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From the Robert W. Funk Memorial Dinner

Some Words, Difficult Words

Remembering Bob Funk
 

It is not only fitting but necessary that I begin my thoughts with some difficult words.

Follow me and let the dead bury their dead.

Or, in the new paraphrase by Alan Alda,

Never have your dog stuffed.

Almost two decades ago the Seminar voted pink on these words from Q. In the succinct resume of the voting deliberations, "The Five Gospels noted that the saying is distinctive because it

contradicts traditional familial relationships and obligations. In both the gentile and Judean worlds, one had a basic filial duty to bury one's father. It would have been acute form of dishonor to leave one's father unburied or to permit someone else to bury him; it would have brought shame, not only on the father's memory, but also on the son. (161)

It would seem in these circumstances that we are not in Jesus' entourage. We have come to show our love for Bob Funk, to honor his memory. In the best rabbinic tradition, we recall the thoughts and achievements of a beloved teacher. We revisit a pioneer's campfire where the embers are still warm.

I can see Bob growling at the lot of us. He would be embarrassed that we have taken so much time away from our work to worry over him. And the contradiction between our action and the saying of Jesus would not be lost on him.

He would outdistance our plodding attempts by looking for some insight that would topple our assumptions.

And that is why I bring in the latest scripture commentator—Alan Alda. In his newly published memoir, he explains the story behind his intriguing title Never Have Your Dog Stuffed. As a young boy Alda suffered the sudden loss of his pet dog. His father tried to keep Alan's grief to a minimum and thought that stuffing the dog might mitigate the pain. Of course, it proved disastrous. In fact, the taxidermist fixed the dog's face in a vicious pose with glass eyes haunting the child for years.

Then there's the problem of space. A stuffed dog eventually gets in the way.

Alda reaches for wisdom in the tragic-comedy. He sees how easily we try to beguile ourselves from life. As Eliot put it: "Distracted from distraction by distraction."

Yet even in these fumbling efforts to avoid pain and loss, there is wisdom to be gained. The preciousness of those authentic moments is not lost. But they must be recalled without any sentimental patina. Human fragility alone will keep us going.

So, let me intercept our memories with those words of Jesus. Let that aphorism worm its way into our imaginations. "Follow me and let the dead bury their dead."

Let's follow that fragment, debris "cleaned up" by later tradition, a fractal that links with other Jesus sayings.

But how do we keep these words alive when our hearts cannot forget that cantankerous man. We do so by trespassing once again. We remember Bob. We honor him.

And what do we remember?

The Birkenstocks. The vest.

That voice worrying over words.

The thunder. The ready laugh.

That restless mind.

The glass of Zin raised aloft.

And then we look around and see that we are no longer the people we once were (and not just grayer.) We would never have been the people we are except for the fact that Bob roped us in long ago. Our work together took on a surprising shape. Cooperation overcame the usual academic competition. We even tried to become clear to ourselves and to the public at large. At times we even write in English!

Bob's initial dream of writing a book on Jesus certainly took on an unexpected life. He would eventually deal honestly with Jesus. But, by that time, the critical discussion had long since spilled over the academic levees. And now the conversation continues to flood throughout the world.

Even when we go against the grain of that fragment, that timber in the eye, our recollection of Bob does not permit an easy solace.

He would tell us to our faces that our praise would bury him.

Indeed, recalling him becomes a sounding board; it amplifies that troublesome saying. We cannot shake that white haired memory. It dogs us, barking all the way. In fact, it trees us right back where we began.

You see as long as we would honor Bob with such "goings-on" we are the dead.

But if we reject the cold comfort of our self-pity, and, instead, detect something out of the corner of our eye—a glimmer of that intense glee of discovering how the world turns—if the saying distracts us for a second from our virtual lives, then those words have had their way with us.

And, for a moment, we would transgress. In a mad way this makes perfect sense. For a moment we are more then apprentices, we become full-fledged artisans. We realize fleetingly that the work started decades—and centuries—ago is in our hands. We have the tools. And Funk cleared so many fields with dynamite, giving us a wide horizon. We can now scan the skies, from sunrise to sunset, and on occasion, catch the endless blue.

—Arthur J. Dewey

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