I attended a funeral today—helped
with it even. Mike Scott died last
Saturday at the end of a battle with liver failure. And it wasn’t the liver he’d been born
with. That one gave out years ago, and
Mike was the recipient of a transplant from some kind person who determined
that death for him would mean life for someone else. He couldn’t have donated his liver to a
better man. I had known Mike for the
many years he and his family had been part of our church. I got to know him a little better during his
liver transplant. But I never knew him
all that well …
Until today. The service was simple—the way Mike and his
family wanted it. Laura, his wife, and
his adult children, Rachael and Bailey, didn’t want a lot of fuss. These are quiet people. That didn’t change with the funeral. There was a piano medley of praise songs, one
solo—Great Is Thy Faithfulness—and
three speakers. I was the parenthesis
around a beautiful sentence weaved together by two of Mike’s best friends:
Robert Farrell and Kevin Scanlon. These
guys were Razorback buddies in the late 70s who have maintained a growing
friendship across all these years.
What rich tributes they offered to
their friend! Robert shared about
visiting with Mike on the team bus as the Razorbacks were leaving College
Station on the heels of a big Hog win over Texas A&M. Robert had caught the first touchdown pass in
his Razorback career. And he told Mike, “Why
is it that when I just achieved a childhood dream, I feel a little empty?” Mike said, “Robert, it is just a football
game, you know. Maybe your priorities
are out of order. Try seeking Jesus
first.” Robert remembers that to this
day, and he said that statement got him moving more fully toward the Lord.
Kevin and Mike were roommates in
the athletic dorm. Early in the
relationship, Mike told Kevin, “I’m not a drinker or a carouser, and my faith
is really important to me. I also like
Skoal.” Kevin was amazed at the way so
many people came to Mike for advice and how very much respected Mike was by the
team and by so many others. Mike was
never shy to speak of Jesus but he didn’t blast his faith like a trumpet—loud and
with a lot of fanfare. He played it more
like a flute—quiet, crisp, clean, and clear.
Kevin told a number of other stories as well. Kevin’s presence on the team made it harder
for Mike to ever get on the field as a quarterback. And after college, Kevin even became Mike’s
immediate boss with Stephen’s, Inc. But
their friendship ascended way above all that.
Mike would have rather lived than
die. He had overcome a lot in his life
to succeed on so many levels. Sadly, he couldn’t overcome this latest bout
of illness. But he was okay with
that. He was content to leave that in
God’s hands. He never worried for
himself, but he was concerned for his family.
Still, he knew God would take care of them too. So Mike faced these days with confidence. Not long ago he talked with Laura about the
apostle Paul’s line to his Philippian friends: “For me to live is Christ and to die is gain.” That was Mike’s sentiment to a T. As long as he lived, he wanted his life to
reflect Christ. But when death came, he
knew it would be gain for him. He tried
as hard as he could to get through that infection and numerous other
complications in his illness. He gave it
his best shot. But when a Christian gets
to the place where there really is no living and he can only say “For me to exist is Christ,” then the gain of death
and heaven is just too enticing to kick against any longer. So late last Saturday, surrounded by family
and friends, Mike knew the race God had called him to run was coming to an
end. He saw the finish line. Like any good athlete, he bolted for it, and
as he broke the tape, he raised his arms in praise to Jesus for getting him all
the way home. And he did so amid the
cheers of a great cloud of witnesses, some of whom may well have been there
because Mike helped them to Jesus. What
the apostle Paul said about himself to Timothy, we could say about Mike
today. Mike fought the good fight, he finished
the race, he kept the faith, and now he is enjoying Jesus and sweet reunion and
the glories of heaven.
Did I tell you it was a really good funeral
service? Hopeful, encouraging,
faith-filled, plenty of laughter, and a few tears too. But here’s what was so remarkable about it:
even though Robert and Kevin told a lot of Mike-stories, somehow Jesus came off
the hero. That’s the way, Mike, Laura,
Rachael and Bailey wanted it. And that’s
the way it was.
I had two thoughts as I left the service today. One, I sure hope my funeral is not the next
one to follow his J—it would be so anticlimactic. But the main thought I walked away with today
is not a thought I’ve often pondered at the end of any of the gazillion
funerals I’ve been part of in my decades of ministry. I walked away asking God to make a better
Christian out of me.
And Mike Scott smiled.
