I don’t know why, but going to a funeral somehow feels like getting a speeding ticket to me.
Getting a ticket sucks, doesn’t it? It’s a sobering experience, that tends to ruin a perfectly good day. You feel helpless as you wait for the officer to return to your car—the outcome is out of your hands now. Especially when he comes back with a ticket waving in the wind. Driving away, I replay the previous moments over and over, wishing I would’ve acted differently as to avoid a stupid ticket. And yet 99% of the time, I probably deserved it.
Getting a ticket, in a way, is like an act of mercy. I think about speeding. If a cop gives me ticket, it’s meant to be a warning. He’s saying, “You need to slow down. Pay attention to your surroundings. You could hurt someone.” When I get a ticket, it’s a wake up call. I probably (gradually) haven’t been paying attention to the rules of the road. I’ve been lax. If I’m honest, I’m fortunate to get this warning—a reminder to snap back into it, do better, become focused again.
It’s the same thing with our lives. Things are always moving pretty fast (I think Ferris Bueller said it best). If we’re not paying attention, or when we become apathetic, we miss out on many things that God has for us. Sometimes God has to come down and give us a ticket. “Slow down, dude. You’re out of control.” We could be coasting carelessly, or worse, driving half-asleep. What does it take for me to get focused again on what matters? I wonder how often I might be on cruise control, until everything stops when I encounter something like a funeral. It’s a reset, that makes me reevaluate my life.
Going to a funeral is also a sobering experience. They’re awkward, uncomfortable, another type of reality check. For many of us, they conjure a sense of dread—whether having to attend or participate on any level. They are painful to endure—bringing emotions are hard to process and put into words. Like a ticket, they feel unfair.
One thing I’ve always thought strange is how a person’s life gets condensed down to four or five photo boards on display at the funeral home. Snapshots, moments in time, a brief life scrapbook. It’s weird to compress and move through the decades of someone’s life so quickly, and not think that their life amounted to more than this. All of our lives are so much more textured, complex, colorful, fascinating, and meaningful than these boards can portray. But I get it. I understand the need to encapsulate a life (for now) in a way that fits the room. If anything, these boards are a stark reminder of how short this life is.
I went to a funeral once for a man named Phil Beck. This was back in 2015, and it’s still with me today.
I still think of him from time to time, because Phil Beck was simply a great man. I met him when I was 14 years old, and watched him from afar for the next 20. In the few interactions I did have with him, he was always kind to me. I didn’t know him well, but I looked up to him. To me, this means that a life can speak volumes to those who are observing. Phil was one of those people for me. He was a youth pastor when I met him, and later he moved on to become a college pastor, then a senior pastor.
One thing I should mention about Phil was that he was “Addicted to Jesus.” He had this phrase tattooed on his arm. A pretty bold statement—even for our proper, slightly domesticated Baptist Church he was serving at, where he drove an 80’s Mustang with the same phrase on display across the back window.
Addicted to Jesus. Phil was kind of normal, and kind of a secret rebel at the same time.
Phil even looked like Jesus. Year after year, he would actually play the part of Jesus at our church’s annual Christmas production. As a young teen, I was mesmerized by this quiet portrayal of Jesus on the stage.
Phil’s passing at age 54 shook me. Why did he have to die so young? He spent his whole life serving the Lord and loving people. He was influencing and reaching so many. He was living life to the full–doing so much good–why did it have to get cut short?
These are questions I’ll never have answers to. But I know that Phil’s life can’t be condensed to a few grainy photographs. His life was much more that that.
Those 54 years were impactful ones. An ordinary man who invested in people, who loved his family, who had his priorities straight. Above all, who was addicted to Jesus.
For Phil (Inheriting Heaven)
You were a giant in the land
Both spiritually
And in physical stature.
A long time ago
You poured into young souls
While we were still
Awkward, punky, and pliable,
Not yet hardened
By the ways of the world.
Over time,
You inherited the earth
Because of your meekness,
And in the process
You embodied what every man wants—
Greatness.
But today,
You inherited the Heavens-
A home on another shore
A glorious Kingdom you always
Seemed to be working your way towards.