Eulogy by Don Beaudreault

Tribute To Carl Westman

By Don Beaudreault

Carl was a ministerial mentor and supportive friend – for me and many others. When I preached I always looked for him in his chosen seat in the back of the sanctuary. And he always sat in that same seat, often wearing a yellow or a red sweater – both very bright – both adding to his already dashing appearance. So it was easy to spot him from the pulpit!

Just knowing he was there uplifted me. He had a “presence” about him that added substance to our worship Service; that spoke of a man who had toiled in the field of Unitarian Universalist ministry for 53 years and had gained wisdom in the process; truly, he was for our liberating religious movement, “a wise and faithful servant.”

I knew that he was listening to every word spoken from the pulpit, no matter whose word it was; that he was weighing the possible value of every thought, and sometimes nodding in agreement. Indeed, such a nod from Carl Westman was a high compliment for any of us who dared to express our thoughts and feelings from this or any other Unitarian Universalist pulpit.

I shall always remember the time he was there to guide me that Sunday when, as I was preaching, a visitor to our church service passed out in the aisle. My immediate reaction was to stop the sermon and join others to assist her. It turned out that she would be okay. But at that moment, not knowing if she would be, I remember turning to Carl and asking him quietly: “What should I do now?” And I remember him saying: “You’re doing the right thing.”

That is all he needed to say to me. It was an affirmation of my ministry that in its brevity spoke volumes. Truly, his very presence gave me strength.

He was always supportive of this church and of me (even if he might not always agree). But he deeply cared about this community and the larger UU family. Truly, in this caring for the ministry of the church and for this minister as a person, he was this church’s ministerial sage and this minister’s minister – although I know that I am not the only one of our church community or professional colleagues who have felt this regard for him over the years.

But, when all is said about him in such high fashion, we must remember that he was only a man; only human. As one of the privileged who receive his yearly writings as a holiday present, I saw Carl as just one of us – with all the attendant questions about meaning and purpose; about things that made him happy (the Boston Red Sox when they were winning); or angry (some politicians).

But what stood out for me in these writings and in how he went about life, was a humanity that modeled the qualities of perseverance, if not downright tenacity. I think of him in this regard especially during this last year when he would say: “Getting old ain’t for sissies!” Still, he was matter-of-fact about his waning health – accepting it for what it was, knowing his time was limited, and doing all he could with what life was left.

I remember his 90th birthday party when family and many friends – far and near – came to celebrate with him. How very happy he was! He was the gracious and grateful host – beaming with pride at all the people who he loved and who loved him in return.

But how devastated he was when his daughter died. Still, I remember how he gained incredible strength to deal with this reality. Indeed, he taught many of us about the grieving process – especially about the importance of being part of a beloved community so that we might share our sorrow and gain some solace.

Carl Westman – a man who stayed the course, no matter what. A man, who, at the end, died the way he chose – and with an extended community of those he loved wishing him adieu with sadness, and yet with joy for the fact that he was a part of our lives.

When I think of Carl I place him in that limited number of people I have known who can be summed up by George Bernard Shaw’s words:

“I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community, and as long as I live, it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can. I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work, the more I live. I rejoice in life for its own sake. Life is no brief candle for me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for a moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations.”

Thank you, Carl, for the light you have given us, and may each of us do all we can to keep it burning brightly.