Bridge Building

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It is more than semantics to say that I’m attending a memorial service rather than a funeral this morning.  Language matters as much in the 21st century as it ever has, maybe more so, because pluralism is a part of everyday life like never before.  My new colleagues, peers, and friends here in Oklahoma are celebrating the life of a minister who died this week.  He was at home on his day off.  I knew Gary only a brief time, but know that his gentle influence of gospel reached deeply into many lives here in Oklahoma.  He served his current congregation for 26 years.  A rare thing in our denomination.  He mentored many, listened intently, and loved serving in Christian ministry.  The story about his life in the Edmond Sun tells his story.

Twice in my life I’ve participated in a memorial service for a mentor and friend.  The were bridge builders, but I didn’t know it.  Rev. Will Van Nostrand and Rev. Mary Beth Guy helped shaped my life and service in ministry right after seminary.  They followed along as I “grew up.”  They encouraged me to be authentic and mindful of Christian history, and that specific congregation’s history, as I went about practicing the Christian faith.  The were bridge builders and from what I can observe about Rev. Gary Byrkit he was as well.  Will had me read a poem at his memorial service.  He knew that would challenge me and comfort.  Mary Beth had me give a prayer at the communion table.  She knew that would challenge me and comfort.  Of what I know of Rev. Gary Byrkit, it seems fitting for his memorial today.

The Bridge Builder
By Will Allen Dromgoole
An old man going a lone highway,
Came, at the evening cold and gray,
To a chasm vast and deep and wide.
Through which was flowing a sullen tide
The old man crossed in the twilight dim,
The sullen stream had no fear for him;
But he turned when safe on the other side
And built a bridge to span the tide.
“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim near,
“You are wasting your strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day,
You never again will pass this way;
You’ve crossed the chasm, deep and wide,
Why build this bridge at evening tide?”
The builder lifted his old gray head;
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There followed after me to-day
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm that has been as naught to me
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be;
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building this bridge for him!”
Source: Father: An Anthology of Verse (EP Dutton & Company, 1931)
, August 17, 2013. Category: Michael D.

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