On the Victory Side

This is the message I gave at the funeral for Bill Price, April 17, 2025. 

When I read the first sentence of Bill’s obituary, it made me stop and think. This is what it said:

“William (Bill) Brooks Price, 92, of Columbus, Ohio, passed away peacefully on Palm Sunday April 13, 2025 at his home.”

That sentence, simple and clear, tells us many things. His first name was William, but I never heard anyone call him anything but Bill.

He was 92 years old.  That’s a long time for anyone hitching a ride on planet earth.

But there is more in that sentence. He died peacefully at home. That is, I think, how most of us would like to go.

Dying peacefully is a blessing.
To die at home is even better.

Bill was ready to go.

To borrow a biblical phrase, he died old and full of years.

But there is one more phrase in that sentence. This is the one that got my attention:

He died on Palm Sunday.

He died at the start of Holy Week. This week. Easter week. Holy week.

What a week to die.

The First Holy Week

Two days ago, while doing a live broadcast on American Family Radio, Tim Wildmon asked me what Holy Week is all about.

It starts with a bang on Sunday as Jesus enters Jerusalem riding on a donkey.

Hundreds of people cheer him, others are puzzled, the little children shout his name, while the powerbrokers make plans to get rid of this troublemaking rabbi from Nazareth.

On Monday he cleanses the temple and curses the fig tree.
On Tuesday he argued with the religious leaders.
On Wednesday Judas sold his soul for 30 pieces of silver.

On Thursday—this very day—Jesus met with his disciples in the Upper Room.

Late that night he prayed in Gethsemane. Around midnight Judas betrayed the Lord. For six hours he was shuffled from one trial to another—beaten, mocked, ridiculed, beaten again.

Early on Friday morning Pilate offered to release Jesus or Barabbas. The mob chose Barabbas, the stone-cold killer. That’s what happens when you fill your heart with hate. You choose the terrorist over the Son of God.

He was scourged, crowned with thorns, forced to carry his own cross through the streets of Jerusalem.

At 9 AM he was crucified.
At noon darkness fell.
At 3 PM he cried out, “It is finished.”
And he bowed his head and died.
They buried him in a borrowed tomb just before sundown.

On Saturday his body lay in the tomb.

On Sunday the women came to the tomb just before sunrise. They came to anoint the dead body of Jesus. They weren’t expecting a resurrection.

The gospels are clear on two points:

1. The tomb was empty.
2. No one could figure out what had happened.

But he showed himself to Mary Magdalene. Then to Peter. Then to the 10. Then to Thomas. And the word began to spread: He’s alive!

That’s Holy Week—the best week of the year. It starts with Palm Sunday, moves to Good Friday, and ends with Easter Sunday.

Dying During Holy Week

It occurred to me that this is only the second funeral I’ve ever done during Holy Week. But I’m happy about it.

If you run the clock back a few days,  Lazarus died in Bethany, and Jesus shows up after his friend had died.

Martha, being the impetuous type, blurted out, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died” (John 11:21), accusing Jesus of dereliction of duty.

His answer rings across the ages:

“I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?” (John 11:25-26).

Every time I read that, I want to ask Jesus a question. You said we live even though we die. Then you said we never die.

Which is it, Jesus? Do we die or do we not die?
The answer, of course, is yes!

Jesus has transformed death for those who follow him. He entered death’s dark realm and subdued it. He conquered it once and for all. By his victory over death, he has sanctified it so that we no longer need to fear it.

He went into the tomb and then he came out. Thus, we will not fear to go in, knowing that one day by God’s grace, we too will come out.

More Alive Than Ever

On Palm Sunday, at home, peacefully, Bill Price died. But of the man himself,  he is more alive today than he has ever been.

He closed his eyes on earth, and he opened them in heaven.

For Bill Price, the battle is over, the victory won. Suffering and weakness have been swallowed up in the sunlight of God’s love.

Bill has been my hero since the day I met him. It occurs to me to say this: He showed us how to live, and he showed us how to die.

Some people say it’s sad to die during Holy Week.
But that’s wrong.

Holy Week is a fine week to die because it always ends in a resurrection!

Do You Believe This?

So let me close by asking the question Jesus asked Martha:
“Do you believe this?”

Bill Price believed in Jesus with all his heart. He lived as a Christian; he died as a Christian; he has gone to a Christian’s reward.

I thank God for the privilege of knowing such a fine man. I am glad that heaven is a real place and that Bill has gone there. Of that I have no doubt.

He has gone where sickness cannot reach him, where old age cannot enfeeble him, and where the pains of this life cannot assail him.

He is with the Lord forever.

He walked by faith for many years.
Now he walks by sight.

For years he dreamed of heaven.
Now he walks the streets of gold.

For years he prayed to Jesus.
|Now he has seen him face to face.

Our loss is heaven’s gain.

How Jack Signed His Letters

Most of you know that Bill and Mary Jo met Jesus at an evangelistic dinner where the speaker was Jack Wyrtzen, the founder of Word of Life Fellowship.

Over the years, Jack wrote me a number of letters. He signed them all the same way: “On the Victory Side.”

Those words are inscribed on his headstone at the cemetery in Schroon Lake, NY.

Now we say the same of Bill Price.
He lived and died “on the victory side.”

A Word to the Grandchildren

Let me briefly say a word to all the grandchildren gathered here today.
Your grandfather was a very great man.

When we arrived in Columbus yesterday, we stopped by the house to see Mary Jo. When I asked to see Bill’s Bible, she showed me three of them, all well-worn and obviously well-loved.

I discovered one thing about Bill I didn’t know.
He was a scribbler.

He wrote notes in the margins of all three Bibles. Wheneve he heard a sermon that touched him, he noted the speaker and the date in the margin next to the sermon text. Thirty years ago he heard a sermon on Genesis that gripped his heart. He wrote these two words in the margin:

FOLLOW JESUS!

He wrote it in all caps so he wouldn’t forget.

This is my counsel to the 15 grandchildren gathered here today:

Live as he lived.
Follow his footsteps.
Follow Jesus.

If you do, you will end up where he ended up.

C. S. Lewis remarked that Christians don’t say goodbye; we say, “See you later.”

Rest well, Bill. We will see you again.

Even so, Come, Lord Jesus!