The room was bathed in soft light as spirituals quietly played in the background. More than 100 people came to see the one many called "a good friend" and to say their last goodbyes. It was the first wake we'd ever had at the Sojourners Neighborhood Center. The next morning the funeral was held here too. It was the appropriate place—the place where James Starks had come almost every day for many years. It was where he had become part of a family and found a home.
About 10 years ago, James was sitting out on the stoop one Sunday morning when someone invited him to come to worship with Sojourners Community. After a few more weeks of invitations, he came—and he stayed. Before long, James became involved in the food program and soon was one of its most tireless workers. Many stories were told at James' funeral. We cried and we laughed and decided that James would have been glad for both. Mostly we were very grateful, even in our sadness, for the life of one who had touched each of ours.
On most days, James would go out to pick up food wherever we could get it. Someone said, "Whenever you saw the van, you saw James." Another co-worker told of a pickup at the food bank one winter day in an absolute blizzard that dissuaded everyone but James. He made it all the way there and back and didn't stop until the van came to an abrupt halt in a snowbank in the center's driveway. The next day 300 families had food to take home.
But James' favorite thing was to take the food back out to people who most needed it. He was known to make up to 13 deliveries in a single day, mostly to senior citizens who could no longer get out. He brought more than food, he brought his famous smile and the comfort of good company. He so loved to visit people and stay to talk that one co-worker testified at his funeral, "I had to go with him just to make sure he didn't stay all day!" When there wasn't food to pick up or deliver, James would do whatever else needed to be done around the center. He was the ultimate volunteer.
Once when we came home from a trip, we were surprised to see that the front porch of our house had been painted. Puzzled by our sparkling porch, we asked around to see what had happened. The next day, a smiling James Starks came by to ask if we liked the color. "Why did you do that?" we asked. "Well," replied James (trying not to embarrass us), "it needed it."
JAMES HAD BECOME an alcoholic when he was only 8 years old. At 53, his body was much older than his years, and finally just gave out on him. Coming to church and finding the center had given him a new start, though the up-and-down battle with alcohol would continue through the years.
When getting straight and receiving successful surgery saved his one good eye, James decided to celebrate by taking all his friends out to dinner at a Mongolian barbecue. It must have cost a small fortune for someone on a meager disability income, but he insisted on treating "my friends who helped get me through." He was like a kid again and claimed he could see so well now that he was going out to his boyhood Virginia and "shoot me a squirrel." What we could see was the generosity that was so characteristic and abundant in this man who had become such an important part of our little community.
Week after week, James would never miss church. I think his favorite part was the passing of the peace. James loved to hug. Sometimes he would hold on to you so tight you thought he might never let go. It was hard for us to let him go as we together shared the memory of his life among us.
The funeral brought together James' family and friends. More than one person who knew James in much earlier days commented that they didn't know he had this "other life" with Sojourners. They were all moved by how much James was loved and how many lives he had touched. One relative said, "His life had a purpose," and reflected that she would like to begin doing similar work to give her own life more meaning. Even in death, James was bringing people together.
I will miss James; he was my friend. I think the image of James that will remain for me is the picture of him coming toward me with his arms outstretched, ready for a hug. We buried James at the cemetery; at the end of the morning someone said, "I'm sure this day made James very happy—he's probably smiling now."
We'll always remember that smile and be forever thankful for the blessing of James' life. I know that James is happy now, and finally at rest in the arms of his loving God.
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