Verle Helsel (1932 –
2015)
Eulogy July 3, 2015
Permit me to paraphrase singer/songwriter Dan Fogelberg:
The
leader of the band is tired and his eyes are growing old
But
his blood runs through our instruments and his song is in our souls
Our
lives have been some poor attempts to imitate the man
We’re
just a living legacy to the leader of the band
They say that the most important lessons of discipleship are
caught, not taught. In other words, we tend to infect those around us with our loves and passions by the way we
speak and live our lives. As I thought about this eulogy over the last week or
so, I have come to see afresh and anew how profoundly I have been affected by
Dad’s passions, and how many of my present day loves were either modeled for
me, or given to me by this exceptional man.
Dad loved
Jesus. He loved the stories about Jesus, the stories that Jesus used to tell
and especially the way that Jesus had made known to him personally the love of
God the Father. Dad had a life-long aversion to, and hard-fought battle with,
cranky, tight-shoed legalism. And in the last few weeks of his life, Dad
delighted to recount the story of the Shepherd who left the ninety-and-nine to
rescue the one straying sheep, and Jesus’ parable of the Prodigal Son. Dad loved
stories of grace, and stories Jesus,
the very embodiment of grace.
Dad loved
church and the gathering of God’s people. He was involved in Navigators
Bible-studies and discipleship in college, ordained as a deacon in the
Episcopal Church, and routinely opened our home for Bible-studies, prayer
meetings and youth group gatherings. As a young child, I often went to sleep to
the sound of the saints singing in our living room, or the muffled sounds of
heartfelt prayers. We once hosted a record-breaking 130 junior-highers in our
home for a youth-group gathering when Dad was serving as a volunteer staffer.
Dad loved
the Bible, and what the prophet Jeremiah called, “the old paths.” Dad was
“sweet old school” before there even was
such a thing. As a kid I loved leafing through the well-worn pages and many
underlined verses of his Bible. He loved the poetic cadences of the King James Version,
prayed faithfully through the Book of
Common Prayer and treasured the reverent rhythms of liturgical worship.
Dad loved to teach. When I was in
seventh grade Dad started a Bible study with a few of my friends and me. Bible
study with seventh graders. Who wouldn’t
want to do that? And what could possibly go wrong? Dad, as only Dad could do,
convinced us squirrely pre-teens that it was possible for us, aided by the Holy
Spirit, to read, study and apply the Bible ourselves.
Dad’s patient directions and skillful explanations resulted in the conversion
of one, and the launching of two of our number into full-time vocational Christian
ministry. Thanks, Dad.
Dad loved
C.S. Lewis. Some of my earliest and most treasured childhood memories are of us
kids either seated in Dad’s lap or leaning closely into him on the couch as he
read to us (and I believe re-read to
us) The Chronicles of Narnia. I often
thought of Dad as I imitated him with my own children. Dad loved not only the
content, but the clarity and artistry of Lewis’ style and I think he felt a
kinship with certain elements of Lewis’ own life and spiritual journey.
Dad loved two-wheeled
vehicles (motorcycles) careening at high-speeds down dirt roads and up mountain
trails. Before Dad bought me my first motorcycle, I would ride behind him with
my hands jammed into the pockets of his corduroy jacket for warmth. I remember
quite vividly how I would press my helmeted head into his back while chanting
to myself, “I do trust my dad. I do trust my dad” as he would skillfully lean
the bike full-throttle into sharp corners. It was Dad who showed me how to coax
my motorcycle’s transmission into the small neutral zone between fifth and
sixth gears enabling me to coast down Brown’s Canyon above Daroga Park faster
than if the bike was running and in gear. Thanks, Dad.
Dad loved
books and learning. One look at Dad’s amazing library of books, Great Courses
CDs and DVDs would amply demonstrate that Dad was indeed “a life-long learner.”
He possessed a wonderful ability to integrate the books that he was reading
into everyday conversations. And up until a few weeks ago he was still strategizing
how best to sync up a desktop, laptop and tablet computer using cloud-based
storage. As Mom put it so well, “Your dad is always thinking about something.”
Dad loved
words and plays on words. Computers weren’t computers, they were percutors. I can still picture Dad, in
response to a question whose answer was quite obviously “no”, saying “Does a
chicken have hips?” And his funny way of twisting words and phrases lives on in
his children and grandchildren today. And I love to hear his sense of humor
echoing and still entertaining in the conversations of our family gatherings.
Thanks, Dad.
Two of my present day loves are the
direct result of Dad’s generosity and wisdom. When I was a poor college student,
Dad visited me at WSU. When he saw that my cheap little acoustic guitar was
becoming unplayable, he drove me over to a music store in Moscow, ID and bought
me one of the finest instruments I have ever owned. I still have the guitar
today, and often when playing it, I remember not only Dad’s loving provision,
but the strangely critical role that guitar music played in bringing me to my
current vocation as pastor and teacher.
And last,
but certainly not least: In the spring of 1980 my wife, Ellen, reconnected with
Mom and Dad in their Edmonds home. Ellen and I had been friends for several
years, but she had some lingering questions about our suitability for a more
serious relationship. Thirty-five years later I am still thanking God for using
this wonderful man and his sage and timely wisdom to convince my sweet Ellen
that we were indeed well-suited for
one another.
Jesus.
Church. Bible. Grace. Teaching. Books. Two-wheeled vehicles on dirt tracks. Learning.
Humor. Music and my beautiful wife. Thanks, Dad for infecting me with your
loves, and for directing me with your love to Him who is love. Today, I am proud to be your son, your namesake, and to
bear, albeit imperfectly, a family
resemblance. And I pray that when my time comes, I will be able to say as you
did a few days ago: “I have fought the good fight. I have finished the race. I
have kept the faith.”
