A Real Man

Deeply Moved at a Funeral

Photo by Vidar Nordli-Mathisen on Unsplash

Maybe it’s because I am halfway through this book. Maybe it’s because I am finding myself pondering often these days how to parent adult children. Maybe it’s because I continuously hear stories of parents in their mid-sixties and seventies concerned about their grown-up kids. Maybe it’s because I feel the anxiety in young parents wanting to make sure they don’t “mess up” their offspring. Maybe it’s because I get so exhausted by the “true manhood” rhetoric that often is just a way for immature guys to defend their rough and tumble, Marlboro-Man, loud and arrogant, might-makes-right posture. Maybe it is a mixture of all the above. I don’t know, but I was - more than usual - deeply moved at a funeral I officiated recently. I left knowing that I had just heard a description of a human who embodied a real man.

I only knew him for a couple of years. He was calm and quiet, never demanding attention. Looking back, I so wish I had spent more time observing and learning from him. It’s always the unnoticed ones that are most like Jesus. You think I would learn to give myself to those who are silently on the margins. If I read my Bible correctly, these are the ones to learn from and recommend for leadership. His wife of 56 years deeply loves Jesus and is the epitome of a wife who can “laugh at the days to come” (Proverbs 31:25) even in her husband’s passing.

It’s easy to fool the public. Anyone can look like they have integrity, character, godliness, and are keeping in step with the Spirit when the lights from the public are on them. But those who know us best and can authentically speak of the kind of people we really are, are those who call us dad. Those who see us on Monday morning. Those who watch how we treat our spouse. Those who observe what we do with our time. Those who hear how we speak of others. Those who hear what language emerges when we are upset. Those who watch our actions when our blood pressure rages. Those who see how we respond when they disobey, fail, struggle, and fall. Those who lean in to see how we respond when we ourselves disobey, fail, struggle, and fall. Those who constantly, consciously and subconsciously, are keeping a record of everything they see and hear. And, intentionally or not, the records they keep stay with them throughout their lives.

The man being remembered left behind three adult children and seven grandchildren. All three of his children spoke, along with four of his grandchildren. Before the service, I was a bit concerned as to how long it would last. I’ve attended a lot of funerals. Usually, when one or two family members want to speak - the service can get long. Seven? I wondered what we were all in for. My suspicions were pointless. Honestly, I don’t even know how long the service lasted. I was literally mesmerized by the family and their words.

Nothing showy. Nothing flamboyant. Nothing extravagant. Just seven beloved family members using words like “fun” and “calm” and “silly” and “safe” and “steady” and “non-condemning” and “playful” and “interested” and “wise” over and over and over again. One of the children spoke of his dad’s unconditional love, expressed most during a hard season when it would have been easy for him to chastise. Another spoke of how her dad wrote her notes that always ended with “much love, dad.” Yet another recalled how, though he never talked/bragged about it, her father was often found reading his Bible while waiting to pick up a grandchild from practice. It was a half hour of testimonies describing a man who quietly, calmly, steadily, joyfully, eagerly, tenderly, and humorously paid attention to and deeply loved his family and his God. I imagine similar things will be said about my own dad when it’s his time. I can only hope half of what I heard might be said about me.

In my opinion, this is how the kingdom of God reveals itself on earth. Nothing flashy. Not loud or unnecessarily aggressive. Like a mustard seed. Like yeast in dough. Unassuming. Quiet. Away from the headlines. Loving and serving people. Not worried about instituting a moral policy. Not panicked about the state of our culture. Not constantly walking around with a “us vs. them” posture. Rather, concerned about the person(s) the Father has put in their lives and living with a joyful determination to see them thrive as human beings. Simply and freely loving the person right in front of them. Not broadcasting it. Not announcing it. Just doing it. From what I observed and heard at his memorial service, the impact of his ways and words will endure for generations. A legacy resulting from not really trying to make one. A legacy that results from joyfully serving those entrusted to his care.

In the hours after his passing, I spoke with his now widowed wife. She shared with me how she expected several hundred to attend the service. I thought to myself, “bless her, but there’s no way.” I’ve learned that, usually, the older a person is at their passing, fewer attend the funeral. I thought to myself, “It will probably be closer to 50-75.” As I mentioned above, he was a quiet, calm, gentle man. I assumed it would be a nice, small, and quaint service. I was wrong. Bad wrong. There were several hundred people at the service. Several hundred who were influenced by this man. This quiet, calm, unassuming, loving, and holy man. From my perspective, dear readers, that is a real kingdom man. May God raise more of them up. Men that we don’t know about. Men that we don’t pay attention to. But men who are going about their kingdom business, living so that those near them are well-loved and becoming whole humans.