Words of wisdom from a deceased dad
I’ve always said my old man, the late Rev. David A Kerr, was one of the greatest public speakers I ever heard. Considering he gave weekly sermons for more than 40 years as an ordained United Methodist minister, in addition to conducting weddings, funerals, baptisms and the like, he definitely had a lot of practice.
In July 2019, just a month after his 79th birthday, he presided over his grandson’s wedding. We didn’t know it at the time, but that would be his final ceremony. He passed away just two weeks later.
If I’m being honest, I was a little wary of how he would do that day. Battling Parkinson’s disease and other ailments, he was on medication that sometimes made him confused and tend to ramble. While I had grown up watching him stand tall behind the pulpit, delivering his message in a clear booming voice, he now sat hunched in a wheelchair, withered and frail. He sometimes slurred his words.
But danged if he didn’t rise to the occasion one last time, in classic David Kerr fashion. Through the magic of video, it was all preserved for eternity, and just recently we happened to watch it once again.
One of the things that stuck with me – and apparently many others in attendance that day – was his ruminations on community. In particular, he waxed poetic about the expanded and unique community being created by the union of these newlyweds, the blending of family and friends to weave together a sort of mutual support system.
“We are not only uniting (the newlyweds) in this ceremony of marriage, but we are also uniting kin and friend,” he told those in attendance in the backyard ceremony.
He had the parents stand together and verify out loud that we would remain loyal to both of these young people in the years ahead, even during times of struggle. And there will be such occasions, he cautioned. “If you think that’s not going to happen, you’ve got another thought coming.”
He had the parents respond “Yes, we will!” be there for them in the future. Then he had everyone else, family and friends, make the same pledge.
He recalled how he and my mother had been together for 59 years, and while there were times of discouragement, there was always love to carry them through. Then he described how he had seen many married couples during his ministry go through difficult times in their journey through life together.
“And it always seems it is one of you that they seek out for advice, for help and for guidance. Be there for them, as they will be there for you,” he urged.
He had another of his grandsons read what he called “one of the greatest scriptures that was ever written,” a description of love written by the disciple Paul, which my dad said would sustain those seeking strength in the words. Whatever your religious persuasion, it really is a beautiful piece of wordsmanship. I won’t include the entire segment here, but those who wish to look it up will find the Bible scripture in 1 Corinthians 13:1 through 13.
It’s the section that includes the verses “if I have all faith so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing,” and love “does not rejoice at wrongs, but rejoices in the right. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things. Love never ends.” It concludes with the iconic passage, “So faith, hope, love abide, these three. But the greatest of these is love.”
And it was right after this that his 3-year old greatgranddaughter, probably without even understanding why, stepped forward and took the hands of each of her parents as they stood together in this ceremony of bonding and started swinging and hopping between them. My old man expressed his hope that the newlyweds would create a legacy that will inspire her to continue to “make the world a better place.” He shared some of the insights he had acquired over the years, perhaps the most significant being that we are not meant to live alone. “We are social animals,” he said.
But he also encouraged them – and us – to never forget we are also unique individuals. “If you have a little squabble every once in a while, come and see me,” he said. “I charge nothing, but I have a few words of wisdom.”
Finally, ever the cultural adventurer, he wrapped the ceremony up by sharing an Apache wedding poem:
“Now may you feel less rain, for each of you will be shelter for the other.
Now may you feel less cold, for each of you will be a source of warmth.
Now may you feel less loneliness, for your joys can be doubled, and your sorrows helped.
For now you are still two persons, but there is but one life before you.”
He didn’t get a chance to help settle any “little squabble” between the newlyweds. He passed away in York Hospital on Aug. 11, 2019. Essentially, his embattled body just gave out. I’m still convinced he was hanging in there just long enough to come through one last time for his family. His community.
But with so much division taking place throughout the country right now, and the world, it seemed like maybe this was as good a moment as any to share some of his final words of wisdom, from a pretty special day.