In Memoriam: Mark Zonneveld

This past weekend, I had the honor of officiating the funeral of a high school friend of mine. In addition to a couple songs and a few wonderful testimonials regarding Mark's life by family members of friends, I was privileged to speak on behalf of Mark and his family, to share some of my own remembrances of Mark, and invite the packed chapel hall to invite God into their suffering. It would be an understatement to say that it was a memorable event--anytime one is involved in a funeral, it is. The bond created between me and Mark's extended family as a result of sharing this day goes beyond words, and as much as the family was so happy to have me there, I am truly grateful to have been asked to perform the service and be a part of such a special (though bittersweet) day.

I began the service with a reading of Psalm 139:1-3, 13-18 (as requested by one of Mark's uncles) and then prayed:

Father God, we are gathered here today, wishing it were under better circumstances, but here to celebrate the life of Mark Zonneveld nonetheless. We lift our eyes up to you, for our help comes from the Maker of heaven and earth. You who neither slumber nor sleeps, look on us with favor today. Help us feel the string of death and be reminded that there is something terribly wrong with this picture. Assure us that it is OK to mourn for our friend and even that it’s OK to smile, and perhaps even laugh, as we remember him. In your Son’s name, Amen.


After a number of people shared memories about Mark and thoughts regarding his death, I read some testimonials of people who could not be at the funeral. Then I spoke:

I want to being by saying that it's an honor and privilege to stand here today and speak on behalf of the Zonneveld family. Mark and I were friends from high school. And though our contact with each other became periodic over the years as we went off to college, moved, and got jobs, he's one of only a handful of individuals in our graduating class I have kept in touch with.

We met on the first day of our freshman year in German class (and since I know there are a number of people in the audience who are fluent in German, I ask that you please not test my knowledge!). I sat down in the back of the room next to an extremely tall (well, compared to me!) but friendly guy. Mark was, as I quickly found out, extremely smart. I found out too that he could be quite stubborn, and when he was, he knew how to be a really good pain in the ass. But he was also kind, sympathetic, and was particularly sensitive to people who had physical restrictions or who didn't quite fit in as a result of his own struggles with epilepsy.

I’m sure we looked like an odd couple given he was literally twice my size, but we hit it off quite well, and for three years we saw each other every day in German class. I’d say we sat right next to each other all those semesters, but if I remember correctly, we got split up at some point because we talked too much in class.

Mark loved trying new things and having fun, and for him it didn’t require having exceptional skill at something to have fun at it. It was Mark who convinced me we should sing some karaoke while we were at the Noah's Ark water park the summer Mark asked me to go along with his family's annual vacation to the Wisconsin Dells. There were were, two high school kids hanging out with a bunch of people much older than us drinking Budweisers. Mark appropriately sang the Beach Boys song, “Fun, Fun, Fun,” while I, not knowing many songs on their playlist, I must embarrassingly admit, sang Garth Brooks's “The Dance.”

Then, there was the spring break just the two of us took a road trip up to Racine, Wisconsin to meet up with some friends of mine. I drove while Mark gladly counted the changes for the tolls around Chicago, and he always swore he counted corectly when the 50 pennies we threw in one toll never made the light turn green. We drove through anyways, but during the entire trip I wondered if cops would show up behind me.

And there was the day, after a fight with his mom and dad, Mark ran out of the house and took a long road trip of his own—the fight had to do with his driving privileges—all the way to the place he used to live in Illinois. On the way back, Mark pit stopped at my house, knowing it was a safe place to talk out loud and vent his frustrations. Of course, he knew at some pont he’d have to return hom and face the warranted disciplinary measures. But for now, he just need a safe place to talk and he knew I wouldn’t rat him out to his parents. We took our anger out on a bunch of pile of wood that needed to be chopped into firewood.

Perhaps my most embarrassing memory with the Zonnevelds was the morning of December 28th, 2003. Why do I know the exact day? Because that was the morning after my wedding night and we just happened to run into each other at the breakfast bar at the Homewood Suites in Lafayette! I assume the Zonnevelds were in town to see people over the holidays but I was too focused in sheepishly hightailing it to the door to remember our conversation!

Over the years, Mark and I often had conversations about God, about the Bible, life, and death. He was brave enough to go with me to church and a myriad of youth group functions. In fact, one summer he went to church camp with me and other kids from my church. One day that week, he and I and his counselor sat down to chat after a chapel service and Mark decided he wanted to commit his life to be a follower of Jesus. One could say that was a decision made at an emotional moment or amidst the pressure of peers and authority figures, but it was also a decision made after nearly four years of conversations Mark and I on the subject.

Now, I do not want to paint a rose-colored picture of religion, as if praying a prayer makes all of one's cares just pass away. Quite the contrary, Mark’s relationship with God was a very difficult relationship—one of struggle—as it was intricately tied to his own struggles in life. Mark wondered why God made him the way he did, why he had to have embarrassing seizures in front of classmates, why he had been made to feel so childish because he wasn’t allowed to do something as minimal as drive a car.

As a result, over the years, long after that church camp decision, one could say that Mark distanced himself from God, wondered if God was even worth believing. I prefer to say that Mark's faith was honest, open, and raw. Mark was human—which is all God asks of us, to be truly human—and he was courageous enough to ask the difficult questions that many of us are afraid to ask. He struggled physically and emotionally in ways that many of us will never have to struggle. And perhaps as a result, his faith—even when it seemed like there was none at all—was more real than the majority of what we call reality in our everyday lives. As one thinker [Thomas Merton] has said, “God may be most present to us when he is absent than when he is present.”

This story may not resemble the Mark you remember—you may not have had such conversations with him. But I think it is an important part of his story and a part that I want to remember. But it is important for me because I sympathize with Mark’s story because I too have often quiestioned God, have called into question my particular religious upbringing, and remain skeptical about many of the claims people often make in the name of God or in the name of religion. But I also resonate with Marks’ struggle with god because I believe it more accurately portrays what this journey of life is all about. Far from those who reduce religion to a crutch for the weak or those who reduce it to a three-step self-help program to obtain personal happiness, the narratives we find in the Bible depict people engaged in struggle and raw honesty. They asked the tough questions. For instance, King David, who penned the words we read earlier, which beautifully depicts how we are “fearfully and wonderfull made” ends this prayer with an honest desire that his enemies would be destroyed. That’s an honest cry from a human who knows there is something wrong with the world.

But what I want to say to you today is that the God I believe in—the God Mark believed in—suffers with those who suffer and weeps with those who weep. As we mourn today, God mourns. And today as we struggle with the all-too-pugent reality of death, God beckons us to seek him who promises to be close to use, who promises that he rewards those who seek him. He asks us to take from him the grace we need to get through this day, and the next day—which may be even harder than today—and the next. And he invites you to start up a conversation with him, even if that conversation starts with, “God, I’m not even sure I believe in you.” God wants you to invite him into your struggles, into your life, to be willing to ask the difficult questions.

I want to end with a benediction. You may recognize it but it is a combination of a couple passages from Scripture. This is may prayer for all of you, but especially for the Zonneveld family:

May the Lord bless you and keep you;
May the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you.
May the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.
And may those who sow in tears reap songs of joy.

We left the chapel listening to "Learn to Laugh," a song I introduced to Mark and afterward became his favorite. It might not have fit the mood, but it certainly was fitting for Mark. For those who attended the service, packets of Mark's favorite Jelly Belly's were available along with packets of sunflower seeds, which were to be planted and once reaching to their full height, would remind people of Mark. Finally, people were able to write messages to Mark on helium balloons which were then let go outside to make their way up into the heavens. I was struck with the powerful symbolism--not of sending a message to Mark up in heaven, but of the significance of the event for the person letting go of the balloon (funerals are always for the living). At this final moment, we have to let go of the one we love, who has gone on ahead, and move forward with our lives.