Remembering Robert

Today would have been the 21st birthday of Robert Yin, a dear friend of Christine and Sara's -- and our whole family for that matter -- who died tragically back in May following a pole vaulting accident. I had the privilege of speaking at his memorial service and these were my remarks:

As sad as it was, there was something quite fitting about the manner in which Robert died. For in life, as in death, Robert soared. A talented student, athlete, musician, and a wonderful friend to so many, he knew how to live in only one gear – high – and if there wasn’t anything happening, Robert was the one to stir things up. Whether it was painting his face for a pep rally, or hiding behind a couch in my family room to startle me, or screaming his patented “Yeaa Boi,” Robert brought energy and a little bit of fun – no a lot of fun – into every situation he was part of.

Robert never just showed up – he always made an entrance. He would run up and give bear hugs or launch himself into you in the hallway at school, roll on our living room floor like he was James Bond on a mission, or ring the doorbell, run away, and jump out of the bushes to scare a good friend – or in the case of Jonathan Loewe, his mom.

Robert was loud – not in an obnoxious way, but in a way that you always knew he was around. He had several different, telltale laughs – a quick, machine gun-like laugh, a loud evil laugh, and an “I’m-laughing-so-hard-I can’t-breathe-I’m-crying” kind of laugh. He shouted to people who were only several feet away, could burst into a song at the drop of a hat, and was just, well, sort of loud.

Robert moved through life with the impish grin of someone who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. And while he had the capacity to be goofy – and I mean really goofy, with no fear or qualms whatsoever about embarrassing himself – he also had a side of him that could be very serious whether it was preparing for a race, practicing his viola for a recital, or cramming for an exam. Consequently, because of these two complementary sides of his personality, in all of his pictures you either see him grinning/laughing/smiling broadly or conversely, with an intensity etched across his face.

Robert had the capacity to make everyone feel like they were his friends – because they were, we were. If you knew him for two weeks or five years, if you were the friend he had come over to visit with or the little sister – or the mom, or the dad -- he would take time to talk with you, to ask you about your day, to listen when you needed someone to be there. I was really touched to read his Facebook wall and discover just how many people had an experience of Robert just hanging out and listening to them. Robert liked to flirt and was a little girl ADD and the number of former girlfriends – do you all want to stand? – or girlfriend wanna-bes in this sanctuary today confirm this. He just made everyone feel special with his charm.

Last week was Pentecost, the day in the church when we celebrate the coming of the Holy Spirit. In my sermon I talked about Robert and the rough emotional week we had all just been through in coming to terms with his loss. But mostly I talked about the way that Robert lived intoxicated by God’s Spirit, and he knew that it was not something only to be sung about or talked about in this church that he loved and came to nearly every Sunday. No, this Spirit was something to be breathed in deeply only so you could breathe it back out into the world and share grace and love and compassion. That was what Robert did and it was this infectious, life-filled, overflowing spirit that we all loved and tasted and are better for having it blow through our lives. And so as we offer your life back to God, Robert, we say: “Soar, Robert, soar.”