University of South Carolina: FOREVER TO THEE

The Rev. Dr. Brad Smith leads the memorial service.

November 7, 2007

Remarks by Rev. Dr. Brad Smith, founder and executive director, Souper Bowl of Caring

Last Sunday afternoon, a co-worker of mine who happens to be the Chapter Adviser for Tri-Delta Sorority called and told me about a fire at a beach house. She asked me to pray. I was the second person in our family to hear. When I shared the news with my wife, our sixteen year old son spoke up and said that one of his Sunday School teacher's was not at church because his niece had been in a beach house that caught fire. The other teacher didn't know the details, but our son told us their Sunday School class had prayed. So began our families' awareness of a tragedy that has both saddened the hardest of hearts and brought forth a remarkable expression of community across this state.

Sunday afternoon saw prayers and tears, shock and inconsolable brokenness. Over the last ten days there have been phone calls and emails, text messages and prayers, visits and hugs, pictures and web postings, candlelight vigils and solemn campuses. Family and friends have flocked to thirteen homes. In six homes there has been relief, gratitude, fear and thankfulness. In seven homes there has been every parent's worst nightmare. In one home there has been both grief and thanksgiving. Seven visitations, seven funerals ... seven services in witness to the resurrection: of such is the process of pain and grief composed.

So here we sit, seat after seat and row after row, gathered in the presence of God and in the company of one another. In our deepest inward places we are wounded souls: some shattered, some stunned. All shocked. What do we say?

Several things are obvious:

Ocean Isle firefighters and Rescue Workers: on behalf of us all, thank you for your readiness, for your service and for your selflessness, both on October 28 and every day.
University of South Carolina caring professionals--campus chaplains, counselors and Student Life leaders: As a member of the Columbia community, I thank you for giving of your selves to shape and mold the young people who spend their college years in this community.
Yelton family, Dr. Barker and other representatives of the Clemson family: As a Carolina alum, I thank you for being here. Today Gamecock garnet and Tiger orange blend to be one in compassion and caring.
Families of Allison, Cassidy, Emily, Justin, Lauren, Travis and Will: As a minister of the Gospel, as a father and as a human being, I express my deepest sympathy.
Andrew, Ashley, Fallon, Katherine, Ray and Tripp: As a minister of the Gospel, as a father and as a human being, I am grateful, truly grateful, that you are here.

In our deepest inward places, we are wounded. What do we say? Where do we go from here? I stand before you as one who is acutely aware that no collection of words can adequately capture the spirits, the energy and the love of any one these young people, much less do justice to all of their lives. Instead, I invite you, even in the full grip of death's sting, to lift your eyes toward tomorrow. Let me share a story.

His name was John Schafer. His brother went to Harvard and his sister went to Stanford. Dr. Sorenson, I never asked, but I figure they must have been turned down by Carolina or surely they would have come here! Anyway, John rode a blue bicycle with a banana style seat and high handlebars. He and my brother would ride their bikes up and down the cul-de-sac where we lived. John was thirteen and my brother fourteen. I was eighteen and, at least to my thinking, I was practically invincible, young and vibrant with all of life at my doorstep.

John died. Stomach cancer. I remember my mother hanging up the phone after hearing the news. I remember the funeral. I remember John's mother giving my younger brother John's instamatic camera. I remember the confusion and the questions: he was so young, so innocent. His death was so random, so illogical, so wrong. Why? Why him? Why not me? Why?

The "why" question was never answered. At least not the way I wanted. John died. Nothing would change that reality. I was powerless to change the circumstances. In time I realized all I could do was learn from them. A tragic loss had occurred. A great price had been paid and either I could let it pass and learn nothing OR John's death could become a teachable moment, a catalyst to wrestle with life's deeper questions face to face. What is the meaning of life? What is the purpose of my life? Who do I want to be and what do I want to be about in life? Do I merely live for self or do I live for something larger? How do I spend whatever time and whatever talent has been entrusted to me? These are defining questions of life and this is a defining time.

This may sound strange, but one of the greatest gifts of being a Christian minister is that people, sometimes people who are ill and dieing and sometimes people that have had a loved one die, open their hearts and permit you to step into the sacred space of their lives. With each person who permits that sacred access, I try to ask myself, "What did God teach me through the gift of this person's life?"

For those of you who knew Allison, Cassidy, Emily, Justin, Lauren, Travis and Will, I encourage you to ask yourself what God has taught you through the gift of their lives.

The Apostle Paul says, "None of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself. If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. For to this end Christ died and lived again, that he might be Lord both of the dead and of the living." (Rom 14)

All of us wish we could change what happened ten days ago. Unfortunately, we cannot. We can seek to ignore this tragedy and live as if nothing has happened. That would be a lie. We can curl up in a fetal position and stop living. That would be a shame. Or we can live as those who have been touched by the deepest grief, but who will learn from it, wringing the richest meaning from this most anguishing lesson.

There is only one way this tragedy could be made worse and that is for those of us who have been touched by this experience to be so anesthetized by the white noise of it all that we fail to learn from it, to be changed by it. A high, high price has been paid for this class. The outcomes, the learnings, must be profound, even life altering.

The greatest task of the university years is not merely completing a series of classes needed to graduate, rather it is to be so engaged by the entire experience that one becomes a more complete person, a better human being. Let this experience shape you my friends, let it stir in your soul and sharpen your focus as our world is hungry for people who will live with a sense of the preciousness of life.

Twenty years ago last month Pope John Paul II stood on the USC Horseshoe and said, "It is good to be young. It is good to be young and to be a student. It is good to be young and to be a student at the University of South Carolina." That quotation is as true today as it was then. Only today we gather acutely aware of the fragility of life.

Grieve as you need to grieve, remembering that tears are God's way of cleansing the human soul. But do not let grief be the last word. The sun will rise again. Hope is stronger than despair and by the power of God's love, life is stronger than death.

Brothers and sisters of the Carolina family, of the human family, stung by death let us begin to go forward with a new appreciation for the sacredness of life. Seize every day as a privilege, claim every decision as an opportunity and receive every breath as a gift. Live, not as those that have never known loss, but live as those who, touched by loss, are choosing to live with gratitude, with meaning and with purpose.

To God be the glory. Amen.

Please join in silent prayer

Remarks by Rev. Dr. Brad Smith, founder and executive director, Souper Bowl of Caring

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