Brian

My friend Brian died on Friday. Ironically, it was at the end of the Annual Conference year, just before United Methodist pastors were to begin another year of service. Brian was a member of the North Georgia Conference, and had served churches faithfully for twenty-three years.

We met at Asbury Seminary. We were neighbors of a sort. He lived in Alumni Manor, just across the street from Palmer Manor (where we lived for the first year). There were a group of us who all started about the same time, and we quickly bonded over grilling out, sharing life and supporting one another through the ups and downs of seminary life. But especially grilling out. Brian was the master of the charcoal grill.

Brian also quickly became our mechanic. He could fix most anything, though the time we had to change the alternator in the car we owned about tested his limits. Every other bolt in that engine was metric, while the others were standard, and I, of course, was absolutely no help. Well, I handed him tools while he patiently held his tongue. To get to that alternator, he nearly had to remove the whole engine—or at least it seemed that way! One time, he told us he didn't recognize our car on the road; he'd mostly only seen it with the hood up.

Brian had his wallet stolen once while we were in seminary, but he took it in stride. He had left it in his unlocked car; he said he deserved to have it stolen! He had a fantastic sense of humor. Once he called our apartment when we weren't home, and we returned to find a long, rambling message on our answering machine which, he admitted, he left just to see if he could talk long enough to fill up the whole tape. He was a preacher; of course he could talk long enough. And he did!

Brian never took himself seriously, but he took Jesus absolutely seriously. For much of his life, Brian struggled to find happiness. He had many struggles in his life, and yet through it all, he was never without joy. His life, maybe more than any other person I know, taught me the difference between happiness and joy. Happiness is circumstantial. Joy is deep-down, flowing from the Spirit of God. Brian had joy, and he found joy in sharing Jesus with others. No matter where he was sent, he went faithfully and joyfully.

Brian and I graduated together and headed off to separate Conferences and appointments. We would sometimes connect at events like Minister's Conference at Asbury. He once brought his youth choir to my church in Rensselaer to perform, and we talked on the phone occasionally. The picture above is, I believe, the last time we were together (hard to believe it was almost eight years ago), when we met at a Dairy Queen outside of Atlanta. We were on our way to Stone Mountain for vacation, and Brian detained us at DQ just long enough that we missed the worst of the Atlanta traffic. Any time we saw him, it was as if no time had passed. He was that kind of friend.

And I didn't realize how much I missed him until I learned this weekend I would never see him again this side of eternity. For me, not only have I lost a friend, but that coupled with my own fiftieth birthday (he was 53) brings up issues of mortality I don't really want to face right now. (I don't know anyone who does.) But this I know for certain: Brian is home. He's safe. And he's found joy in the presence of his savior...because he always took Jesus seriously.

I'll see you again, Brian. Save a seat for me and we'll catch up. Until then, my prayers are with your family, your churches, and with all whose lives you have touched. Well done, good and faithful servant.