A Eulogy for Thor Nordwall

A Eulogy for Thor Nordwall

by Bob Hazen

April 18, 2020

   This is my eulogy for Thor Nordwall - a eulogy in the form of a fairy tale. And like all fairy tales, this account must begin as all fairy tales do: Once upon a time… 

   Once upon a time there was a soldier who was fascinated with trees. Even as a boy, this soldier was especially fond of pine trees. His father was an artist, who painted scenes of beauty that further kindled this boy’s love of the forest.  

   Once upon a time, as our soldier wended his way from boyhood to soldiery to manhood to kingship, he dreamed often of one day building a castle of his own - a soldier’s small castle deep in the piney woods, a small castle made not of stone, but of pine - not merely surrounded by pines but built from the tall, sturdy pines that he loved. 

   And bye and bye, our soldier took on kingly duties that both nourished and opposed his dream of his castle in the wood. Some of his kingly duties grew his dream, while other duties seemed to even block his dream. But all the while, our soldier-king still dreamed and planned. 

   And along the way, someone wondered about our king felling the very trees that he professed to love. But our king knew that the Great King - the Creator and Maker of kings and queens and stars and trees - had made trees to be used for building and crafting, for warming and supping. And our king knew trees were for building not only huts and homes and stables, but also people and friendships and families. 

   And our king may not have realized at the time that this Great King the Creator was also the Great Story Weaver who had his own way of weaving the stories he wished to unfold and be told. 

   And bye and bye, as our king dreamed, he found that friends and sons and family favored his dream. And when his sons had become young men, our king - with his sons and many friends and other knights - did indeed begin to fell many pines. And thus the dream began to take shape, deep in the woods, as foundation was laid well on solid bedrock, as flooring was set, and as walls of log upon log were begun. And a doorway was made, but no door was yet set. 

   And as stories so often go, there arose in our king’s story a certain impasse. For while the castle had begun well - alas, the king still had duties far away from the deep woods that kept him from work on his castle. For there was no one to work day-upon-day to build his castle higher and higher to its very peak. And the king wondered with even some worry if his dream would ever really come fully to fruition in a timely manner, for felled pines laying unguarded in the wild are subject to rain and rot, to worm and weather. And still, there was no door yet set in the castle. 

   So the king wondered and wrestled with his own worries and wonders. 

   But the Great Story Weaver heard - and the Great Story Weaver remembered - and the Great Story Weaver saw - and the Great Story Weaver knew the story He was weaving. For the Great Story Weaver knew this story was not only for our king but - as are the ways of the Great Story Weaver - our king’s story was also a story for others as well - for other knights and maids and princes and princesses and knaves and bards and lads and lasses. 

   So as way led on to way, along paths that only the Great Story Weaver could fashion, a young knave appeared in the king’s life. This knave was indeed young and quite foolish, but he was also filled with curiosity for all things - for woods and work, for books and stories, for tools and adventures alike. 

   And the knave - without knowing - had yearned deeply to have his own role in some story larger than himself. For the knave had lived unfathered for much of his few years, and so he had not been strengthened and grounded in the ways that good fathers so do, and the knave yearned - again, without knowing - for the strengthening that comes from hardship and quest, from iron against iron, from king to knave, from man to man, from father to son. 

   So the knave offered his time and strength and labors to our king for this adventure in the woods. And the king did indeed invite the knave into his dream. And the knave and our king labored on the pines together with sweat, and toil, and laughter, and even blood, and some danger from bears and weather, as they turned pines into logs, and logs into walls. And - still without knowing so at the time - the knave grew stronger of heart, and our king and the knave bonded - as is the way of men - as is the way of fathers and sons - with cords of respect and affection, cords that are born only of shared achievement, bonds that are birthed only from toil and challenge. 

   And the castle grew, and the mighty ridge log was lifted and secured, and the roof was set, and sod was laid upon the roof. And the castle was finished, except for the door, which now could be set in its rightful place. For our king’s dream was prompted and guided all along the way by certain words of wisdom that a knight-friend carved into the castle’s very door itself, so that every visitor entering the castle saw this wisdom that had guided our king - the words of a bard from years long ago: 

Nothing will be attempted 

if all possible objections 

must first be overcome. 

(Samuel Johnson) 

   And many knights and maids and princes and princesses and knaves and bards and lads and lasses visited the castle. And the castle was many times filled with kith and kin over many, many years. And our king was pleased. 

   And the knave advanced along his own path and lived on to marry a beautiful princess, and they raised two sons who became fine, strong knights. But that tale is for another telling. 

   And our king found a queen with whom to share his castle, and sons and grandsons and daughters and granddaughters and princes and princesses and knights and nobles and bards and many friends journeyed to the castle. And many were the days fitted with adventure, and many were the nights filled with fires and warmth and stories new and old. And our king was pleased that his dream had come true. 

   And as years passed, the knave and our king spoke more often of the Great King, the Great Story Weaver. And they gained clarity, for both the knave and our king found that they were each trusting in the work and labor of the Great King, this Great Story Weaver. And this made for delight and much relief. 

   But this tale - and all of our own tales - will not be complete without turning all of our stories back to the Great King’s own Story and all the future chapters of life and adventure that He offers to all of His sons and daughters - the story He invites each of us to open, by trusting in the tale of truth that the Great King has told in the chapters of His own Great Book, which He has already written, in which He invites us to trust His story and His labor in lieu of trusting in our own labor and in our own story. For the Great King once walked, and lived, and delighted, and sorrowed, just as we walk, and live, and delight, and sorrow. For the Great King is indeed a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. 

   It is the hope of at least one foolish knave that each of us will again meet our friend, our king in the next kingdom, in ways more real than rock and pine, for our Great Story Weaver lives, and we shall each - one day - stand before Him face to face. It is one knave’s hope that each of us will trade our own labors and our own sorrows for the Great Story Weaver’s sorrows and labors. For such a trade is a righteous trade, a necessary trade, a trade of a lifetime, a trade for eternity. 

   And so, Thor, we eagerly wish to see you again. For your tale stirs in us things vast and true, things of deep desire, things of mystery and wonder. Your tale stirs in us things more solid than logs, more magical than magic, far better than the best dream ever. For what your story stirred in us were mere hints and shadows and echoes of the real story. All our lives in this world and all of our adventures here in this life have only been the cover and the title page, for one day those who trust the Great Story Weaver will begin Chapter One of The Great Story, which nobody on earth has ever read, which goes on forever, in which every chapter is better than the one before [drawn from the final chapter of The Last Battle, by C.S. Lewis]. 

   Now, as this once-upon-a-time tale weaves to an end, the time is upon us all to bid farewell to our friend - this king - and commit him to the care of the Great King, the Great Story Weaver who has woven into all of our tales at least some portion - small or great - of this tale of our king and friend Thor, whom we honor and remember this day. 

   And so - till we meet again in that next kingdom where we are invited to go further up and further in, to adventure and delight far beyond anything we can ask or imagine - we bid thee a fond fare-thee-well, Thor. You were a father to me, my friend. You were a friend to many, many more. Godspeed to us all.