This song was written around 2000 and came to me after attending a funeral. I don’t even recall whose funeral it was, but I heard the phrase, “he was a good man” repeated a few times by the people attending the service. I began to reflect on my own funeral and wondered if people would say that I was a “good man” and what that even meant. I began to think that I probably would not be a “good” Christian, believer, or man, based on the achievements that we attach to being “good” to those labels. But maybe there are other measurements that define those labels, and maybe I’ll measure up to those when my time comes. Anyway, this song will be sung at my funeral which hopefully is a long way off.
If dying a Christian means that none of you here
Could say a bad word about me, then go on—get out of here.
If I had lived in the church house if I truly were saved
then don’t you call me a Christian when you’re standing over my grave.
But if dying a Christian means finding forgiveness
From a man who was nailed to a tree,
Then I’ll take what he offers and I won’t ask questions.
Whatever he offers is enough for me.
If dying a believer means I never had doubts,
That I had all my hard questions all figured out
That I never shook my fist and cried, “God, tell me why!”
Well, if that’s a believer, then I’ve lived a lie.
But if dying a believer means that when I saw a sunset,
I saw a smile stretch across the sky
And when I looked at the stars, they whispered a story.
They sang of the glory of the sweet by and by.
If dying a good man means I always was caring,
Always was sharing with my fellow man
That my lips never uttered a profanity
Then to call me a good man would be too good for me.
But if dying a good man means that my eyes would twinkle
When I looked in my baby’s face
And my old lady loved me even when I got wrinkled
And my friends still chuckled just hearing my name
Then lay me to rest and say your goodbyes
You’ll be right here with me in the blink of an eye
And if you want to talk to me, just look all around
Don’t you forward my calls to some hole in the ground
No, don’t you forward my calls to some hole in the ground
Or put flowers to die on my grave.
Just scatter my memories to the people around
To my son and my daughters who carry my name
To my son and my daughters who carry my name.
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