Funeral for Tim Turner

Funeral

I’ve lost count of how many times Tim looked me in the eye and said, “Whenever it’s my time to go, I want you to know that I’m ready.” And he meant it. He didn’t just say it—he lived it. His life was a testimony to the peace and hope that comes from knowing Jesus. Tim was deeply devoted to his Lord. He knew—without a doubt—that Jesus was preparing a place for him, and he lived every day as someone who believed that promise. He worshiped, he served, and he loved Jesus with his whole heart.

That phrase stuck with me: “I’m ready to go.” And it made me pause and ask—how many of us can say that with the same confidence Tim did? How many of us are absolutely certain that when we close our eyes for the last time here, we’ll open them to see Jesus face to face? So I started thinking, When is a person really ready to die? That’s a heavy question, but one worth considering—especially today, as we honor a man who was ready.

There’s a passage in Scripture where the Apostle Paul is writing to a young pastor named Timothy. Paul is near the end of his life, and he writes these powerful words:

“For I am already being poured out as a drink offering, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for His appearing.” —2 Timothy 4:6–8

Isn’t that what it looks like to be ready? To be able to say, “I’ve run my race. I’ve kept the faith.” That was Tim. He didn’t just believe—he lived his faith. He walked it out with integrity, with gentleness, with quiet strength.

You know, we spend so much of our lives getting ready for life. We prepare for school, for a career, for marriage, for kids, for retirement. We plan and prepare like we’ll be here forever. And while there’s nothing wrong with that—God wants us to live fully—it’s easy to forget that this life isn’t the end of the story. The Bible reminds us: “It is appointed unto men once to die.” So maybe the real question isn’t just how to live, but also how to be ready when it’s time to go.

Paul uses interesting words when he writes and here. He doesn’t say “the time of my death has come.” Paul uses the word “departure” for death. That’s a sailing term—like lifting anchor and heading out to sea. If you’ve ever stood on the shoreline and watched a ship disappear into the distance, you know what that looks like. At first, it’s right there in front of you—solid, massive. But slowly, it fades from view until someone says, “It’s gone.” But it’s not gone. It’s just out of sight.

That’s what death is like for a believer. It’s not the end—it’s a passing. Not out of existence, but simply out of view. And right now, beyond what our eyes can see, Tim is more alive than ever. He’s stepped into the presence of the Savior he loved so dearly.

And I have no doubt that when Tim saw Jesus, he heard those words we all long to hear: “Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Lord.”

Tim and I would talk often about his faith and his relationship with Christ. Whenever I would ask him who Christ was to him he would say, “he’s my everything, my savior.” Tim had a strong faith in Christ and it showed every time we would talk, whether it was at home or a hospital room. He faced many struggles in his last years but his faith never waivered, he trusted in God and God’s plan for his life, he would say “I don’t know why I’m here but God must have a use for me still.”

We remember a father, grandfather, brother, friend, a man who loved his God but also his family and he would want you to know just how proud of you he was and we would talk about all of you often. Tim loved being here at his church, singing with the Charlie Boys and he missed being here the way he wanted. He would tell me, “I’m getting better so I can get back and sing again.” Tim kept his promise, he is singing today, not in this sanctuary, but in the kingdom of heaven.

Tim kept his faith throughout each sickness, setback, through every bad day he felt like he couldn’t take another step, his faith never wavered, he trusted in Christ and would tell me that one day he won’t hurt anymore and that day has come and it saddens us, maybe because it makes us question our faith, makes us ask ourselves those hard questions about what do we believe concerning the things of God and heaven. Perhaps Tim was trying to teach us about our faith, about not giving up and to trust in our God.

His faith gave him comfort that can’t be explained, it has to be experienced and I say to the family that today, that same faith will comfort you. He leaves his faith with you to show us how we are to face adversity in life, how we should look at hardships, sickness and the worries of life and in the midst of them all to find hope, that even in the worst moments of life you can look there and see God with you and when you have God with you, and when you have God, God is enough.

In times like this, we hold on to something far greater than ourselves—we hold on to hope. And that hope isn’t wishful thinking. It’s rooted in the One who is perfect, the One who conquered death—Jesus, our Lord. It’s His grace and mercy that rescues us, that gives us the strength to keep going, and the assurance that this life is not all there is.

Jesus is our great Shepherd—the guardian of our souls. And He gave us words that still echo with power and peace:

“I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in Me, though he die, yet shall he live. And everyone who lives and believes in Me shall never die.” (John 11:25)

Those aren’t just comforting words—they are promises. And we believe them. Tim believed them. And today, that hope he carried in his heart has become his new reality. He’s not hoping anymore—he’s home.

Heaven is a beautiful promise from our Lord, but so often we misunderstand it. It’s not clouds and harps and halos. It’s not some dream-like floating existence. No—heaven will be more real, more alive, more joyful than anything we’ve ever known here. It will be earth as it was meant to be—free of pain, free of sorrow, free of loss. No more sickness. No more anxiety. No more tears.

And I can just imagine Tim there now. I doubt he’s standing around doing nothing. Jesus said, “I go to prepare a place for you,” and knowing Tim, he probably volunteered to help with construction the minute he got there. That’s just who he was—always ready to pitch in, always ready to be useful. I can picture him smiling, hands busy, already waiting eagerly for the day his loved ones join him.

There’s peace here today—not because we’ve lost someone, but because we know exactly where he is. Tim’s journey through the trials of this life is over. No more stress. No more aches. No more wondering what tomorrow will bring. He has stepped into perfect peace.

Tim is not gone—he’s gone ahead. he has departed. And he’s just beginning the real adventure, the life that never ends.

Scripture says:

“No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love Him.” —Isaiah 64:4 / 1 Corinthians 2:9

That’s the life Tim has now. And it’s waiting for us, too.

So today, we grieve—but not as those without hope. We remember, and we hold on to the memories of a man who meant so much to each of us. And we ask the Lord to comfort our hearts with His peace, His presence, and the promise that we will see Tim again.

May the Lord wrap each of you in His compassion today. And may we live with the kind of hope that Tim carried in his heart—that unshakable confidence in Jesus, who has made a way for us all.