Funeral Homily for Mike McCullough - The Rev. Colette Hammesfahr

 

The Scriptures chosen today by Boo, Mike’s wife of 25 years, are the witness of a quiet soul who has endured and suffered long, yet is now healed and at peace in Christ. Mike was a man who loved the simple things in life. The outdoors was his haven. He lived a life of quiet courage, endurance, and a heart that loved deeply.  

Mike never met a stranger and had lifelong friends. He was genuine, loyal, and dependable. Many of you have described him to me as a true southern gentleman. But you didn’t have to tell me that because I knew it the first time I met him. That deep, smooth Southern accent gave it away. I’ve been told that it was that southern charm, and southern accent that won Boo over and captured her heart.

As a southern gentleman, Mike’s words meant something, and his calm presence made others feel at ease. One of the members of St. Thomas’ told a group of us that he met Mike in high school. They went to different high schools but had met through mutual friends. Mike was a Junior or Senior when this member was a Freshman. If you remember your time in high school, most upperclassmen didn’t have much to do with a lowly Freshman. This freshman met Mike and they instantly became friends. Mike was polite and generous, and they have been life-long friends ever since. At the time, the only thing this young freshman had against Mike was that with his smooth face and tanned skin, Mike got all the girls.

Mike didn’t take this freshman on as a friend because he had to…… but because that’s who he was. That simple act of friendship was a glimpse of the man he would become — steady, generous, and always willing to lift someone else up. A true friend to everyone he met.

Mike truly appreciated every little thing that people did for him. Nothing went unnoticed, and nothing was taken for granted. If you did something kind for him you could expect to find a handwritten note in your mailbox from him within a few days. It wasn’t just politeness; it was who he was. Gratitude ran deep in him.  

For more than ten years, Mike lived with illness. Sick from cancer, sick from the treatments, sick from the medications, cancer tested his strength but never broke his spirit. Those who knew him saw someone who faced each day without bitterness, without complaining, and without self-pity.

As a priest, I have the privilege of sharing both the best of times and sometimes the worst of times with people, and I am honored to have had moments to share intimate times of reflection with Mike over the past few weeks. I think he’d be okay with me sharing a couple things with you…Above everything else, Mike loved and adored his wife, Boo. Through every appointment, every difficult night, every moment when he couldn’t do what he once could, his greatest sorrow was not for himself, but for her — that she had to bear the weight of his care. A couple of weeks ago, he said to me, “Colette, I know this is rough on Boo, so every day, I try to make her laugh.” As I’ve been thinking back on that conversation I have chuckled many times because, this week, when I asked his friends if they had any funny stories to share, they all said, “Not one. Mike was not a funny guy.” Sorry, Boo…he tried! And yet, there he was — trying every single day to make the woman he loved laugh. That was Mike: not the life of the party, not loud or showy, but steady, loving, and intentional.

When he made the decision to forgo any further treatment, I asked what we, his church family, could do for him. Mike didn’t ask for anything grand or dramatic. He didn’t ask for prayers. He didn’t ask for meals. He didn’t ask for visitors. He told me that what he wanted and needed most was for his friends to text him.

Even in those final weeks, he wasn’t thinking of himself; he was thinking of the people he loved. He wanted connection, not sympathy. A few words, a small reminder of friendship — that was enough. It spoke to who he was: a man whose quiet strength drew people close, and whose heart remained open until the very end.

Here at St. Thomas’ we have a healing service every Wednesday. Within the past several months, Mike had become a weekly participant. Although we knew he was weakening, we often joked that it was hard to believe that he was sick. He always showed up in finely pressed khakis, a starched shirt, and loafers with no socks. His perfect skin glowed with his natural tan, and he always had a smile on his face. In all those times he came to the service, never once did he ask us to pray for him, yet he was eager to pray for everyone else.

Mike shared with me that attending that service every week changed his life and he regretted not having started attending sooner. Mike’s words, that he wished he’d come to the healing service sooner, hold a truth about death, hope, and resurrection. They remind us that it’s never too late for grace, never too late for our hearts to open to God. His regret was not despair, but recognition that even near the end, life still offered him newness, peace, and healing.

In our Scripture readings for today, we heard that God’s mercy renews us each morning, God’s love claims us as God’s children, and that Christ prepares a place where death is no longer the end, but a doorway into a life made whole.

Through attending the weekly healing services and being part of that spiritual community, Mike was able to find a peace that he hadn’t known before. Today he is no longer seeking healing; he has been healed. He is no longer hoping for strength; he has been made whole. The promise Jesus gave, “I go to prepare a place for you” is now real for him. To God be the glory. Amen.