Call it a vocational hazard, but I attend more than my share of funerals. I’ve heard countless eulogies by family and friends over the years. I realize that speakers sometimes remember big at funerals, emphasizing the good and minimizing the bad; but I often have walked away wondering what superlatives might be noted at my funeral.

I HOPE the eulogy begins with something along the lines of, Bill Burch died at 110 years of age in perfect health surrounded by his adoring family after winning the Nobel Peace and the Pulitzer Prizes.

But . . .

I want to be remembered first and foremost as:

• A Christian disciple
• A devoted husband
• A loving parent
• A grand grandfather
• A trusted friend
• A faithful church member
• A dedicated pastor
• OK, and maybe add, Great, but humble, preacher!

What else really matters? What else really lasts?

We write our epitaph every day. How do you want to be remembered?

I’m preaching a four-part sermon series at Northside Church on Micah 6:8. The prophet declares:

God has shown you, O mortal, what is good.

And what does the Lord require of you?

To act justly and to love mercy

and to walk humbly with your God.

Micah notes that there is no mystery here. The Lord shows us how to live a good and righteous life. Holiness is not a confusing riddle but a clear revelation.

Can you sense the prophet’s frustration as he reteaches this remedial lesson to his distracted students? Pay attention. This is important. Write it down. This will be on the test.

Micah describes three requirements of the good/holy life. Note each attribute contains a dynamic action verb:

• Act Justly
• Love Mercy
• Walk Humbly

The verse does not provide an exhaustive list. Holiness encompasses life’s entirety that includes and surpasses these three directives. But. They are not a bad place to start.

God’s people are called to live good lives that include acting justly, loving mercy, and walking humbly. Lord, may it be so.

I spent months sorting through my father’s paperwork following his death in November 2020. I discovered a cache of greeting cards spanning the 56 years of my parents’ marriage. I enjoyed perusing the sentimental notes they exchanged until . . .

I found some Valentine’s Day cards from their newlywed years. Some things just cannot be unseen, and I am entering my fourth year of psychotherapeutic treatment. My wife and children found the entire affair hilarious.

It is challenging to think of your mother and father as a young couple passionately in love. My parents did have two children, and I am aware of the biology behind the facts. I just always assumed that IT occurred only twice for procreation purposes.

Therefore, I am soliciting angel investors to fund a startup business with the working title, Valentine’s Card Disposal Service. Our hazardous waste experts will visit childhood homes and remove mawkish mementos. The savings in counseling sessions alone will more than pay for the service.

I hope all of my married readers enjoy a lovely Valentine’s Day. Ensure your beloved knows how you feel. Express heartfelt feelings through inspired word or lavish verse.

Then . . . THROW THE CARDS AWAY.

Trust me on this one.

I preached my first sermon at Little River United Methodist Church as a seventeen-year-old. My home-church pastor knew that I had experienced a call to the ordained ministry. He decided to give me an opportunity to preach . . . while he was out of town.

It did not go well.

I began the sermon with a weak introduction, and the message went downhill from there. I got the handwritten pages mixed up halfway through the homily and never quite recovered. The sermon lasted 14 minutes, which included 3 minutes of uhs, ahs, and you knows. I may—or may not—have added a 4^th person to the Trinity and cited Paul’s letter to the Philippines.

The congregation graciously greeted me after the service with words of appreciation and affirmation. Then again, I was related to half of them.

My mother recorded the service on a cassette player, but I never felt a need to revisit the humiliating experience. The tape vanished at some point over the years by an act of divine grace.

Fifty years separate yesterday and today; but I still get anxious before each sermon. The queasy emotion recognizes preaching’s audacious task. I pray for the grace to never leave that nervous teenager behind.