Funerals are strange, eerie rituals. I just got back from one in Michigan for my friend and former co-worker Barry.
Naturally, the death of someone we care about brings on thoughts of what should have been said when the person was still alive. We also think about the times we had together and the times we should have had together. (Ironically, a few weeks ago, I had made plans with Barry to visit him and his wife on the very weekend his funeral would take place. Instead of reminiscing with him, this weekend was spent reminiscing about him.)
For me, remembering Barry, it was having a great time working with him, having lunch together, and even hitting the ski slopes. Mostly, we had a great deal of mutual respect for each other's work. (I never felt better about my work than when he would praise my efforts.) I also remember having a good time playing devil’s advocate and stirring up his more conservative spirit. :)
Funerals are meant for sharing these sorts of thoughts. Indeed, many people stood during Barry's service to give short but very meaningful recollections on the man we were there to remember. I really didn’t know what to say, and I’m not a very good speaker anyway. I didn’t say anything.
But one thing I wish I had shared is that I think the most important thing to remember about my friend is not about my relationship to him.
Rather, what I think is most significant about his life is his relationship to the thousands of people who will never know his name. You see, during his lifetime, Barry was a publishing director for several non-profit Christian publishing ministries. That’s where I met him, and that was what he was doing up to the week or two before he died.
As a publishing director, Barry brought together authors, editors, graphic artists, layout artists, and printers to create books and other literature that touched (and still touches) hearts and, yes, even made some money. That’s what Barry was clearly called to do in his short life. And he was incredibly successful at doing it. He was the conductor of a symphony of books, responsible for putting together, publishing, and selling or giving away thousands of Christian books that are in the hands of people right now all over the world.
Of course, a book is most widely known by its author. If you happen to judge a book by its cover, a book can also be known by its graphic artist. If you judge a book by its clarity or its mistakes, you might get to know a book by its editor. You can even get to know a book by the press firm that printed it.
But even though they are entirely crucial to the process, you will never know a book by its publishing director. Their name is never mentioned in the credits. And that’s unfortunate, especially in this case, because without Barry, some people wouldn’t have that certain book that has answered their doubts, or strengthened their faith, or given them hope for the future. Barry’s career was putting together books that are springboards for the Holy Spirit to call seekers and backsliders to the fold.
If you want to know the kind of impact Barry had on individuals, all you need to do is stop by an Adventist Book Center and look around. Chances are, one of his books is sitting on a shelf, waiting to be purchased, read, and then shared with another.
As tragic as Barry’s death is … and considering the mistakes he made in his short life, he did two very important things right. First, he loved his wife. Second, he did what God called him to do, fulfilling his mission up to the very end.
It is, I suppose, too late to pray for a change in Barry's life. But we can honor his life's legacy by praying for the thousands of souls who are reading and will be reading his books -- who will experience a change in their lives because Barry cared about the literature work.
And finally, let's remember that God will be using Barry’s work to save souls until the very last possible moment. Don't lose heart. God can turn even the worst of circumstances into something good.
