He was my father.
My father in The Faith.
My eulogy for the passing of Dr. Jim Braley. Read in Cottonwood, AZ on Saturday, 18 May 2019.
“Close your eyes.”
Jim spoke these words as he lined up my family and me before introducing us to the Grand Canyon. Dutifully, obediently, we complied with his command. We then were instructed to walk forward, eyes closed.
“OK. You can open them now,” I could hear the gleeful lilt in his voice.
I can only speak for myself, what I felt at that moment, eyes wide open. There I stood, before the gaping maw. Thousands of feet and a metal railing was all that separated me from certain death.
I have acrophobia, a fear of heights.
He didn’t mean to and he felt bad about it afterward.
But Jim Braley had just scared the crap out of me.
I discovered later that Jim had introduced other folks to the canyon in the same way. Indeed, Jim introduced many throughout his life and around the world, to more than just Arizona landmarks.
Jim made his early mark in ACSI, an international Christian school movement. I remember our discussions about his work with Roy Lowrie and Paul Kienel. He told me about a meeting they had in Wheaton, Illinois where he slept on the basement floor of the famous literature professor, Leland Ryken. He regaled me with stories from his principal days in California. His watchword then, as it has been over the years with those he impacted, was “changed lives, changing lives.” One of many quotable quotes from him have continued to make an impression on one generation after another. Penny Clawson, emeritus professor of education at Lancaster Bible College, has lost count of how many times she has referenced Jim. Randy Ross, former regional director of ACSI, has said, Jim Braley’s impact cannot be counted.
Jim had so many experiences with so many people it is difficult to count them all. When I wrote my original 2017 story about Jim and Faye – a story I will reference a few times below – a dozen voices reminisced personal encounters. I had begged Jim on numerous occasions to recount the stories he remembered from his days in ACSI. Tyler, my son, took a personal trip to see Jim, to get some of those stories on paper. But in his style, Jim spent his time encouraging Tyler.
One story, recounted by Faye, Jim’s wife, in the book It’s a God Thing, was recounted to me by Jim through email some years ago. Jim was one of a handful of ACSI individuals who went to the old Soviet Union after the fall of the Iron Curtain in 1989-90 on what was then called the “Co-mission.” Jim was establishing Christian school beachheads throughout Russia. From Jim’s recounting, the people who had been praying for release from the communist system enthusiastically received the truths presented in The Scriptures. Those of us who know the power of our adversary understand that Satan is not keen on the invasion of life into the darkness of an atheistic system. On one occasion, as he told me, Jim was in a public restroom. He was suddenly accosted by a man whose intention was harm or worse. At the moment of greatest peril, Jim said, his attacker was subdued by another entity in that restroom. Of all the experiences Jim must have had in far flung corners of the world that was the only one I could get him to write down. [During the remembrance for Jim his wife Faye gave me a copy of another story; Jim actually went on a trip to North Korea – under the ground!]
Perhaps, even now, as souls under the altar (according to Revelation 6), there is a celebration of gratitude being attended to. I can imagine the reunion between the likes of Jim, Tony Fortosis, and Bill Male, for instance. Those who precede us in death are among the great cloud of witnesses (Hebrews 11) whose history continues to encourage us through the generations.
The first time I met Jim was only at a distance. I was attending the 1982 ACSI Conference at what was for years called “The Big Lake,” Winona Lake, Indiana. Grace Seminary was the location where Christian school supporters, teachers, and board members gathered for encouragement and instruction. I attended a couple of Jim’s sessions on Christian education philosophy. My wife Robin was (and still is) a Christian school teacher, and I, as a theologian, was becoming interested in the “Why?” of Christian schooling. I can still see Jim, in my mind’s eye, covering the information he had assembled on the handout. But his philosophical commitments were emblazoned with his passion for teaching Christianly. I still have some of Jim’s 1982 handouts, a pictures of us in the august crowd, and an opening memory of wanting to do what Jim did. Jim’s influence contributed to Robin’s and my commitment: we have given over 60 collective years to Christian school education.
Jim’s and my first conversation did not take place until the summer of 1988. I was teaching Christian Life and World Studies (CLAWS) for a Christian school in Bismarck, North Dakota. We traveled north into Three Hills, Alberta, Canada for a Christian school philosophy course taught by Jim. My first recollection of Jim went something like this:
He stood by himself. The rest of us were talking in small groups. His face registered deep thought with ever so slight a sly smile on his face. I wondered in that moment, what he was thinking. So, I walked over to ask. His response was genuine, gracious, full of wonder. He asked questions, showed an interest, and seemed immediately to care for me as a person. Our bond was cemented then and there. Throughout the week-long event he lectured. I tracked his thinking. At breaks, I was “that guy,” currying favor with the speaker. But there was really no favor to curry. No one noticed as we drew ideas for each other on notebook paper. No one seemed to care about the ideas as much as we cared.
After that conference Jim began to tell ACSI leadership to invite me to teach for conventions. I can’t help but think that the hundreds of seminars enablers, and keynotes I have given over the years are due in part to Jim’s encouragement. At some point in the following years I began to be called upon by ACSI to do what Jim had done – teach philosophy of education sessions.
One of the many features of Jim’s teaching was what he called “the living curriculum.” It is one thing to teach a subject, another altogether, to teach a subject to students. Like Jim, I have never believed a teacher only teaches the discipline, of let’s say math, without understanding the audience to whom the discipline is directed. From Jim’s and my vantage point, the only way to apprehend any field of knowledge is to know the Lord of all knowledge. The gospel message of wholeness – the saving work of Jesus for our sin – is the very essence of what it means to teach as a Christian. The only possible way to know our subject is to be subject to the One who knows all things. Jesus’ physical death, burial, and historical resurrection is the basis for our restoration, the possibility of eternal life, the reason for beginning to understand this life.
Nothing in this life is perfect, including Christian education. When an awfulness was perpetrated against me by a school, in the midst of my anger and lament, Jim was right there to offer encouragement and support with his oft quoted verse to me, the Lord’s words in Psalm 50:15: “Call upon me in the day of trouble, I will deliver you, and you shall glorify me.” I know that Jim’s words and admonitions were meant for my benefit but I really couldn’t get out of my own way to see that – after my job was stolen from me – that anything good could come of it. He never knew that I loathed that verse. But it was good he continued to press it upon me. Even reflecting on the verse for this eulogy I hate to admit it, but Jim was right.
After that tumultuous event in my life, Jim invited me to do a few sessions for administrators about how to treat teachers. Because I had been so wrongfully treated, my presentations resembled an open wound. I remember Jim would offer salve to my pain. Later I found out that Jim’s invitation to speak was what he thought administrators should hear. We would spend hours at conferences talking about our experiences – always with encouragement at the center of it all. My son Tyler accompanied me on one of those trips. I can still see he and Jim talking at a table about life.
The word “son” in Hebrew has implications that exceed physical connection. “Son” can mean my “son” Tyler or my grandsons “Isaiah” and “Benjamin.” Son can also mean a spiritual son: a son in The Faith. We see Paul, for example, referring to Timothy as “my son.” I suspect that Jim had many sons in that regard. I have heard from a few ahead of the remembrance for Jim for whom Jim had a marked influence on their lives.
But our family became his family. Our portraits hung in his home as if I was his son. I began to refer to him as my “dad.” When our children were young we spent a week at Jim and Faye’s home near The Grand Canyon. They took us to see all the sights. I can still see my children hiking the red rocks in Sedona. I can see us sitting for lunch or dinner at Jim and Faye’s table. I can see us talking together on his patio.
When I taught undergrad in Chicago, Jim and Faye traveled from Arizona just to see us. We took them on an architectural tour on the Chicago River, looking up at buildings towering above us, remarkable for how they resemble each other. Later I thought the picture was an apt metaphor for our relationship.
Our paths did not often cross, he from California & Arizona, I from North Dakota, later Michigan, Illinois, and Indiana. Our correspondence (before the days of email ease) was spotty at best. He saw my gifts encouraging me along the way. I could tell he knew his influence had peaked years before. He knew his job was now, me.
Faye began to send us the old photos, the old notes, the old contacts; everything old. Jim was in his mid-eighties. Like his mother before him, his mind has slipped. He did not always remember. He did not always know. But then again, I bet he did. Under the layers of mental injury or memory disorder was my friend, my father, Jim. This summer it is Tyler’s and my ambition to write a small book about a giant of a man, Jim Braley. He passed the baton long ago. His repetitious, rehearsed encouragements might have seemed obnoxious to others. To me, they were threads to a rope I had long held.
I am not sure why Jim told me on several occasions, “I want you to speak at my funeral.” I never questioned or poked around to find out more. I told him I would be honored to do so and do so through this eulogy. Over the days just after Jim’s home-going, I pondered what Jim would have for me to say. As I reflected over our many conversations it dawned on me that he enjoyed the ideas we shared – just like in Three Hills, Alberta.
I can hear Jim say to me, “Talk about the latest ideas you have. It will be like 1988 all over again.” So from Jim’s spirit to my spirit to all our spirits, here are ten ideas which Jim would say reflect his life and work:
- Be grateful for good fathers. Jim knew I did not have a good one. Much like Timothy, whose father was a pagan, Jim was Paul to me.
- Be ready to be a father to others. Discipleship – Jim’s greatest gift – is essential.
- Appreciate and learn from history. Jim knew and taught we all stand on the shoulders of giants – he among them. Here is the reason Tyler and I are writing a book about Jim this summer.
- Ethnography has become a great interest over the past decade. We should write about the lives of others.
- Know the “Why?” behind what you do. If the philosophy of Christian education means anything, it gives reason, meaning, and purpose.
- Pioneers should be remembered. We hear more and more stories – if we listen – about people almost all but forgotten and about how important their contribution was then and now.
- Encouragement lasts longer than exhortation. Jim would infrequently “get after me” about anything; instead, he quoted a verse saying he supported me no matter what.
- Personal correspondence matters. I bow to my son Tyler here. Over the years he has invested many postage stamps sent to Arizona. His encouragement in print is a lesson for all.
- “Family” is a term to be expanded. “Church family” and “family of God” has roots planted in Genesis 12.
- Love. The last time I spoke to Jim he picked up the phone but didn’t know who I was. He handed the phone back to Faye who after a moment of instruction came back on the line and uttered words we all need to hear: “I love you.” Toward the end of Jim’s earthly life, he clung to the truth born of Jesus, “All men will know you are my disciples if you love one another.”
Three Hills Alberta will always be etched in my mind. Jim Braley has been and continues to be my source of encouragement, an influence I cannot reference in a footnote. He has, instead, been a personal editor in my life. This past year Faye and Beth were cleaning out Jim’s office bookshelves and asked if I wanted anything. Beth took photos of the books and sent them to me. Two things stand out to me about that exchange. I had just about every book Jim had on his shelf, which tells you we read the same people. And one of my books was standing with the rest. Jim and I never spoke much about my writing of which I do quite a bit. But from my perspective it was enough that Jim had some of my work next to others. It was a picture of Jim’s life: a sign of encouragement.
There is always more to say. In this case, for a eulogy, one must remember the moment and know when it is best to stop and sit back down. Yes, Jim scared the crap out of me that day at the Grand Canyon but like so much of his life, Jim got me to see something old with new eyes. How we see is, at times, as important as what we see. I see differently today because of Jim Braley.
And I cannot wait to see my father and friend again in the next life.
- Mark Eckel, eulogy for Jim Braley, at his funeral, 18 May 2019