I was Dave’s groomsman on May 28 and his pallbearer eight days later. His funeral was sixteen days after my grandmother’s. This is the revised and expanded version of the eulogy I shared.
Growing up, Dave was the closest thing I had to a little brother. We were both very responsible children on our own, but the moment we got together, all of that went out the window. We could cut loose, play pranks on our sisters, play pranks on each other. We had epic hide-and-seek battles, chaotic group texts, late summer nights watching playoff basketball.
Plenty of you have already shared about Dave’s excellent fashion sense, and I’m a testament to that. He’s the only person who could have made me wear a sherwani to his wedding. This suit I’m wearing is one he helped me pick out.
We’ve already heard scores of people share about his love for aviation; it was a love I saw up close as well. Dave is the only person I know to have fulfilled his childhood dream after decades of model planes, flight simulators, and staring up at at the sky.
I got to experience two of the great joys of my life a couple months ago. We were in DC celebrating Dave’s upcoming wedding and we took a trip to the Air and Space Museum. If I had gone with 10-year-old Dave, it would have been a treat. But I went with 25-year-old Dave and it was better than any tour guide I could have asked for. He was a pro, explaining nuances of aircraft in a way that almost made me believe he sat in the original design reviews fifty years prior.
The second joy was watching Dave, in every tiny moment on that trip, finding space for his beloved Jesni. He was my younger cousin, and I found myself asking him for relationship advice! Because I saw him walking a path I wanted to walk as well.
But honestly, I don’t what else to tell you. In a million years, I never would have imagined that I’d be eulogizing Dave, let alone in these circumstances.
But I’ll tell you what I have learned in this season. We desperately need a big God who can become very small. We need a God who can hold the whole world in His hands, and at the same time an Immanuel, a God With Us, close to us in our sorrows. I have found that in Jesus. Like David sang generations before, I look at the stars and wonder, “Who am I that you are mindful of me?”
I’ve asked God a lot of questions this week. Why? What now? How is this good? I don’t know. But I’ll tell you what I have learned in this season. As deep as this sorrow has been, a light has surrounded us. I have learned what John 1:5 means: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.” When I looked all around, I saw darkness everywhere. But I was looking too far into the distance. Because the light that shines in the darkness is near to us. When I refocused my gaze, I saw that the light was not a mile away; it was half an inch away.
I’ve learned that Jesus understands my sorrow better than I could have fathomed. Because when he found out his close relative John, the one often referred to as His cousin, had died, He did exactly what I found myself doing. Withdrawing, getting alone in a desolate place, grieving the loss of a dear friend and brother. Jesus knows exactly what that feels like.
I’ve used the word “incomprehensible” a lot lately to describe these circumstances. But I think I was using it wrong. The darkness has always been comprehensible. We live in a world of troubles, and we are not surprised that troubles are here. But you know what is incomprehensible? It’s the light. The light that spoke creation itself into existence, that light shines in my darkness. The light that bled so I could live, that light burns brighter still. I do not understand why God would choose to be this near in my sorrow. But I receive Him, and Dave received Him, and many of us have received Him, and as a result, we become children of that light.
When I am confused, lost, searching for answers, I often turn to Psalm 73. The psalmist looks around the world of horrors and wickedness. He thinks his righteousness is futile. But then he says this: “If I had said, ‘I will speak thus,’ Behold, I would have been untrue to the generation of Your children. When I thought how to understand this, It was too painful for me—Until I went into the sanctuary of God.” This is our hope. Not that we understand it all, not that we figure out the answers, but that we go in to the sanctuary of God. That is where Dave is, and that sanctuary will walk us through the rest of our days.