Calvin Whidden
Today, I read of the death of Gore Vidal, famed author, provocateur and television personality. While noting his difficult personality, most obituaries (at least those I saw) were glowing in their praise. As I pondered this, I was struck by the contrast with another person who died a week ago. That person was my uncle, Calvin Whidden. Unlike Mr. Vidal, or the other famous “personalities” who are lauded upon their demise, my Uncle Calvin’s death was not, and will not be, written up in the New York Times or other acclaimed arbiters of opinion. However, this unassuming man, who worked as a mechanic for many years with the Florida Department of Transportation, a man who lived simply and never, to my knowledge, appeared on TV, figured prominently in my life.
It is my very ordinary belief that every life is important. Each of us affects others—oftentimes in ways of which we aren’t even aware. My uncle loved two wives over the years. He was kind to his friends and neighbors and treated those people he met with respect; yet, I doubt that he ever knew how profoundly he affected those around him.
Uncle Calvin was the younger brother of my father. My father asked me to write a brief eulogy of his brother for the funeral service, which I gladly did. That eulogy follows:
I have known Calvin Whidden my entire life. Through the first thirty or so years, he was someone with whom I shared quite a bit of time. As a kid, I used to hang out at his shop while he repaired lawn mowers and talk about this and that. Later, he and I rebuilt the engine on my ’65 Volkswagen Beetle. In spite of the grease, the heat and the hard work, I look back on those times together as some of the better memories of my youth. However, the very best memory of my Uncle Calvin is quite different.
In 1973, I was a seriously confused, angry young man. Having traveled around the country by thumb, I determined to go back to my roots and ended up at my Granny’s house—where Calvin also lived. At the loving insistence of my Granny, I went with her and Calvin to church on Sundays. One Sunday, while attending the Church of God with them, the pastor gave an altar call which I resisted. Calvin, on the other hand, went forward weeping and praising God. I had no idea what was going on with him, but it was clear that something or, better yet, someone was speaking to his heart.
Calvin, and many others, stood at the front of the church crying out to God for some time and then slowly drifted back to their seats. I just looked at him, all weepy and teary eyed, and thought, “Okay, that was pretty weird. These people have let their emotions get the best of them!”
On the way home, Calvin, Granny and I talked about what Calvin had experienced in the service. Calvin wasn’t known, at least by me, for being particularly articulate about his feelings, but he declared that God had convicted him of his anger and he had felt compelled to repent and receive forgiveness. I asked him if he felt that he had, in fact, received forgiveness and he was quite emphatic in stating that he had. I thought about that for awhile and then, later that afternoon, I went out amongst the small grove of orange trees that was behind the house back then. There among the orange trees, I repented of my arrogant ways, asked God’s forgiveness and vowed to serve Him from then on.
I can’t describe adequately the relief that entered my heart that afternoon. What I can tell you is that my discussion with Calvin and Granny, and seeing my Uncle Calvin’s willingness to absolutely surrender to God’s calling, pointed out my own arrogance and prideful resistance to God’s call. Calvin’s abject humility was a goad to me that, to this day, continues to point me towards the Lord. What Calvin knew, in a very simple and powerful way, was that God doesn’t need cleverness or, in fact, any kind of accomplishment from us. No, He seeks a humble heart, the kind of heart that Calvin had all the days of his life.
Calvin has gone home to his reward, and I hope and trust that it is a great reward. You and I remain, perhaps sorrowing at this moment, but remaining nonetheless. My prayer for all of us is that we, too, would come to the Lord with a humble heart. Not seeking to justify our actions but, rather, simply to acknowledge that God is God and we are His children, much loved, but desperately in need of His grace. May we surrender, as Calvin did, to the loving will of the God who cares for us and who has a wonderful plan for our lives, a plan far better than we can imagine and more fulfilling than we deserve.
Thomas A. Hall
It is my very ordinary belief that every life is important. Each of us affects others—oftentimes in ways of which we aren’t even aware. My uncle loved two wives over the years. He was kind to his friends and neighbors and treated those people he met with respect; yet, I doubt that he ever knew how profoundly he affected those around him.
Uncle Calvin was the younger brother of my father. My father asked me to write a brief eulogy of his brother for the funeral service, which I gladly did. That eulogy follows:
I have known Calvin Whidden my entire life. Through the first thirty or so years, he was someone with whom I shared quite a bit of time. As a kid, I used to hang out at his shop while he repaired lawn mowers and talk about this and that. Later, he and I rebuilt the engine on my ’65 Volkswagen Beetle. In spite of the grease, the heat and the hard work, I look back on those times together as some of the better memories of my youth. However, the very best memory of my Uncle Calvin is quite different.
In 1973, I was a seriously confused, angry young man. Having traveled around the country by thumb, I determined to go back to my roots and ended up at my Granny’s house—where Calvin also lived. At the loving insistence of my Granny, I went with her and Calvin to church on Sundays. One Sunday, while attending the Church of God with them, the pastor gave an altar call which I resisted. Calvin, on the other hand, went forward weeping and praising God. I had no idea what was going on with him, but it was clear that something or, better yet, someone was speaking to his heart.
Calvin, and many others, stood at the front of the church crying out to God for some time and then slowly drifted back to their seats. I just looked at him, all weepy and teary eyed, and thought, “Okay, that was pretty weird. These people have let their emotions get the best of them!”
On the way home, Calvin, Granny and I talked about what Calvin had experienced in the service. Calvin wasn’t known, at least by me, for being particularly articulate about his feelings, but he declared that God had convicted him of his anger and he had felt compelled to repent and receive forgiveness. I asked him if he felt that he had, in fact, received forgiveness and he was quite emphatic in stating that he had. I thought about that for awhile and then, later that afternoon, I went out amongst the small grove of orange trees that was behind the house back then. There among the orange trees, I repented of my arrogant ways, asked God’s forgiveness and vowed to serve Him from then on.
I can’t describe adequately the relief that entered my heart that afternoon. What I can tell you is that my discussion with Calvin and Granny, and seeing my Uncle Calvin’s willingness to absolutely surrender to God’s calling, pointed out my own arrogance and prideful resistance to God’s call. Calvin’s abject humility was a goad to me that, to this day, continues to point me towards the Lord. What Calvin knew, in a very simple and powerful way, was that God doesn’t need cleverness or, in fact, any kind of accomplishment from us. No, He seeks a humble heart, the kind of heart that Calvin had all the days of his life.
Calvin has gone home to his reward, and I hope and trust that it is a great reward. You and I remain, perhaps sorrowing at this moment, but remaining nonetheless. My prayer for all of us is that we, too, would come to the Lord with a humble heart. Not seeking to justify our actions but, rather, simply to acknowledge that God is God and we are His children, much loved, but desperately in need of His grace. May we surrender, as Calvin did, to the loving will of the God who cares for us and who has a wonderful plan for our lives, a plan far better than we can imagine and more fulfilling than we deserve.
Thomas A. Hall