Thursday, September 1, 2011

The Celebration of the life of Lil Paul Brown

Lil Paul Brown

(March 16, 1961-August 27, 2011)
Boulger Funeral Home
Fargo
September 1, 2011

+ As some of you might not know, I am Lynn’s cousin. She and I actually never really knew each other until about a year ago. Last summer I contacted her because I was writing a book of about the infamous June 20, 1957 tornado that struck Fargo. That tornado took the life of Lynn’s parents, Don and Betty Titgen

That day that we met I think Lynn was a little apprehensive about having this priest in his funny dog collar and his black clothes suddenly kind of showing up. I don’t know if she knew what to think of me. But as we talked that day we really bonded. I think she realized that I was anyone’s typical priest.

So, when I heard about Lil Paul’s death, I felt terrible for Lynn. Although I never got to know Lil Paul, I really think I would’ve liked him. And I think, even despite my funny clothes, he would’ve liked me too.

In these last few days, as I planned this service with the family, I really felt myself bond with not only the family, but also with Lil Paul. And bonding with him, doesn’t make doing this service any easier for me. In fact, it actually complicates doing it. I have found myself getting very emotional about this man I never even met. But that’s a good thing, I think. I am of the belief that what separates us who are alive and breathing here on earth from those who are now in the so-called “nearer presence of God” is a thin one. And because of that belief, I take a certain comfort in the fact Lil Paul is close to us today. I think most of us can feel that presence with us this afternoon. He is here, in our midst, with us, celebrating this wonderful life of his with us.

I have heard a lot about Lil Paul in these last few days. I heard about what a truly good guy he was. This was the guy who, literally, gave the shirt of his back to someone in need. Or who gave the last dollar in his pocket for someone who needed it. And this man was a man full of love. He loved having a good time. He loved planning parties. And every one of his neighbors is never going to forget those Christmas displays, and those Christmas Vacation/Griswold light displays that would blind anyone within a mile radius. He loved his family. He loved his step dad. And he was a man who deeply loved the one love of his life, Lynn.

I really wish I could tell Lynn and everyone else here this afternoon some easy explanation of why. Why did this happen? The fact is: I can’t. But I can tell you this. I do know that love is stronger than death.

Love IS stronger than even death. Probably the one person here this morning who can give us the example to go ahead is Lynn. Because, let me tell you, Lynn knows a few things about heartache in her life.

Last year, when I met with her to talk about this book about the 1957 tornado, despite her initial apprehension of me, she really opened up to me. I hope I’m not revealing too much here, Lynn. But, Lynn shared a wonderful story about her parents. Although her father, Don, died in that awful tornado, her mother actually lingered on for another two and a half years in a coma, from which she never regained consciousness.

During that time, Lynn said, her mother did something whenever anyone would enter the room. Her mother’s eyelids would flutter anytime anyone entered the room. Lynn told me that day I met with her: “I know this is stupid to say, but I really believe that all that time she was in the coma, she was waiting for my dad to come in that door.”

Finally, in January 1960, Betty, after all that fighting, died. And Lynn said, “I think, at that moment, he finally did come through that door.”

For me, that story is a perfect example that yes, love is stronger than death. Love, as all of us know, is not some sweet, gentle emotion. It is something that comes charging into our lives and knocks everything flat. Lil Paul would tell us all that this afternoon. It certainly did in his life. I heard, again and again, about Lil Paul changed when Lynn came into his life. That’s what loves does. It changes us. It makes us different than who were before.

As I said, I don’t have any easy answers. I can’t make all of this pain go away. But I can say this: In this moment, Lil Paul is a place where love has triumphed. Love, that emotion that knocks everything flat, has knocked flat even death.

In our gospel reading for today, we find Jesus talking about the mansions prepared for us in his father’s home. I love that idea of mansions. And I am fully convinced that God has provided a mansion for Lil Paul. No, Lil Paul probably didn’t think he deserved a mansion. But he’s not really in any place to protest it right now. He’s got a mansion, whether he likes it or not.

Can you imagine what that place must be like? Can you imagine the party that he is busy preparing, working hard to get ready for right now in this moment? Can you imagine the joy and the happiness he must feeling right at this moment in that place?

The consolation we can take away from today is that, all of the hard times in Lil Paul’s life are over for him. All of that has passed away for him and he is now fully and completely himself. He is whole. Of course that doesn’t make any of this any easier for those who are left behind. Whenever anyone we love dies, we are going to feel pain. That’s just a part of life. Lil Paul knew that. This pain that we are feeling today, this sense of loss—all of this temporary. All of it will pass away eventually. And knowing this gets us through. This is where we find our strength—in our faith that promises us an end to our sorrows, to our loss. It is a faith that can tell us with a startling reality that every tear we shed—and we all shed our share of tears in this life, as Lil Paul would tell us—every tear will one day be dried and every heartache will disappear like a bad dream upon awakening.

All those rain showers that seemed to plague Lil Paul whenever he would go out for a ride, are over for him. The clouds have broken for good, and from now on it’s just sunshine and blue skies.

It is in a moment like this that I am thankful for the bond I formed with Lil Paul because even now I can feel him here with me. He’s reminding me that there’s something wonderful and amazing awaiting all of us. There’s a party that’s waiting for us to come to. All we have to do is say “yes” to the invitation.

So this afternoon and in the days to come, let us all take consolation in that faith that Lil Paul is beyond the pains and sorrows of this life. He is, in this moment, happy in a way he never was before. And he is there, preparing a party for us. Let us be glad that one day that all of us will be there with him, sharing in that party and joining him in that place of music and light and happiness without end.





2 comments:

Azmo66 said...

My Name is Sean. Paul is my brother. Thank you. I miss the living hell out of that guy, and I think about him every day. We just got to really know each other again and I let time go by without visiting or calling, thinking there would always be time later. I remember my shock when I first heard his "Okie" accent, as a kid who knew his brothers were born and raised in Los Angeles. I was in my early twenties when I recieved a mysterious package of a leather motorcycle jacket, with the message, "It's from your brother Paul". Paul? I hadn't seen him since I was twelve! I wasn't even sure if he was alive (ahem.... Mike). Turns out, that he was not only alive, but he was doing well, and seemed like pretty fucking good guy. So we reconnected. Then, years later, I remember being befuddled and confused to learn that he was now a "pretty hardcore" biker in the Sons of Silence M.C. I mean, I didn't care either way, and it's none of my business, but the Paul I knew wasn't the "Charlie Badass" that I hear about through stories. The Paul I knew loved Taxi, Danny De Vito,and Cooking Shrimp Scampi. Sure, he yelled and bitched a lot (what truck-driver doesn't?), but that's normal for our family. But whatever.... none of that matters. Everyone changes. I know I have. Motorcycles are fun. Not sure that explains his "1%er" status, but I'll leave well enough alone. His prerogative. Let's leave it at that. The trip I took with him across the country was one of the best times in my life. I just wish we'd had a little more time... And the sad thing is, I'm sure I'll do it again. And again. We always do. All I can say is 'Stop taking things for granted'. Cliche, but true. Every minute you have to spend is priceless. Because we're all going to die.

Azmo66 said...

My Name is Sean. Paul is my brother. Thank you. I miss the living hell out of that guy, and I think about him every day. We just got to really know each other again and I let time go by without visiting or calling, thinking there would always be time later. I remember my shock when I first heard his "Okie" accent, as a kid who knew his brothers were born and raised in Los Angeles. I was in my early twenties when I recieved a mysterious package of a leather motorcycle jacket, with the message, "It's from your brother Paul". Paul? I hadn't seen him since I was twelve! I wasn't even sure if he was alive (ahem.... Mike). Turns out, that he was not only alive, but he was doing well, and seemed like pretty fucking good guy. So we reconnected. Then, years later, I remember being befuddled and confused to learn that he was now a "pretty hardcore" biker in the Sons of Silence M.C. I mean, I didn't care either way, and it's none of my business, but the Paul I knew wasn't the "Charlie Badass" that I hear about through stories. The Paul I knew loved Taxi, Danny De Vito,and Cooking Shrimp Scampi. Sure, he yelled and bitched a lot (what truck-driver doesn't?), but that's normal for our family. But whatever.... none of that matters. Everyone changes. I know I have. Motorcycles are fun. Not sure that explains his "1%er" status, but I'll leave well enough alone. His prerogative. Let's leave it at that. The trip I took with him across the country was one of the best times in my life. I just wish we'd had a little more time... And the sad thing is, I'm sure I'll do it again. And again. We always do. All I can say is 'Stop taking things for granted'. Cliche, but true. Every minute you have to spend is priceless. Because we're all going to die.

5 Lent

March 17, 2024   Jeremiah 31.31-34; John 12.20-33   + I have never made a secret of a simple fact of my spiritual life: I am a seeke...