died of a heart attack.
Of course, there were many good times. I think we saw every cavern in the Commonwealth of Virginia, traipsed across every battlefield. Dad could be hard-headed and curmudgeonly, but he knew every neighbor, was always willing to lend a hand. In fact, I believe that in this modern culture of stand-alone houses, of sub-nuclear families, Dad made community wherever he went. There might not have been a neighborhood when he arrived, but there was one when he left.
Dad retired from the Fire Department, from the Virginia Beach School System, but he could never stop working. It was not until his stroke in 2003 that he finally slowed down.
Of course, Mom was there all along, working, parenting. During these last years, even as his health declined, Dad came to realize what a miracle he had in Mom. He spent every moment he could with her, enjoyed the company of others. And he finally gave himself to Christ.
For as good of a man as Dad was, it was not enough. Being a Christian is not based on being born in a Christian family, nor is it some vague cultural category. Being a Christian means turning your life over to Jesus, and it means joining a local congregation, for Christ is clear that we are his followers when we walk this journey together. And so Dad found a church home, with Mom, with the extended family, here at Central Baptist. He studied scripture, he prayed. His Bible was with him until the very end.
This, however, is not a eulogy, it is a sermon. Dad’s journey on earth is complete, and we are here, as early church father John Chrysostom wrote, to accompany him singing. We are saying our farewell, for now at least, we are celebrating salvation.
For as I have suggested, our eternal life, that is the life after death, is a mystery. Jesus gives few details, and while Paul elaborates, the picture is far from complete. We know that we are no longer physical bodies, Paul assures us that we are raised as spiritual bodies. We know that the pain and the suffering Dad endured during the last two years are over.
We also know this: Jesus offers us, those of us still on the journey, Jesus offers us life in full now, right now. Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death writes the Psalmist. And we all do, indeed, walk through the valley of the shadow of death. Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. This is one indication of the life available to us … our lives need not be a prolonged flight from death, we need not live in fear, death cannot defeat us anymore than it could defeat Jesus. We have freedom in Christ, freedom from fear, freedom to live boldly, to live fully. This is the Psalmist’s message, this is the Savior’s message. Get up, go forth, be bold. Spread the Good News of salvation, heal and comfort and most of all love, and do so boldly.
Even as his body failed, Dad’s love expanded. I will not pretend that he was never afraid in his last weeks. He longed for the peace and certainty of our beloved Uncle Jerry, though without the hard work of years of prayer and service and study, that peace was difficult to achieve. But more than anything, Dad did not want to leave Mom. He had lost too many people he loved, he could not let her go.
Dad loved Mom beyond all words, loved his neighbors, loved his children and grandchildren, loved his doctors and nurses. In pain, often afraid, he still loved.
Dad’s life was transformed by love, by the love of my mother who stuck with him through good times and bad for fifty years of marriage. By the love of fellow Christians, fellow travelers, who touched his heart and guided his steps, who held his hand when he was weak, who prayed with him. And he was transformed by the love of Christ who called him and calls us still, who dares to dream for us more than we can ever dream for ourselves.
Life in full now, with boldness and with the Spirit. Life eternal… promised by Christ. Love, the love of our amazing God. Love for one another. This is what Dad discovered. The pilgrim’s journey is over and he has been called home. We are left behind, not to mope and mourn, but to celebrate. Jesus is calling. How can we keep from singing?
Let us join together in that great celebration of Christian hope, singing hymn number 781, Face to Face.