My Tribute to Jim

My friend, Jim Kinker, died a few days ago. After the initial shock of the news died down, we’ve had some time think about what Jim’s life has meant to each one of us. Jim never lived his life to be seen. He didn’t go out of his way to draw attention to himself (except when choosing a different car). He never sought the limelight, yet his life had a unique influence upon each one of our lives. We are different people for having known Jim. We are better people.

Whenever someone dies unexpectedly, we have the tendency to do two things. First, we think of the person who’s gone as some sort of perfect person. One who never said a cross word to anyone, paid his bills on time, voted Republican, and kept a spotless home. We all know that Jim wasn’t that man. He marched to his own drum his whole life. He wanted you to like him, but if you didn’t that was your problem, not his.

Our other tendency is to mourn in a rather selfish way. We think “How could he leave me like this?” We think more about our own loss than about our friend who is gone. I think this is easy to adopt in this case, because in many ways Jim was on the periphery of our lives. He was a very selfless person. His personality didn’t demand us to attend him. He could take care of himself. He was available to help us if we needed help, but he wasn’t always the first one we thought of.

Jim had the greatest mannerisms in the world. He could make a simple comment and it would be funny.  You could count on him to do even the most mundane thing in a unique way. It’s difficult to describe, but Jim could even adjust his glasses in a way that no one else could.

When Rob asked me to do this, I wondered whether I was really qualified to speak on Jim’s life. Surely there are others who knew him better than I did. Surely someone who grew up with him would be better suited to say a collective good-bye for us. I still don’t feel qualified. How can anyone adequately sum up a man’s life, short-lived though it was, in a few minutes? It can’t be done. It shouldn’t be done.

We live our lives as though we are afraid of the future. Disease, illness, calamity, disaster wait just around the corner for us, we’re sure of it. I don’t think Jim lived that way. Each day held promise for him. There was something good waiting down the road, if he could just hold on to the wheel. Jim had more than his share of life’s pains, but he lived with the realization that his life was in God’s hands. He wasn’t passive about life like many of us are. He did the things that were important to him. He actively sought as much control over his life as he could have.

So how, now, to say good-bye, Jim has already seen his dad. He’s met his Lord, personally, finally. He’s probably still learning his way around the streets of gold and confused by all the cleanliness.  He’s free now from the constraints people place upon themselves. He doesn’t know pain or suffering anymore. I know I’ll see him again. Our sure hope as believers in Christ is that one day we will all be raised from the dead. We have to wait a little while, just the blink of an eye, and we’ll be reunited.

“It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:22-23)

Given by A.J. Farley

Tuesday, March 3, 1992

Funeral of James Matthew Kinker