By Brad Locke
February 6, 2004

(AgapePress) - The oldest daughter wanted to know who was going to give her away now. The youngest just wanted to sit and play the games they'd always enjoyed together. The son ... well, who knows. If you're a young teen-aged boy who'd just lost his hero, how would you feel?

The wife, needless to say, was lost in a sea of shock and disbelief.

Doug Madi was only 41. He looked as healthy as the next middle-aged guy. He exercised. In fact, he was on the track at the YMCA on Jan. 31 when his heart stopped. The passionate preacher, the committed father and husband, the fanatical Mets fan, the friend to countless others, the man who counseled and then married me and my wife, the man who baptized our first daughter, the man who married my wife's sister and her husband, the man who met with my father-in-law and brother-in-law each Tuesday morning for a Bible study, the man my oldest daughter had one of those innocent crushes on ... he's just gone.

Doug was the pastor at Good Shepherd Presbyterian Church in St. Louis, the church my wife grew up in. It's a newer church, one that began from a small group of people some 15 years ago. Even when the congregants got a new, bigger building, it wasn't some spired, stained glass structure with 50-foot ceilings and cushy pew benches. It had offices and nurseries, sure, but it was simple. A new brick facade and foyer were built recently, but that didn't change what was inside -- a humble place for Christians to gather together and worship.

Doug had been the preacher there about a decade. Like the church, there was nothing particularly shimmering about him. He stood well under 6 feet tall, compactly built and unassuming in general appearance. The first time you met him and heard him preach, though, that impression was quickly forgotten. He used a microphone, though it was completely unnecessary. His pulpit was a carpeted platform, on which he would pace intently as he purposefully gesticulated and boomed his words with a passion that could only come from one place.

He not only stayed true to God's Word, he stayed true to himself and his faith. He didn't dress up his sermons. Oh, he could use the big words and hit those theological heights, but his message -- God's message -- was delivered via vivid metaphors, strong emphasis on each word of scripture, and love for both God and the congregation.

It was no act. He was really no different in more intimate surroundings. The night of my sister-in-law's rehearsal dinner nearly two years ago, Doug and I held a lengthy, impassioned discussion on baseball. I forget the specifics of our conversation -- though it was one of the most intelligent discourses I've ever had, on any subject -- but I remember well Doug leaning over his plate, looking me in the eye and being completely interested in what I had to say. We shared a love for sports, and I believe he felt the same way I did when it was time to leave -- our conversation had ended way too soon. We both could've talked all night (and if you knew me, you'd know I could at times be mistaken for a mute).

Doug, as I said, loved his Mets. He was from New Jersey, and I think he hated the Yankees with an equal passion. It was quite amusing, in fact, to hear him speak of the immense disdain he had for Roger Clemens after that bat-throwing incident with Mike Piazza. He probably didn't know it, but those kinds of moments were when Doug really connected with me.

The last time I saw him was June of last year. It was my father-in-law's birthday. Doug, my brother-in-law, a seminary professor and myself sat in the living room discussing personality types. We didn't talk about sports this time, but I still felt the same sense of joy I had felt that previous summer.

The funeral was this week. I so badly wanted to go and say goodbye to a man that I loved more deeply than I had before realized -- certainly not to the degree his close friends and family loved him, but he still meant much to me. There are few men I admired more. I regret that I knew him only six-and-a-half years. I only lived in St. Louis for five months, and I hardly saw him at all after we moved to North Carolina in 2000. I can't remember the last time I was at Good Shepherd and heard him preach.

Now I can only pray for his family. And I can take comfort in the fact that even though Doug only lived half a life by human standards, his legacy of faith and love will outlast us all.