RECENTLY, I HAD the privilege of officiating a memorial service for a friend — one of several memorials, I’m sad to say, that I’ve done in recent years. We’re just…well, getting older. It comes with the territory. But when I say it was a privilege, I’m not just being polite. I mean it.

There’s a bit of wry humor that passes now and again between pastors: “You marry ’em and you bury ’em.” There was a time, earlier in ministry, when I thought the “marrying” part was where all the joy would be, and the “burying” would be all grief and sadness.

I’ve come to realize, though, what a terrible oversimplification that is. Yes, weddings ceremonies are often joyous affairs. But we shouldn’t forget how stressful both the day itself and all the planning can be for the bride, the groom, and their families.

Moreover, weddings are important symbolic events in the life of a family, and often, as the event draws nearer, latent issues and unresolved conflicts surface, charging even the simplest conversations and decisions with emotional tension. And having worked with couples to prepare them for their special day, I’m well aware of the pitfalls they’ll face in making a life together. Even as I’m leading them through their vows, I know that they’ll have a lot of work to do after the honeymoon is over if they are to make those vows reality.

And memorials? Yes, they can be somber affairs. That’s to be expected in the shadow of grief and loss. But there are different kinds of memorials, with different emotional tones. You may have been to one in which the eulogist and other speakers seemed to struggle to find something nice or inspiring to say. Sometimes, they even seemed to skirt the boundaries of something they wanted to say but knew they shouldn’t. No one comes away from those services feeling particularly encouraged.

But then there’s the other kind of memorial, the kind where the more trendy alternative term “celebration of life” is richly deserved. This was that kind of memorial. Hundreds of people came, some from out of state. During the service, everyone who took the mic told stories not only about his love and affection, but also his grit and resilience, faithfulness and resolve in the face of challenges that would tempt most people to curse fate and give up in self-pity. His life was an example to others of trusting in God and persevering through the toughest of trials.

It was a joy to hear the stories, a privilege to be part of the celebration of such a life.

IN THE PRINTED order of service that people received as they came through the door, the family had included this verse: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (2 Tim 4:7, NIV). These are the words of the apostle Paul, writing to a young man named Timothy whom he had mentored in the faith as a pastor and missionary. Paul thinks of Timothy like a son.

The words come near the end of his letter. They also come near the end of his life. Paul is writing from a Roman prison, and it’s the second time he’s been imprisoned by the empire. This time, he’s not getting out, and he knows it; the Roman emperor Nero will order his execution. In the letter, you get the sense that Paul is passing the torch from spiritual father to spiritual son.

If I were to paraphrase the gist of what Paul says, it would be something like this:

Timothy, my time has come. I’m not going to be around anymore. You’re going to have to carry on without me.

Remember everything I taught you. Remember how I stayed true to the gospel no matter how much I had to suffer for it. You need to know that life is going to get hard; trouble is coming, and you need to be strong to keep the faith.

Listen, son. You’ve been with me. You’ve seen what I’ve had to endure. You’ve seen that it’s possible—even in the face of deep suffering!—to live with a sense of faith and purpose, to continue to trust God in all things. So here is my wish for you: that you would be the faithful man that I know you to be.

IN A 2015 op-ed piece for the New York Times entitled, “The Moral Bucket List,” columnist David Brooks wrote about what he called the “eulogy virtues,” as contrasted with the “résumé virtues.” The latter help you achieve success in your career. But the former are those character qualities that will be remembered at your memorial service. Even among Christians, so much of our time and energy goes into what the world defines as success, and far less into living an exemplary life of faith. That’s not how it should be.

Paul didn’t just teach Timothy how to “do” ministry, as if Timothy were merely the spiritual version of a plumber’s apprentice. He gave Timothy the gift of a living, loving example of faith and endurance. Timothy needed someone like that in his life.

We all do.

I don’t know if anyone held a memorial for Paul. But I like to think that if they did, Timothy would have been there, along with countless others. Silas. Luke. Lydia. Epaphroditus. Who knows: perhaps Philemon and Onesimus sat together. And stories would have been told as people wept, and laughed, and felt the joy and gratitude of having known and ministered alongside such a man of faith.

Please note: this is not a numbers game or a popularity contest in which the person with the most guests wins. The question is how others have been influenced by the way we’ve lived, by the kind of example we’ve set, whether that’s three people or three thousand.

So be honest with yourself: to whom is your life an example, whether for good or ill, and in what way? There’s no time like the present to think about it. What stories will people tell about you? Those stories are being written even now in the minds and hearts of those who live and work with you.

I pray they will be stories to inspire a joyous celebration of a life of faith.