In Memoriam, Scott Becker

My friend died yesterday morning. He was my pastor at Bethany from about 10 years ago. He wasn't yet 50.

He taught me to read Stanley Hauerwas. He taught me Romans from N.T. Wright's perspective before I knew N.T. Wright from A.W. Tozer. He watched Laurie and me come together -- our evening fellowship group was a useful pretext. He knew how to teach with questions, not statements, something I'm still trying to figure out. He played "Rainbow Connection" in the church Talent Night with a spot-on Kermit voice. I thought the second verse about being half-asleep was his personal joke at first, but there it is in the original lyrics. He did have that kind of humor. He co-presided over our wedding. He taught me to make omelets. He gently pushed me into teaching Sunday School classes when I didn't feel quite ready (and I wasn't quite ready). It was those classes, not my graduate education or chemistry-teaching assignments, that actually taught me how to teach. That's what I do every day now. At his prompting I taught the Psalms, a post-September 11 course with Kevin Hilman, and a History of Church and State course. I would not have done them without his prompting, or even known how to teach without his example. I wouldn't even be able to read the books I'm reading now without what he gave me.

He had moved to California a few years ago to get his Ph.D. at Fuller Theological Seminary. About a year ago he was diagnosed with cancer. He had always been riddled with health problems, and this was the worst of all. Last Thanksgiving he and his wife were visiting and we were able to host an after-church party for him. Our old fellowship group came over and played Boggle and ate food. Halfway through the afternoon snow started to fall, without warning. It kept falling and started sticking. Then the power suddenly went out. We still said goodbye slowly, in the dark, and people filtered out in the quiet. (Although part of it was waiting for a nearby 4X4 to arrive to push some people's cars up the snowy hill by our house.) I was hoping that wasn't a sign, but I'm afraid it was.

Chemo wasn't working, so he chose to quit it a few weeks ago. His last blog post is open, hopeful, but not really optimistic. He could feel the tumors inside him. Still, my reaction is one of surprise. I wish we all had more warning, one more time together, one more hug. Now, part of me looks forward to the last trumpet that much more. One more thing is broken. One more silence calls out from the ground, waiting to be made right. One more wound, one less friend.

We miss you, Scott.