13 years ago, I lost a friend on the 93rd floor of the North Tower.
I delivered his eulogy about a month later. I was 26 years old and was tasked with honoring my friend’s life, making sense of the senseless and comforting the mourning. It remains to this day, the hardest message i’ve had to deliver.
Every year, as this day comes around, I try to remind myself of the lessons that I’ve learned since then. I repost my thoughts every year to as an exercise of reminding myself (and hopefully some of you, too) of what it was like. I guess I am trying to take that #neverforget hashtag seriously.
My hope is that through reading this, you are reminded of God’s goodness and sovereignty.
“I stand before you with the hollowing and daunting task of honoring our friend and brother, Andy, with mere words, simple anecdotes, and a limited perspective. So, forgive me in advance for any injustice I may do to his life or to his impact in your life.
One of my earliest memories of Andy was his sophomore year. I visited him while he was living in Plimpton. He had this screen saver—back when screen savers were scrolling text and simulated starfields—that he couldn’t stop talking about. He made me sit down and watch it with him. It was this guy stranded on an island striving and trying to make his way off the island, but failing. Andy would watch this guy constantly, hoping and waiting for him to make it home. A screensaver that was supposed to keep his computer busy when Andy was away was keeping him busy. But to hear him talk about it made you believe that computers were created for screensavers like that.
In college, we served on praise team together. He would always lug his keyboard, amp, and keyboard stand from his dorm to Earl Hall. Week after week, he would barge through the door always about to drop everything. But he never complained, never whined, and most importantly, never asked me to carry them for him. Week after week, he showed up, instruments in hand.
When he was a junior, he was working downtown about 25 hours a week. On top of his already-packed Engineering schedule, his free time was completely soaked up. He would begin his day before 9am and with work and school, wouldn’t return until around midnight. At which point, he would begin studying for the day. During this time, he cut out all of his commitments… all of them except praise team. It was his joy. He even designed and paid for our very first KCCC Praise t-shirts. One time he came to our meeting and asked for prayer because that morning when he was shaving, he was unable to feel the razor on his cheek. That’s when he knew he was working too hard, when his nerve endings finally gave way. But he wasn’t complaining, he just wanted us to know and pray for him. And he still showed up for praise team, instruments in hand.
Andy was annoying to those close to him. Gimme a sec to explain. You see, Andy was very good at what he did. He picked up snowboarding in half a day, much to the chagrin of his brother. His first instrument was piano, and yet he played the guitar better than I do and I don’t even have a “2nd” instrument. But more than just snowboarding or guitar, the annoying thing about Andy was that he was so humble about his abilities. He was never in it for himself. He always just wanted to worship God with his life.
On two occasions, Andy came down and served with me in Atlanta with my church’s youth group. The first trip he paid for out of pocket and flew down on Christmas day. The second trip he drove down his new car to Alabama and back up again… willingly. Or at least if he wanted to complain about it, I never heard about it. At both retreats, he led praise and led a bible study.
Have you ever seen Andy worship God? I mean really worship him… with his eyes pressed shut and his hand motioning the notes as he sings them? I knew at those moments that there was nothing to distract Andy from his love of worship. To hear him worship made you believe that Andy was created to worship God.
I can still hear him leading the seniors at my church during those retreats, yelling—motivating, never scolding—at these students, “Isn’t this awesome? Don’t you guys want to live like this?” For Andy things were so clear and so simple. You live for God. That’s that.
Andy and I were doing the pamphlet for a Youth Group retreat. He designed the cover and I was doing the inside. He took a bus from work and walked up French Hill Rd. to get to church so that we could work on the booklet together. We are both meticulous in formatting to the very last detail, so we stayed until 7:30am, at which time he called for his company car and went back to work. This was the amount of sacrifice that he had, for a booklet, for a retreat, for a bunch of kids. But he was doing it for God.
I never saw Andy play basketball. He didn’t like to play. But I did hear him constantly talk about video cards, RAM, motherboards, BIOS, and LINUX. I heard him talk about Matt Redman, Hillsongs, Caedmon’s Call, Delirious to no end. If you looked at his room, or rooms, in his home, you would very quickly see that Andy loved computers and music very much. He knew what he liked and he poured himself into it. He knew what he didn’t like and he didn’t try and front to impress anyone. I always respected him for that.
Passion. Sacrifice. Humility.
Passion for computers, for music, for worship. Sacrifice for praise team, for an Atlanta YG, for Bethany Youth Group. Humility in his abilities and standing before God. Passion for God, sacrifice for God, humility before God.
If you ponder those three terms as I have done this past sleepless night in Greensboro airport, you begin to see that those three qualities are at the core of the person of Christ. Jesus’ passion, Jesus’ sacrifice, Jesus’ humility. Could it be that Andy was just trying to reflect the person of Jesus? His constant striving and trying to achieve Christ-likeness in this lonely and empty world? Well, Andy, I’ll tell you, the guy finally made if off the island and he is home now.
I would like to take a moment and address Andy directly: “Andy the hard thing is that you are gone. I won’t be able to see you smile, sing, laugh, or cry. But, the harder thing is that I won’t be able to learn from you anymore. No more computer questions, no more .mp3’s, no more relationship advice. Still, the hardest thing is that I will never have the chance to repay you for all you have taught me. I’m sorry that I wasn’t a better friend and a better brother to you.
The good thing is that you are in heaven. You are with God and I can hear you saying, “Rich, this is incredible! You wouldn’t believe it! God is tremendous!” The better thing is that you will be able to see me try and reflect the things I have learned from you with my life. I will honor God and honor you. Still, the best thing is that I will be with you in heaven soon enough, Andy, soon enough.”