My Danny’s Song

It isn’t fair. Danny had plans. His future looked bright. Funerals are not for guys like Danny; they’re for old guys, like me. And yet, here we are.

We gather today with heavy hearts, feeling that what has happened feels profoundly unfair. Danny was young. His future looked bright. There were plans: a new supervisory position at work, success, relationships… a life that seemed only to be beginning. And when a life is cut short like this, everything in us cries out,“This is not how it was supposed to be.”

Those feelings are real. They are human. But there is a voice that can creep in at moments like this, a voice that seeks to crush us, drive a wedge between us and God and leave us in despair. That voice is not from God. Satan’s standard is always the same: to isolate, to overwhelm, to convince us that darkness has the final word. God’s standard is different. God meets us inside our grief—not to shame us for it, but to carry us through it.

Danny knew what it meant to persevere. Whether in school or in a cross-country race, he fought. I always joked with Danny about his struggles in Organic Chemistry at Penn State. He struggled greatly to get through this requirement for his degree. He asked me, “Was that the hardest class you had to take as a chemist?” “No,” I told him. “It is only a sophomore level class.” Then I told him. “You’d be amazed how many medical doctors have asked me that same question.”

Danny got through organic chemistry. He got down in the trenches and persevered. I was proud of him. More importantly, Danny was proud of himself.

Danny knew frustration: moments when quitting feels easier than continuing. He learned that as a runner. He illustrated that with Organic Chemistry. Yet Danny kept going. That perseverance mattered. It says something about who he was. Life asked a lot of him, and he showed up with effort, courage, humor and heart.

Most important of all, is knowing that God loves Danny. Not loved—loves. God’s love is never spoken in the past tense. Death does not cancel love. It does not erase relationship. It does not end God’s promises. Love is eternal.

In truth, God shared Danny with us for a time. And for that gift, we are grateful; even as it hurts. Danny’s ultimate destiny was never a company, a career, a house, or even the future plans we imagined for him. Those are good things, but they were never the final goal. His destiny, like yours and mine, was eternity with God.

That is why, as Christians, we look to the Cross today. We do not look away from it. On the Cross, Jesus entered suffering fully. Jesus died for Danny. And He died for each of us. Not because life is easy. Not because we are perfect. But because love is stronger than death.

Remember, too, that Jesus wept. Why would Jesus weep at the death of His friend Lazarus? He knew Lazarus’s destiny. Still, Jesus wept. And I believe with all my heart that Jesus wept when Danny died too.  Jesus knew Lazarus would rise. He knows death will not have the final word. And yet, He stands before the tomb and allows Himself to feel the pain of loss.

Why? Because love always pauses to grieve.

Today, as we gather to mourn Danny, we know God does not stand far away from our sorrow. In Jesus Christ, God enters it.

Before Jesus speaks of resurrection, He weeps. Before He commands Lazarus to come out, He shares the tears of those who mourn. But Jesus did not stop at weeping. He called Lazarus forth from the grave, revealing that divine authority and compassion go hand in hand. The one who weeps with us also has the power to conquer death. The story of Lazarus assures us that God is both with us in our suffering and able to bring light, life, and hope where we see only darkness.

And so, I weep for Danny. My tears are real, echoing the love and the loss we feel today. But like Jesus, I weep knowing that this is not the end. The promise of Christ tells us that Danny, too, will rise again. Through faith, sorrow and hope are woven together: our mourning is embraced by the assurance of resurrection. In Christ, death is not the final word.

We can believe in the Resurrection and still weep. We can trust God and still feel the ache of separation. Jesus Himself shows us that tears belong in the life of faith.

Jesus weeps also because death is not what God intended. It feels wrong because it is wrong. And even though Christ will conquer death, He does not pretend it is harmless. After Jesus weeps, He speaks: “I am the Resurrection and the Life.” The same Lord who cries at the tomb is the Lord who opens the grave.

Today we commend Danny to the mercy of God. We trust not in our own strength, but in Christ’s promise: that those who die in Him will live.

So, we mourn.  

Yet, our mourning is not without hope. We know that the Jesus who wept for His friend is the same Jesus who rose from the dead and promises that one day, God will wipe away every tear.

Even the ones we shed for Danny today.

Danny may not have been traditionally religious. Yet, it matters deeply that Danny was a good man. He cared. He showed up. He was a friend: the highest standard of a friend who would answer the call. I knew that if my daughter Emily ever needed him, he would be there. I knew that even if Tammy or I ever needed him, he would be there. That goodness counts. Scripture tells us that God looks at the heart. And God saw Danny’s heart clearly.

Today, the Church also reminds us of something sacred: his funeral is not only about Danny’s death: it is about his baptism. On the day Danny was baptized, he became a child of God. And on that day, God made a promise with an indelible seal to never abandon him. Not in life. Not in suffering. Not even in death. That promise has not been broken.

We pray for Danny. The Church prays for Danny. We entrust him to a merciful God. And I trust in a Danny who perseveres just as he did at Penn State.

Today feels like a sunset; a painful one that came too soon. 

In a sunset, we see a ship disappearing on the horizon, heading into darkness. Again, looking to the Cross we know that is not how the story ends. Jesus conquered that darkness and overcame death that we might live.

As we celebrate the life of Danny we too are called to not focus on the sunset but on knowing that with every sunset comes a sunrise. Danny is seeing this sunrise: a sunrise we too hope to see one day. A new beginning, where tears are wiped away, where suffering ends, where love remains and, where Danny is still in communion with us.  

Danny is embraced in love: here and in eternity. May we entrust Danny to that love today. May Jesus, who wept with compassion and conquered the grave with authority, comfort us now and assure us of the eternal embrace awaiting all who trust in Him.

And may that same love sustain each of us in the days ahead.  Amen.