Eulogy for Brennan

Editor's Note:  This post was originally published on April 19, 2013




The last week has been a deeply emotional one as we here in the states have dealt with the bombing in Boston, Massachusetts, and the Christian world has dealt with the passing of one of its greatest champions of grace, as well as the suicide of Rick Warren's son.  I've been saddened this week as I've thought about the lives lost, but also had great moments of joy as I've contemplated heaven's gain.  So while I could talk about Boston, or Matthew Warren, I won't.  This is not to say that these things are unimportant, or that we shouldn't pray for the Warren family or the people affected by the attack in Boston, I'm just choosing to focus instead on the one sad event that is also bringing me great joy.

I grew up in a culture where "Christian" was defined by what you did and did not do, what you said and did not say, what you watched and did not watch, and whether or not you prayed "The Sinner's Prayer."  It was okay to go roller skating, but it was not okay to skateboard.  It was okay to say "darn!" but it was not okay to say "damn!"  It was okay to watch Scooby-Doo, but it was not okay to watch The Smurfs (for those of you too young to remember, those were cartoons thirty years before they were movies!).  Christians didn't swear, didn't go to R-rated movies, didn't like violence, sex, or language on television . . . and didn't approve of anyone who did. 

Behave, because God can't use you if you don't.  Go to church every Sunday, because that's your special time with God.  Tithe, or God will take away all of your money.  And you had to say the words, "Jesus, come into my heart," or nothing you did counted (but, of course, you had to do it all anyway, whether it counted or not, or He would get mad). 

When I was thirteen, I found one of my grandfather's Playboy magazines.  As I flipped through the pages, I was both afraid and excited.  I was afraid of getting caught, I was afraid of making God mad, but I was excited because I like beautiful women, and this particularly beautiful woman was naked, which made it that much easier to set aside my fears and guilt.

But only for a moment.

You see, as I spent the next decade or so battling my lusts and, at times, descending into the nightmare of pornography addiction, a picture of God emerged in my mind:  He loved me, but He didn't much like me.  And so I waited for Him to punish me.  I waited for His wrath.  I wondered if everything bad in my life was a warning - or a judgment.  God became a taskmaster Who would never, ever be happy with me, because I had sinned.  Every time I sinned - no matter what the sin was - this self-abusing tape replayed over and over in my mind. 

And then Brennan came along and made one of the most profound spiritual impacts on my life that has ever happened:  he introduced me to Jesus.  The real Jesus.  The Jesus found in the Scriptures.  God in human flesh.

Brennan told the following story often, but it bears repeating here:

He woke up one morning in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida still drunk from the night before.  He was covered with vomit, shoeless, and completely dazed.  A woman, he says, shields her son's eyes and calls him "filth."  As he finishes telling the story, he pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice thunders, "Jesus loved me just as much then, in a state of disgrace, as He does today, in a state of grace!"   He reminds us later that Jesus knew us before we were born, He knew our mistakes, our sins and our hang-ups, and yet He loved us enough to die for us.  Brennan reminds us that Jesus expects more failure from us than we often expect from ourselves.  He knows what's coming, and He died for it.

The next day, after contemplating Brennan's words, I turned to Paul's letter to the Romans, where he writes, "God demonstrated His love for us, in that while we were sinners, Christ died for us."  The words hit my spirit like a thunderbolt, and I wept.  I wept out of grief for my sin (all of it - my entire nature of sin), grief for His death, and sheer and utter amazement that those two would ever be connected.  I deserved God's wrath, but He gave me love.  I deserved rejection, but he offered acceptance.  From that moment on, Christianity became less about what I do for God, and more about what He did for me.  Which is the point.

I owe Brennan my salvation.  He didn't say pretty words or amazing things - no, that's not what happened.  He said amazing things that forced me to go to the Scriptures and re-evaluate everything I had believed.  Sin is still sin.  That's why He died.  God's Commandments are still God's Commandments.  That's why He died.  But God loved me and died for me even before I had a chance to clean up my act, and He loved me and died for me in spite of the fact that I will never clean up my act.

Though we never had a chance to meet, I'm going to miss Brennan very much.  I'm going to miss his insights into the Scriptures, his humor, and his raw openness.  I rejoice, though, in knowing that his broken soul has been healed.  His struggle with alcoholism is done, his health is restored, and his doubts and fears are now irrevocably dispelled.   

I rejoice in knowing that he has at last seen face-to-face the Jesus Whom he so adored.  The very same Jesus Who "loves you just as you are and not as you should be, because no one is ever as they should be."  In truth, I'm a bit jealous.

So, Brennan, thank you.  Thank you for sharing your life with so many of us.  Thank you for sharing your struggles and doubts, as well as the insights and moments of clarity. 

Thank you for sharing God's grace.  We'll miss you, but we'll see you again.

Tout est Grace