Michael Brokaw Funeral Sermon

There is, for many people, an intuitive appreciation for the Sermon on the Mount, and especially the Beatitudes we just heard read – that long list of, “Blessed are those…Blessed are those…” Even for people who claim no Christian faith, or any faith at all, there remains an instinctual resonance with Jesus’ words and spirit here. He affirms such a humane and compassionate awareness for those in this world for whom life is difficult – the poor in spirit, the mourners, the meek. And he pairs it with such affirmation for those who are seeking to make this world a better place – the merciful, the pure in the heart, the peacemakers. Beneath it all, Jesus affirms – again and again – that this is what God cares about, these are God’s values and priorities.

And, by the grace of God, we are called to be partners with God, in caring and serving and giving our lives away as a blessing for those around us.

And if there were any one, consistent testimony provided by Mike’s friends and family members about how he lived his life, it was his commitment to see and to serve with a steady heart of love. “Service to others” was, as Heather said, one of his “core values” he passed on to her.

Certainly, his 28-year career as a coastguardsman, meant being “always ready” – always ready to serve, to protect, and to save whoever was imperiled on the seas. Later in his Coastguard career, he became a Casualty Affairs Officer, coming alongside families whose loved ones in the Coast Guard had died – often in tragedy, often in service. Mike’s most stressful time in the Coast Card was in November of 1986. During a rescue mission to an outlying village, a helicopter crashed, killing four of his colleagues and close friends. Shortly thereafter, two other colleagues died. Amidst his personal grief, remained his duty to care for the families and fellow corpsmen. “Blessed are the merciful, Mike, for they will receive mercy.”

Mike also served his comunity through his loyalties to so many organizations. As Cyrus said, “Whether it was the Shriners, the Lions club, the Masonic Lodge, or the local Boy Scout troop, he gave his time, energy, and experience to those around him.” At the John Paul Jones Lodge, here in Gig Harbor, he volunteered weekly at their pancake breakfast fundraiser. His fellow Mason, Kelly Combs, recognizes that it was Mike, often alone, who did all the setting up, without a single word of complaint. Ever. His single-handed service was what kept it alive. With the Shriners (where he earned his 32 degree) he volunteered with various functions to raise money for the Children’s Orthopedic and Burn hospitals, a cause deep to his heart.

Certainly, here at St. John’s, there were any number of times I’d call him up, “Hey, Mike, could you help me out with a little project?” And he would. Every time. He’d show up with his tool box and quietly get to work. Early in my time here I wanted a window put in my office door. So Mike came over and cut out the hole. But when he tried to install the window, he discovered he’d mis-measured and cut too big a hole. He mumbled some swear words under his breath, then solved the problem. But ever since, that subtle scar in the woodwork (that I’m the only one who ever notices), has been my constant reminder of Mike and his heart of service – to me, to the church, to the world.

But surely, there were none in this world he loved or sought to serve more than his family.

In Mike’s life and experience, belonging to a family meant belonging to a dynamic family – a family that was never static in its makeup or membership. His father, Omer Kingston, died in World War 2, when Mike was just a baby. Mike was only two when his mom remarried Bob Thomas. So “family” now also included a new stepbrother and sister: Bob and Rogene. Bob remembers meeting Mike the first time: watching him come down the stairs in an old Victorian house, hand-in-hand with his mother. Years later, as a husband and father, Mike’s experience of raising a family remained a dynamic one. He had two daughters, Julia and Heather, from his first marriage. Then he married Kate in the late 80s, grafting Genny into his life as well. Then he and Kate had two kids together: Cyrus and Daniel. As the kids aged, it became time to graft in the daughters and sons-in-law, then the grandchildren – his ever-growing family.

And he sought to love them all. I’m sure it wasn’t always perfect. Like, with my office door, there had to have been foibles and mistakes that needed patching. He was human – battling his own demons, just like we all do. And amidst it all, throughout his years, he kept seeking to serve, in his quiet, steady way.

It was often little things – like warming up the car for Kate. While she bustled about (late as usual), there he was, out in the rain, getting her car ready, then walking her outside, opening the car door for her, and sending her off with a kiss. “Not a grand gesture. Just a quiet, steady kind of love.”

He remained her true love, all their many years together, as handsome and fit and kind to the end as he was that first day she met him in September 1986 at a VFW function in Kodiak, Alaska.

McKenna remembers Mike’s acts of kindness during her time in beauty school. He’d drive her to the ferry, every day, then be there that evening to pick her up, “headlights glowing in the cold evening air.” And, when he saw her get off, “he’d always hop out, walk [her] to the car, and greet [her] with the same warm words: ‘Hi, honey, how was your day?’” And she’d regale him with all the drama from that day at the salon – every silly story.

Mike had a great gift for simply showing up, for being there in the daily moments of a person’s life and activities.

Julia remembers when she was in high school and very active on the stage. “He joined me,” she writes, “in various community theater productions and we created some precious shared memories. We helped each other learn our lines. I helped him practice the choreographed fight scene he performed as the play’s villain, which gave him the opportunity to channel his cultural icon, John Wayne. My Dad was handsome, charming, playful and well-loved by the theater community we were a part of.”

And he showed up, too, to support her when the burdens of this life became too heavy for a teenager to carry.

“In my junior year,” Julia remembers, “two classmates died in a tragic car accident, and I was chosen to write a eulogy for our school’s memorial. I was honored but overwhelmed by the grief surrounding our community. My Dad showed exquisite care for me by writing the eulogy for me. He was an excellent writer.”

Mike would show up for his kids’ team sports and activities – always at Genny’s basketball games, even if she wasn’t any good. He supported Daniel in his Eagle Scout Project, here at St. John’s, when Daniel built the ramp we still use that leads from the parking lot to the backdoor of the Education Wing.

Apparently, the rhythm of Mike’s life was such that, every couple of years, he’d switch to some new passion or hobby to which he’d devote himself, squirreled away in his workshop each night. And (bless him!) even if these hobbies were strange or boring for some of his kids, the hobbies could become ways for Mike to care for his family. He was a woodworker. He made all the girls mirrors with their initials on them. For his grandchildren: a Noah’s Ark, bunk beds and a children’s table. He helped Cyrus build a wooden trebuchet for a physics class, as well to build him a computer from miscellaneous parts Mike had stashed away in the garage.

And, to be clear, the range of his hobbies over the years was extensive! Skiing and scuba diving, computers and programming, furniture refinishing and antique hunting, sailing, model trains and train clubs, biking and racket ball and trap shooting, and reading. It just goes on and on – such a big world, so much to see and discover and be part of.

But the one, steady love that remained throughout Mike’s life was his love of nature. His appreciation for the outdoors, was the second core value that Heather recognized as Mike’s legacy to her. Cyrus also wrote, “My father found beauty in nature, and cared deeply for sharing that beauty with others. He loved getting his hands dirty with yard work, and enjoyed camping, fishing, and spending quiet afternoons at the nearest lake.”

McKenna recalls when her mom – single and determined and doing her absolute best – tried to take the family camping. And it was a disaster. Camping might not have been her greatest skill set, and the site she’d reserved at a campsite was hideous (and, in fact, a little frightening). Not knowing what to do, she called Mike.

“And, like a true hero,” she writes, “Papa didn’t hesitate. He drove all the way from Las Vegas [to Idaho] to save the day. Not only did he show up, he came fully loaded: tents, cooking supplies, and the calm energy of a man who had definitely done this before.

“We relocated to a much better campsite, and from that point on, things turned magical. Papa cooked for us in his trusty Dutch oven – his famous beef stroganoff and peach cobbler, like a campfire chef on a mission.

“In the mornings, I’d wake up to the smell of pancakes flipping and coffee brewing, Papa standing there with his mug in hand, totally in his element.

“What started as a disaster turned into one of our favorite family memories – because Papa always knew how to turn chaos into comfort… and bad campsites into stories we’d tell forever.”

Heather cherishes the formative memory of riding from California to Alaska with her dad and sister in his old pickup truck: it was a journey of national parks and camping under the stars. But more so, she recognizes that it was that “trip that established [their] new family structure,” and it transpired in the joyful place of viewing spectacular wildlife and scenery together.

It is noteworthy how Mike’s love of nature was so often fostered with its parallel love: car trips – that unequalled pleasure of being on the road, the journey as important as the destination (if not more so).

There was the one-on-one trip Heather and Mike took to Steve and Karen’s wedding: driving “along the Sacramento River roads in his Porsche, blasting Laura Branningan on the cassette player,” his longing for freedom unleashed – a longing now a part of Heather’s own spirit. “I can’t get enough of driving with the music up high,” she says, “singing along and feeling the wind in my hair. It will always remind me of my dad.”

So, too, for Genny – her memory of their move to Virginia from the west coast when she was eleven or so. “We didn’t just drive the U.S.,” she writes, “we stopped and experienced the journey. It was always a treat to be handed the AAA guide and I got to pick where we’d stop! ‘Only 3 stars or higher for hotels!’ When mom would fall asleep (she always does on car rides) I’d be designated to help keep him up – I talked a lot. We’d always talk about random things…. He was so knowledgeable about anything and everything. He never said “be quiet.”

Often, the car trips were for family reunions, Mike’s way of holding together the many strands of what “family” meant for him. Steve remembers him joining the Thomases for their reunions in Dillon Beach, while his cousin and namesake, Kingston (“K. C.”) recalls the many times Mike would join the Smythes in Nashville, especially the last time they saw him in 2018, when the Alzheimer’s was just beginning to settle in.

But these car trips didn’t always need to be a long. Even his regular Sunday drives were a source of endless joy: hours exploring country roads, “always” (as Cyrus remembers) “stopping for rocky road ice cream along the way.”

And, of course, with a love of car rides comes his love of cars. Fast cars. Sports cars. He was something of a rock star for his tribe of cousins visiting LA from Iowa in the early 60’s. All those little Smythe boys, mesmerized by their cool, older cousin with his beat-up MG. They lined up for the thrill of taking turns riding in that little two-seater with Mike. It’s one of KC’s earliest memories.

His younger brother, Steve, was likewise impressed by big-brother Mike and his cool, little sports cars. It’s a passion he took up as well, wondering whether there is “a family gene for fun, but needy automobiles.” Maybe so.

And now the time has come, where Mike has made his final journey. We come from God. We return to God. He was born; he lived; he did some things well and some things poorly. But it all matters. This life matters. His life matters. There is within it an inherent dignity to exist at all, and – in the language of faith – to join God in the love of this world and each relationship we’re gifted.

Julia recalls:

“The last time I spent time alone with [Dad], he took our family’s Bible down off the shelf and told me once again that we came from Huguenots who fled France due to religious persecution. My Dad’s faith was important to him, and while he was known for his rugged and sometimes reckless adventures while hunting, fishing, camping and driving race cars, my most intimate memory of him is standing together in church, each of us holding one half of a hymn book, singing those songs. His voice was soft and humble and open.

“That last time I was with him, he was showing me the family Bible and he turned to the last yellowed page where a list of our ancestors’ handwritten signatures took up ¾ of the page. He read the names aloud and told me what little he could remember of them. After a few minutes of deep silence, I suggested that it was his turn to sign the book. His eyes lit up and he said, “Okay.” I watched him ink in his own beautiful name as a peaceful smile settled on his face, and I smiled too. We were sharing that undeniable belonging that comes from being family, across time and space, beyond memory.”

And so it is.

And so, too, we trust it to be God’s spirit and work to keep grafting each one of us into one human family through all time and space. And this family of God is one in which love overcomes all hatreds, where compassion overcomes all bitterness, where forgiveness overcomes each transgression, and where God’s eternal oneness transcends all divisions and makes us one with God and one with one another.

This is the Kingdom of God Jesus proclaimed and lived. And it is the hope in which we follow.

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.”