Bryce Dille Funeral Sermon

When we hear the Twenty-third Psalm at a funeral, our ears often move first to the familiar words: “The Lord is my shepherd.” “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”

And those are right and true for this day.  And as you remember Bryce and we give thanks for this life and commend him to God, I am considering another verse from the Psalmist:

Thou preparest a table before me… Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

My cup runneth over.

It’s such an interesting image because most of us are careful not to overfill a cup. We stop before it spills. Enough is enough.

But God’s abundance in our lives is more than just enough. God pours until there is more than enough. More grace than we deserve. More mercy than we could earn. More love than we could ever exhaust.

And I couldn’t help but think that this image of an overflowing cup somehow fits Bryce.

From everything I’ve heard over these last few days, Bryce didn’t seem to believe in living a half-filled life.  He lived a big life.

As an attorney and as a person he was someone who knew how to think on his feet, argue a point, read a room, and navigate complicated situations. Those skills served him professionally, but they also became part of who he was personally.

You have told me that Bryce had the rare gift of making conversation with anyone. That he could walk into almost any room, find common ground with almost anyone, tell a story, stretch a story just enough to make it better, and leave people laughing.    That’s a gift.

Because beneath the stories and the quick wit is something deeper.

It’s the ability to make people feel seen.   To remind them, if only for a little while, that life is to be shared in fullness.

Those kinds of people often leave behind more than memories. They leave behind stories that keep getting told around dinner tables for years.

That’s one way a cup keeps overflowing.

Not because life was perfect.  Not because every day was easy.

Psalm 23 never pretends those valleys don’t exist. The Psalmist names the valley, assumes we will all walk through them, and promises that we never walk there alone.

The Shepherd walks with us.  God does not abandon us.

And then comes that beautiful image.

God prepares a table. Not a hospital room.  Not a courtroom.

Not a place where we have to prove ourselves.

A table.

The place where families and long time friends gather.

Where stories are told.  Where laughter is shared.

Where people are welcomed simply because they belong.

That is the picture God gives us of eternity.

Striving and searching for achievement are done and we are home.

Home in a place where God’s welcome is larger than our sorrows, God’s mercy deeper than our regrets, and God’s love more enduring than death itself.

Today, we give thanks for Bryce’s overflowing life—for his sharp mind, his stories, his ability to connect with people, and the laughter he left behind. We give thanks for his wide expanse of friends and for you, his family.

Those gifts were  part of the abundance God poured into him.

But today we also remember that every overflowing cup ultimately points back to the One who filled it.

Every good conversation.

Every shared meal.

Every friendship.

Every moment of joy.

Every story that makes us laugh through our tears.

These are gifts from the God whose generosity never runs dry.

So today, even as we grieve, we give thanks.

We entrust Bryce into the hands of the Good Shepherd who has walked beside him every step of his life.

And we hold onto the promise that death does not have the final word.

Because the Shepherd leads and  the cup runneth over.

Thanks be to God.  Amen.