“Why are you leaving your church?” I asked politely. We were having a church potluck dinner to meet our pastor candidate. “The people won’t follow me,” he replied. Red flag! At that time, I was 17 years into my 22-year Marine Corps career and, having risen through the ranks, I knew a little something about following and leading. I’m thinking to myself, If you are going somewhere, anywhere, some people will follow. He became the pastor, and we left the church.

Eight years later, we’re back in the same church, new building, attending the pastor’s funeral. Given that we’re talking about a pastor here, I was expecting to partake in a joyous homecoming celebration. I was disappointed in that expectation. After a routine funeral service, people were asked to come and share stories about their pastor’s ministry. Other than one individual sharing a story about “shooting hoops” together, the stories were pretty unmemorable. I left the church depressed and challenged.

I admit that funerals are not my favorite thing, although I’ve come to the realization that they are great opportunities to speak the truth of God’s word. I’ve done funerals for both family members and for strangers; both the lost and the saved. To be honest, I only reluctantly did funerals for the lost until a pastor friend set the example I’ve come to use. He told a gathering of family and friends, “If so-and-so were here today, he [or she] would want you to know Jesus is Lord.” In Luke 16, Jesus told a story (not a parable) about a rich man (who is never named) and a beggar named Lazarus. Both died. Lazarus was carried by angels to Abraham’s bosom. The rich man ended up in Hell (verses 19-23). The rich man knew that he had made a grave mistake about eternity. “And he called out, 'Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the end of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am in anguish in this flame’” (Luke 16:24, ESV). The fact that he pleads for someone to go tell his family members about his fate supports the concept of using this approach at a funeral.

The author of the book of Ecclesiastes, the Preacher, the son of David, King in Israel (Solomon), gives us an interesting perspective on funerals: “It is better to go to the house of mourning [funeral] than to go to the house of feasting, for this is the end of all mankind and the living will lay it to heart. … The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth” (Ecclesiastes 7:2,4). Funerals make all of us aware of our mortality, and when the death is unexpected (as it was in the funeral I mentioned above), the uncertainty of life is made evident.

While this is a good lesson in sharing with those in attendance at a funeral, I want to focus on the aspect of reflecting on our own lives and the impact we may be having on people around us. I found it personally challenging driving home as I thought on the priorities of my life. Would people have anything better to say about me than that I shot hoops (with me having been a second-string high school basketball player)? I’m fairly sure that wouldn’t have impressed anyone. I determined to make my life count for the Kingdom of God and for eternity. Funerals remind us that our years here are numbered. The Psalmist cried out, “Teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom” (Psalm 90:12).

The key is not to work harder but to love the Lord more passionately. Jesus commended the church of Ephesus for its works, but it lost something in the process. “I know your works, your toil, and your patient endurance, and how you cannot bear with those who are evil but have tested those who call themselves apostles and are not and found them to be false. I know you are enduring patiently and bearing up for my name’s sake, and you have not grown weary. But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first” (Revelation 2:2-4). Anything we do that is not out of love for Christ is wood, hay, and straw (I Corinthians 3:12). The things we do out of a heart of love are not burdensome but rather a source of joy, “for the joy of the Lord is your strength” (Nehemiah 8:10). What say ye, Man of Valor?