“I don’t want a funeral.” Those were the words of my dear friend, Don Nixon, during his fearless battle with leukemia. Don passed away on Monday, February 8. I served on staff with Don and his wife Cathe. Along with their daughter Jordan, they became close friends of my family. We lived faith together and traveled the world together. (We really didn’t travel together, because Don was always 20 feet ahead of us, literally. He lived life in the present and the future, anticipating what great experience lay just ahead.)
Don and I texted or talked almost every day, as we battled our illnesses concurrently. We talked about a good God in a sick world. We talked about living and dying and living again. We talked about dreams, both realized and unrealized. We talked about what we imagined Jesus thought about institutional church (always one of our “go to” conversations). We talked about planning Advent and Lenten worship together again, although we knew that neither of us would ever be able.
Contrary to what many people think, ministers don’t usually have too many close friends. The confidential nature of the job means that we don’t have much to talk about! Don was a very close friend. We had a great deal to talk about.
“I don’t want a funeral.” I remember when Don first said these words. He and I had conducted more funerals together than you can imagine. We gave those moments our best, because we knew that we could make a difference with families at that confusing intersection in their lives. Funerals were holy moments in our ministry together, times when the eternal and the temporary crashed into each other. Each one was uniquely difficult in its own way. (I found it easier to “preach” a funeral when the deceased was not a Christian than when the individual claimed faith but no one could tell.)
“I don’t want a funeral.” When Don spoke these words, I reminded him how much life we had spent together with funerals. I reminded him of the countless hours preparing for them: I with the homily and prayers, he with the worshipful expressions through music and art. I reminded him that the services were a means through which the light of God pierced darkness. I reminded him of the age-old adage: funerals are for the living.
“I don’t want a funeral.” Why did Don say this? Because Don insisted that his life should speak for his dying. We should live life in a way that when we are gone, there is nothing left to say.
We did not have a funeral when Don died. We simply gathered to celebrate his life. If you have some time and want to celebrate a life well-lived, you can find a link to Don’s celebration on his church’s website (http://www.centralbaptistnewnan.org/media2010).
My friend has died. I am still very sad, and I miss him terribly. But I know that he has just arrived before me. (After all, I told him that he might as well get to heaven first, because he was always first to every other place we traveled!)
Thank you, Don, for living a life so well that you didn’t need a funeral. See you later.
