Rev. Dr. Samuel Acosta Eulogy 5-5-19

Dad's ashes, the Colombian hat he always wore, his Princeton diploma. 

Thank you so much for being here today with us. It means so much to the whole Acosta-Toro family that all of you carry my father in your heart. I know that he was the kind of man that left an impression on people because of his kindness, his child-like love of life, family, and friends, and his dedication to serving others. I cannot list the acts of generosity that my father shared with the world, or the ways in which he demonstrated his loyal friendship or commitment to family. We wouldn’t just be here all night; it would take another lifetime to recount his diligence towards others, because every single day of his life was dedicated towards others. So, today, I’ll focus on a few key memories that I want to share, ones that exemplify Papi’s love of life, his faith, and his family.

                The reason Papi was so special is because he made everyone feel the joy he always carried in his heart. This was a man who woke up happy to be alive because God gave him another day of life. There is no one I know who loved, and appreciated, life more than him. He found joy wherever he went. When I was a child, we visited a beautiful place in Michigan called Tower Hill, which was a property owned by the United Church of Christ, along Lake Michigan. It was full of pine trees, rustic cabins, and there was a short walk to a very real beach with enormous sand dunes. We often spent all day at the beach and, after dinner, Papi would invite everyone for ice cream at the beach with a view of the gorgeous sunset dipping into what seemed like our own Midwestern ocean. The afterglow was every shade of orange, pink, purple, gold, and green, and we often just sat next to each other, quiet, looking at the sky change its kaleidoscope before us. One time, when I was not yet 10, he looked at the sky and then at me and told me, “That there is proof that God exists.” I looked at him with a curious face, not understanding quite what he meant. Then he explained, “If there were no God, then why create something so beautiful that all of us can enjoy?” I don’t think I’ve ever forgotten that moment because it explained to me that God was not something that was necessarily trapped in words or acts, but it was something that you chose to see in the world and, ultimately, in other people. At that moment, for me, my dad taught me that one could find God in a moment with one’s father, having ice cream, enjoying the beauty of nature.

                In practice, Papi’s faith had many branches. He was not only a minister, but also a licensed psychologist, and a community leader. It could be easy to take oneself too seriously with that combination of professions, but Papi had a wonderful sense of humor that was a huge part of his discipline. After a trip to Hawaii, for a United Church of Christ conference, he decided that at his next service back home, everyone would wear leis and for some bizarre reason, he kept doing this every year. There was always at least one service where we all wore leis. He also became obsessed with outlandish summer outfits and he would often wear shirts and shorts with mismatched prints during summer outings with the church, causing everyone to wonder, “What will Pastor Acosta wear this time??” It was also common for him to reveal his most vulnerable moments in his sermons, if only to reassure other men in the congregation that such vulnerability was okay, even if it made everyone giggle nervously. For example, he was happy to share how violated he felt during his first prostate exam, at the pulpit during Sunday service, just so other men would know that they needed to get one too, and that they could live through it. When the church celebrated his 50^th birthday with banners that said, “Over the Hill,” he was screaming, “Over the Hill” and cracking up for years after that—any time it hurt to bend down, “Over the Hill!” Anytime he forgot something, “Over the Hill!” I want to say, Papi was an excellent writer; his sermons used examples from his own life, from popular films and songs that the congregation could relate to, and they always showed a great compassion for fears that folks might have. He used his sermons to reassure everyone. He knew humor was the greatest tool, in this respect, so if he could make them laugh, he knew they’d be less afraid. After every service, Papi could be heard laughing the loudest with fellow church-goers, who were cracking Catskill-type jokes over afternoon café.

                 I believe that this may be one of the reasons my very different parents found a connection, for as a child and as I grew up, I heard Papi laughing with my mother about something every day. Their relationship was exemplary for me. When he and I would pick her up from work, when she got out of her Michigan Avenue building and walked towards the car, he would say, “Look, look at her, look at how she walks,” and he’d giggle in anticipation of having his love near again. He did this all the time. It never grew old for him. Papi probably struggled with raising us kids more than anything else in his life. He was a dedicated father that told each one of us that he loved us every time we saw him. He married all of us to our respective spouses. When Vincent told Papi, secretly, that he wanted to marry me, Papi leaped with joy and squealed so loud, he almost spoiled the surprise, as I was only upstairs from where they were. Papi shared all his children’s joys. And he cried and prayed for all of us when we needed strength. He was always there for us, no matter what. His favorite phrase was, “I’m going to run the second mile with you.” I spent my life wondering when the second mile ended, because there seemed to be an endless second mile. It was endless, like his love. He was not one to say, “I’ve given everything I can give.”

Papi felt that love, like God, is an eternal well, and we always have more to give if we have life. I want to extend that: Papi’s love, like God, is truly an eternal well, because we still have his love here today, even though his body is no longer with us. His love was so strong, so big, that we can still feel it even though he is gone. Papi taught me to see that, over a simple, sweet moment, in front of the sun.

NOTE: We will have a Chicago memorial for my dad on 6/14/19, at Ravenswood Presbyterian Church, 4300 Hermitage Avenue, Chicago, IL 60613, at 6 p.m. Anyone and everyone is welcome at the memorial. The eulogy that day will be completely different from this one.