c. 1997 Religion News Service

(Dale Hanson Bourke is publisher of RNS and author of”Turn Toward the Wind.”)

UNDATED _ We usually think of death as a taker _ it snatches a friend or loved one, leaving us to cry out in despair at the void left in our lives.

But death is a giver, too. Sorrow grants a rare clarity of vision; we see things we have denied or ignored and we understand in new ways what is required of us. Death, then, becomes our teacher, and its lessons have much to do with what we have lost.

Last week the world lost a great man. Charles”Kip”Jordon was an outstanding publisher, a man who cared more about the book and the author than the number of copies it sold. He touched millions of lives by publishing life-changing books.

But Kip never counted the numbers. He was a people person. When he talked about the power of books, he always talked of individuals. He told stories of one man or one woman, and he often had a tear in his eye. His heart was far too soft for this world, but he stubbornly refused to toughen up.

None of us doubted Kip’s professional accomplishments. But when we gathered at his funeral Sunday (Nov. 2), we talked less about his achievements than we did about his affections.

Kip died too young _ he was only 52 _ but he had lived amazingly well. His friends never doubted we were loved by him.

A lifelong friend eulogized Kip by pointing out the three things we all knew he had: faith, family and friends.

It was a simple message, really, but that gift of clarity brought its meaning home to each of us in a remarkable way. I doubt anyone walked away from the service without asking,”If I died today, would they say the same about me?” Kip’s faith was obvious to most because it was a growing, evolving love of God that was determined but never dogmatic.

Kip wanted everyone to believe, yet he never expected any of us to see God exactly as he did. But if we did share an insight with him, Kip delighted in the moment with a big grin, a deep laugh, and often a tear that slid down his cheek without embarrassment.

Many of Kip’s friends were amazed by the relationship he shared with his wife Kathy. Even after 30 years of marriage, they were still absolutely goofy about one another. Once, I watched them sitting at the head table of a formal dinner. They held hands and occasionally gazed lovingly at each other, unwittingly overshadowing the speaker by their demonstration of unbridled affection.

Neither Kip nor Kathy were perfect, and each would have admitted that. But they chose to love and challenge one another in positive ways that lead to growth and what many called a”rare love affair.” No one knew Kip more than 10 minutes without hearing him talk with pride about his two sons. I don’t remember hearing the kinds of things most of us tell about our children: grades and teams made; honors and trophies. They were there, I know, but Kip mostly talked about the boys’ hearts and minds.

He told stories about their curiosity and their struggles with belief. He marveled at their differences and delighted when they wanted to spend time with him. He loved them for who they were, not what he wanted them to be.

Kip was a rare friend. He loved most of us better than we loved him. It didn’t matter to him what he got back from a relationship. He rejoiced in his friendships and looked for ways to give. There was no calculation of a pay-off; Kip was investing in lives not dollars.

Kip would have asked that we say less about him at his funeral. But he would have challenged us to do more. He didn’t come upon his faith, family or friends by accident. He worked every day at making the most of them.

One speaker at the funeral suggested perhaps Kip’s death was meant to give just one of us a better reason to live. Afterward the question hung in the air: Was it for me?

After a few days of reflection, I think I now know the answer. It was for me and for everyone who knew Kip _ and even for those who never met him. Kip would have gladly given his life for us to learn the value of faith, family and friends. “What are you waiting for?”he once asked me when I told him I was thinking of writing a book. Today I hear that question again and know that Kip must be shouting it from above.

Even as I mourn the loss of my friend, I hear his loving challenge. And I know he has given me the gift of a second chance.

MJP END BOURKE