Another Good-bye … For Now

Can I just go on record and say it: I hate cancer. Hate it, hate it, hate it! I hate what it does to my friends. I hate what it did to my parents. I hate what it may one day do me. Can God use cancer to do good things, deeper things, spiritual things in people’s lives? Yes. I’ve seen God do that more times than I can count, and I’m grateful for God’s redeeming grace. But I still hate cancer.

Maybe I feel so strongly right now because yesterday I buried another friend. His name is Ralph and he died of colon cancer. And oddly enough I buried him on what would have been my dad’s 98th birthday had he not died of colon cancer himself at age 73. Did I mention that I hate cancer?

It’s been more than a year since Ralph got his diagnosis and the doctor told him he had maybe a couple of months to live. Death got the word and set up camp outside Ralph’s door. And it didn’t take long for Death to realize he should have packed a bigger suitcase. Ralph blew past those first two months and kept on going—not “going” as in laying around in a bed waiting to die, but “going” as in on with his life—family and work and having fun. Treatments knocked him down, but he always got back up.

I was on my way to see my daughter’s family in Texas the first of July when I got a call from Ralph. “The doctor told me my liver is failing and I’ll be lucky to live the rest of the week,” he said. Well, he made it through that week and about fourteen more on top of that. It wasn’t easy. He was sick a lot, had to be in the hospital off and on for one procedure or another. But he didn’t give up and he didn’t give in.

I’ve walked through the land of cancer with a lot people over more than thirty years of ministry, and some of them were real fighters. But I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone fight cancer with the courage, faith, and ferocity of Ralph Brewer. On his last doctor’s visit, the doctor said, “Ralph, we can’t give you anymore treatments. We all agree it will make things worse instead of better. It’s like trying to knock down a concrete wall with a baseball bat.” Ralph looked at the doctor and said, “You’d be surprised what I can knock down with a baseball bat.” And they gave him one more treatment. Ralph was one tough fighter. The colorful evangelist Billy Sunday once said this about sin: “I’m against sin. I’ll kick it as long as I have a foot. I’ll fight it as long as I have a fist. I’ll butt it as long as I have a head. I’ll bite it as long as I’ve got a tooth. And when I’m old and fistless and footless and toothless, I’ll gum it till I go home to Glory and it goes home to perdition.” That’s the way Ralph fought cancer. And when Ralph breathed his last on Saturday morning, I don’t know who was more exhausted: Ralph or his cancer.

There was a big crowd at the funeral. Ralph had lots of friends. One of the things I loved most about Ralph is that Ralph was Ralph—and he was that all the time. He didn’t try to be somebody else. He didn’t try to be one person in front of this group, and somebody else in front of that group. He was just Ralph—unvarnished, honest, funny, a good insurance man, hard-working, hard-playing, hard-headed, a devoted friend, a devoted dad, authentic, 100% Ralph. And Ralph was a Christian too. He wasn’t the greatest Christian that ever lived. But he loved Jesus. He leaned on Jesus’ mercy and grace for his sins—of which he was deeply aware—and he grew closer and closer to Jesus in the past year (which as his pastor was a real joy to watch.) When I think of Ralph an old Bruce Carroll song comes to mind:

I am wise, I am a fool,
A servant with a yearn to rule,
Good intentions and selfish schemes
A saint who soars on broken wings.

I am shadow, I am light
I am wrong and I am right,
Sometimes shining oh so bright,
Sometimes fading into night.
Lord, you walk with me through shadow and light.

That was pretty much Ralph, and the Lord did walk with Ralph through shadow and through light.

But now the shadows are all gone. Don’t think for a minute that cancer won that battle. Yesterday, Ralph’s cancer was buried in the ground for good—it’s done, it’s over, it can’t do him anymore harm. And what about Ralph? Well, you remember what Jesus said to Martha as they stood next to Lazarus’ grave? “I am the resurrection and the life. He that believes in me, though he were dead yet shall he live. He that lives and believes in me will never die.” Ralph lived and believed in the Lord, and that means that Ralph is alive and well with the Lord today. It may not look like it on the surface, and it doesn’t much feel like it right now in our hearts, but Ralph won that battle with cancer, and he’s taking his victory lap in heaven even now. You know, heaven—that place where cancer can never find its way in.

But that still doesn’t change the fact that I hate cancer. Because of cancer a father had to say goodbye to his son, kids had to say goodbye to their dad, and I and many others had to say goodbye to yet another friend. So go to hell where you belong, Cancer. You might have got your pound of flesh, but Ralph got a ton of life—eternal life. And because God wants to spend eternity with His children, cancer loses, God’s children win, and our good-byes are just for now.

Ryan at the Bat

Danny knocked on the door, opened it and said, “John, you’ve got an emergency call.” I was meeting with somebody at the time, but an emergency is an emergency. We were wrapping up anyway, so I excused myself. I took the call standing up; I finished it sitting down. After identifying himself as the Coroner for DeSoto County, Mississippi, and telling me how he got my number, he gave me the news that dropped me into my chair: “I really hate to tell you this news but Ryan White was killed in a car wreck this afternoon.”

“What? … Who?”

“Ryan White. I understand you know him and that his parents are members of your church. I didn’t want them hearing from a police officer or hearing it over the phone. So I’m asking you to let them know.”

“Oh, no … not Ryan.” But a pastor has to put off his own grief so he can help others process theirs. I got a little more information, called two of the White’s best friends, and asked them to meet me at the school to let them know. A third friend who had heard the news by way of Mississippi connections joined us there too. We told them. And so began what became a sad week for our whole community.

But as I reflect on that week, it’s not the sadness that will linger in my memory; it’s the sustaining love God whose strength is made perfect in our weakness and whose grace is sufficient for every need. Ryan loved God with all his heart. He learned that from his parents, Tommy and Jan—devoted Christians, lovers of God, and dependent on Him too. God promised He would carry His children in times like these, and God is keeping His promise. There is still much grief to process, many tears yet to shed, still some wrestling with God to work out over this unexpected tragedy. But God will be as faithful in days to come as He has been in the first week since Ryan’s death.

A lot of folks are going to miss Ryan. He was only 27. He was the baseball coach at Senatobia High School in Senatobia, Mississippi. Ryan loved baseball—always has. When he was in first grade he tried to change the spelling of his name from R-y-a-n to R-y-n-e for Ryne Sandberg, famous second-basemen for the Chicago Cubs. I’m glad his mom and dad didn’t let him get away with that. Ryan didn’t need to be anybody else. He was a star all by himself, and pretty much all of us who knew him are part of his fan club. Ryan still holds several batting records at Arkansas Tech where he played his college ball. He coached Legion teams in Hot Springs—one of them to a state championship. He’s been an assistant coach at Ouachita Baptist University—helping one of those teams advance to the 2008 NCAA Division II College World Series. He lived and breathed baseball. But those of us who knew him weren’t just members of his baseball fan club.

We were fans of the way he lived his life. Ryan had more friends than just about anybody I know. His positive Christian influence extended not only to those younger than he was but to those older as well. There were well over 1000 people who attended the visitation Thursday night and around 1000 who attended his funeral on Friday—some traveling from very far away to be here. A unique thing about Ryan is that almost every one of us at the service felt like that on some level we were a friend of Ryan’s too.

Ryan was also a friend of Jesus. He trusted Jesus when he was in first grade. Then, year by year, he grew in his faith and in his understanding of who God is and what God wanted to do in and through his life. And Ryan lived that as best he could—serving as a positive influence for Jesus in the lives of others, doing what he did to the glory of God. And people noticed—not just Ryan, but Jesus in Ryan. I remember reading about an evangelist who was approached by a little boy who had heard the evangelist preach all week long. The little boy explained his dilemma to the preacher: “Since Jesus is a man and I’m a little boy, if I ask Him into my life won’t he stick out?” The preacher thought about it for a few seconds and said, “Yes, son. That’s the idea.” Jesus stuck out in Ryan’s life: in his love for people, in his dedication to family, in his zest for living, in his joy of baseball and play. One of Ryan’s friends and colleagues, Matt Teale, wrote a tribute to Ryan in which he stated, “You only get to live one life, but if you live it right, one is enough. Ryan lived his life the right way.” Amen, Matt.

And now Ryan is with Jesus. He didn’t get as many innings as most, but he made the most of the innings he had. And I suspect when he crossed home plate and trotted into heaven he was met there by his Uncle Jerry and his grandparents and many others who high-fived him, doused him with Gatorade, and celebrated the victory that was Ryan’s life in Jesus Christ our Lord. In spite of the fact that we miss him terribly, for those of us who know Jesus, we live with the gratitude and joy that we have not seen the last of Ryan White. When it comes our time to round the bases and make it all the way home, we will enjoy his smile again. We will laugh with him again. We will chest bump and forearm bump and embrace him yet again. We will take infield and play catch and hit pop flies with him again. Playing ball with Ryan is over for just a little while. Enjoying his company is over for just a bit. But absence won’t get the last word; presence will—present with Jesus and Ryan and all who know and love the Lord. “I am the resurrection and the life,” said Jesus. “He who believes in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. He who lives and believes in me will never die.” Praise the Lord for eternal life! Praise the Lord for heaven and hope and sweet reunion on the other side!

1 Corinthians 9:24-25 says, “You know that many runners enter a race, and only one of them wins the prize. So run to win! Athletes work hard to win a crown that cannot last, but we do it for crown that will last forever.” Ryan enjoyed his share of crowns in this life, but now he wears the crown that lasts forever. And of this I am sure: he is wearing it well.

In Ernest Thayer’s famous poem, Casey at the Bat, there was no joy in Mudville because when they needed him most, the mighty Casey struck out. Our joy is taking a bit of beating right now too. But in spite of our sadness over Ryan’s passing at such a young age, there is still some joy in our hearts and even the hint of a smile on our face because we know this: even in the short life God gave him, the mighty Ryan hit it out of the park.