To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die;

A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal;

A time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh;

A time to mourn, and a time to dance;

A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;

A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

A time to seek, and a time to lose;

A time to keep, and a time to cast away;

A time to rend, and a time to sew;

A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

A time to love, and a time to hate;

A time for war, and a time for peace. This is a time to mourn; a time to weep; a time to say farewell to our dear friend, Jack Fuller.

Indeed, it is hard to believe that Jack is gone.  Granted, he has been desperately ill for several years now, but even in the midst of the most dire of crises, he always seemed to pull through.  His hold onto life was simply tenacious.  He would not let go of it.  So much so that his survival was almost a given.  In fact, I have to admit that when I returned from Israel last Sunday afternoon, and the Cantor picked me up at the airport, and she told me that we had to get over to the hospital right away, for Jack was dying, my immediate reaction was, “What?  Again?”  She had to tell me, “No.  This time he really is dying.  He has maybe an hour to live.”  And, of course, she was correct, and I still have trouble believing it, and I suspect that many of you still have trouble believing it as well.

But Jack is truly gone, and we are left with our memories of him; each of those memories fashioned by our own experiences of him.  I know that some here remember Jack as a fun loving teenager, who would drive up to Cedar Rapids to pick up girls.  Others remember him as a wonderful cook, catering magnificent parties, both at the Temple in and peoples’ homes.  Still others remember him as a warm and friendly guy, always cordial; always having something nice to say.

Many of us remember Jack for his wonderful sense of humor.  He wasn’t a joke teller, per se, but rather he could be a wise cracking commentator on the world around him, as well as a great story teller - true stories with the humorous insights which Jack could so readily find.  And of course, many of those stories had to do with life at Temple Emanuel, and the people who populated it.  I think one of his favorites - for he told it many times - was the story of the french sewer.  It all had to do with the Temple’s air conditioning system.  For until recently, that system was an old water cooled air conditioner.  In the Summer, it processed gallons upon gallons of water, all of which it poured directly into our sewer, and all of which showed up on our enormous sewer bills.  One year, some of our congregational leaders struck upon a plan to avoid those big bills.  What they did was to build a french sewer; a drainage system which redirected that water underground, to the curb and out into the street, where theoretically, it could pour out and flow down to the storm drains.  Well what that theory did not account for was the massive amounts of water.  So no sooner was the french sewer engaged then torrents of water literally shot through its pipes and out across the street.  Neighbors were calling Jack to inform him that the Temple must have broken a water main.  The Police Department stopped by to see what was happening.  The Fire Department stopped by.  And finally, the Water Department stopped by.  Where was all this water coming from?  They all wanted to know.  So Jack, calmly, but definitely with tongue in cheek, and most assuredly with a certain amount of personal impish delight, called the appropriate leaders to inform them of these developments, who, in a panic, started shouting at him over the phone, “Turn it off!  Turn it off!”  Until the day he was no longer physically able to do so, Jack sure loved to tell that story and show you exactly where those pipes were.  Yes, Jack loved to tell a good story!

Sometimes Jack even permitted himself to be the foil in his own stories.  Such as his story of Kathy’s wedding reception.  Jack took special care to make that reception just right.  He held it at the Temple, for in his mind there was no other place he would even consider holding it.  The Temple was, in so many ways, the center of Jack’s physical universe.  Though they did not intend it this way, it turned out that the wedding took place on the same day as the Bix.  As the time for the reception drew near, Jack became increasingly concerned, for the wedding cake had yet to arrive - and we all know how agitated Jack could become when things didn’t go according to his plans.  Finally, in desperation, he called the bakery.  “Where’s my cake!  It was supposed to be here hours ago!”   “Well, sir,” they responded, “We tried to deliver it at 8 this morning but we couldn’t get near the place.”  “What do you mean you couldn’t get near the place?”  Jack demanded.  “Sir, you told us to deliver this cake to the Temple, but with all those runners, there was no way that we could ever get near the Masonic Temple this morning!”

Yes, Jack knew how to laugh and how to make others laugh.  And he kept that special quality right up to the end.  Jack knew that the end was coming.  He started talking about “going home,” and when the doctors and the nurses informed him that he was in no physical condition to return to his apartment, he snapped at them, “Not that home!  Heaven!”  While laying in the hospital, one time he awoke from a sleep, looked at his family gathered round, and complained in a voice the entire floor could hear, “They knock people off all the time up here, so why am I still around?”

Just yesterday, when I met with Jill to discuss today’s service, she informed me that her father had left some specific instructions.  First of all, he wanted me to send him a copy of this eulogy, and secondly, he wanted Betty to know that he wished to continue his subscription to the “Scribe.”  No, Jack never lost that sharp wit, even in the end, even through all his pain.

But as we all know, there was far more to Jack Fuller than just funny stories.  He was indeed a caring man.  The Temple was not just a place of employment for him, and the congregation were not just his employers.  The Temple was his home, both physically and emotionally, and the congregation was part of his extended family.  There was not anything that he would not do for either, except maybe some serious deep cleaning.  But aside from that, he would do anything for anyone.   For example, so many were the times that he waited around after Religious or Hebrew School, with a child whose parents were, for one reason or another, delayed in picking them up.  Indeed, he knew all the children by name and took the time to talk with them.  In fact, many were the young children, who, knowing Jack lived at the Temple, thought he lived in the Ark.  Jamie Herzberg said it well, back in 1989, in his personal statement for his Confirmation service, when, reflecting on his religious school career,  he said, “There was also a very important person I wanted to see when I came to Temple on Sunday mornings - Jack!”

Nor was Jack’s sense of caring so narrow or focused as to center only on the members of his family and of the Temple.  He cared for many people, for he cared for people, period.  You might say he was a “schmooser” for he loved to talk with folks.  Whatever salesperson, whatever service person entered our building, Jack could easily develop with them a warm and friendly rapport.  That was his way.  People liked to do business with him because they so enjoyed the interaction.

And when it came to caring, Jack was in his glory when he served on the board of Community Health Care.  How he loved to go to those meetings, and how he loved to talk about all they were accomplishing!  One of his fellow board members used to pick him up for those meetings.  And you would think that he was going out on a date, the way he primped himself and anxiously awaited that ride.  I have had the privilege of witnessing many people engaged in labors of community service, but rarely have I seen a person engaged as enthusiastically and as wholeheartedly as was Jack.

Of course, these remarks would not be complete if I did not comment on Jack’s devotion to his family, and theirs to him.  Personally, I always found it touching how connected and bound to each other was this family.  Jack always spoke lovingly of his children and grandchildren, and so many of them were always around the Temple.  Whenever Jack had a major project he needed to complete, he never had to do it alone.  His family was always there to help him.  You’d see them cutting the lawn, shoveling the snow, waxing the floors, setting up tables.  They were always there, supporting him, just as he was always there for them in their lives, with his total support and his unconditional love.

Every once in a while in the Summer, I would sneak over to the Temple on a weekend to catch up on some work.  And as I pulled into the parking lot, what would I find?  Jack and his family, gathered under the tree, having a barbeque.  These were family scenes that could have been painted by Norman Rockwell.

But of all the times that Jack and his family demonstrated the strength of the bonds between them, the most profoundly inspiring was how they were there for each other when Jack’s beloved wife, Delores passed away so suddenly.  They there for each other - simply, purely, 100%.  They demonstrated to all of us what family is supposed to be all about.

As these reflections upon the life of Jack Fuller draw to a close, I wish to share with you the words of Donald R. Ferris.  Let these thoughts serve for us as guidance as we confront our loss:

Let us celebrate his life!

If you must mourn --

And mourn you must --

Mourn for your loss

But not for him.

For he is free to join

The loved ones who have gone before;

To peace, released from pain,

And his diminished powers.

It is for us, those left behind,

His family, friends, and those unnamed,

Touched by his work for shelter and for care,

To carry on those works in other places and in other lands.

Let us give thanks for the legacy

Of his rich, long, and helping life.

Though he is missed -- and will be missed --

We are all richer for his living.

Let us therefore give praise and thanks

And celebrate his life.