These are the brief remembrances I shared at the funeral service of my dear brother, Rich, on August 12, 2021.
On behalf of my family, thank you all so much for your love and support. We feel your prayers. They are holding us fast.
The Wests boys were two sets of brothers, and he and I were the younger set. I could tell you about the childhood shenanigans of “Stephen and Richey.” I could tell you about singing “Johnny’s Gettin’ Nothin’ for Christmas” every year (complete with at least 17 verses). I could tell you how often he reminded me about the time he pushed me over the lawn mower. I could tell you about the time he told mom I was eating all the marshmallows (after he ate his half). I could tell you how many times I heard the phrase, “Mom! Stephen’s aggrivatin’ me!” I could tell you about the family video of him imitating Howard Cosell with Andy. He was goofy, he was funny, we called each other punk.
I could also tell you about his relentless love for God, for theology, for social justice, and for the Church. I could tell you about how much he loved Camp Sumatanga. I could tell you about his amazing academic accomplishments. But what I really want to tell you is this. He had a brilliant and beautiful mind.
I sometimes say he could walk into a room and teach a course in world religions that could knock your socks off, but he might not be able to find his own socks.
Today, I want you to know this inspires me the most about his life.
The unfolding of his beautiful mind started when he was teaching and involved in his first doctoral program before mom died 18 years ago. I say that not to call attention to his suffering, oh no. I say that because more than anyone I know, he was an overcomer.
No matter what the obstacles, he was eternally fascinated with theology and philosophy. He refused to stop creating. He finished a Ph.D., which was his proudest moment. He self-published 3 books and some graphic novels. He was excited about the new book of ghost stories he had found a publisher for.
I once told him his writing “defied genre” (he took that as a huge compliment, which it was). The threads he could weave between philosophy, comics, memories, painful experiences, science fiction, and theology gave me insight into the beauty of his mind. Writing was his way of making sense of things, of finding peace, and of blessing the world.
I have learned more from my brother than anyone I have ever known about courage, determination, and relentless creativity. And I love the way that after that whole intellectual journey, he had unwavering faith in Christ. In recent years, he just loved going to church and being involved in teaching Sunday School, singing in the choir, and ministries of addiction recovery.
I also want to say one more thing that’s really important. Watching Dad and Richmond work out a mutually supportive living arrangement in the years after mom died was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen in my life. It wasn’t always easy, but the greatest gift of God we have is each other.
He died too early, and that was a total surprise. But my heart is full of gratitude that he died happy, stable, creative, and excited. And in all things, he had unshakable hope in Christ Jesus, our Lord. That’s what I want to celebrate with you today.
Richmond would have been thrilled to know that at his funeral, I would close my brief remarks with the famous quote from Captain Kirk at the funeral of his dear, Vulcan friend Spock. “Of all the souls I have encountered in my travels, his was the most … human.”
And it was.
Rest in the peace of Christ, Richmond. Amen.
