A Radiant Light

We never had the pleasure of knowing the young man we came to mourn, but after this service we felt like we did, and wish we had.

Athens, GA

February 2, 2026

Last week, one of our son’s friends had an auto accident. He suffered severe injuries, including clots and swelling around the brain.

His condition was critical. For two days, his loving family, devoted friends, and an expanding circle of unacquainted well-wishers prayed for a miracle.

It didn’t arrive.

George Whittenburg died Friday. Today we’re here to honor his life.

Upon hearing the awful news their child was hurt, his parents rushed to Athens from their home in Austin. They wanted to help George fight for survival, yet must be consoled that they were able to say goodbye to their son.

No parent can imagine having to do so, or to maintain dignity while others share in their grief. That’s why we’re here, to help support those who loved George… especially his family, and particularly our son.

We never knew George Whittenburg. But David did. They were classmates and fraternity brothers at the University of Georgia.

Like anyone who knew George (and many who didn’t), our son has been anguished since the accident occurred, praying that God would preserve his friend’s life.

We don’t know why relief didn’t come. But everyone here was grateful for the blessings George brought. Even those of us he’d never met.

Solemn and Dignified

The air was crisp and cool, with patches of snow covering parcels of ground the winter sun missed. Attesting the affection this young man evoked, cars covered lots around the church. Mourners came early and filled every pew.

The balcony was packed, and the narthex accommodated anyone willing to stand. George’s pledge class (which includes our son) and their sister sorority occupied half the main sanctuary. Other classmates spread across the aisle, joining scores of loved ones, alums, well-wishers, and the university president and his team to say goodbye.

George’s mother, father, and sisters took the first pew, the one parents hope they never occupy. Occasionally, familiar faces would greet them with sincere sympathy, say a few heartfelt words, and offer hugs before finding their seat.

This was a service no family wants to see. That of the deceased sat under the pulpit, solemn and dignified in their unimaginable grief. The parents comforted each other and George’s sisters, while all of them clung to whatever composure they could.

Reflections

Mixing humor with grief, classmates offered poignant reflections of their beloved friend. The pastor reinforced the power of God and the lure of Christ. Each emphasized George’s abiding faith, and love of the Lord.

He was an active member of Cru, the interdenominational campus ministry at the University of Georgia. The underlying (or, rather, the overt) theme of each speaker’s eulogy was how seriously George took his faith. That’s how he would’ve wanted it.

He didn’t merely announce his faith, and never flaunted it. He lived it. That meant wrestling and questioning it till it couldn’t be doubted… by him or anyone else.

George was open, honest, reliable, and vulnerable. And he wasn’t ashamed of any of these qualities, which meant he also was genuine.

His burning desire was to spread belief to as many people as possible. His struggle seemed to be how to do that, and to wonder whether he could.

This afternoon in that church, it was obvious he did. As often happens with God’s will, it wasn’t revealed the way George expected… or how anyone in the room wanted.

“Whatever the Cost”

The final speaker was the Director of the Cru Ministry at UGA. His memorial was emotional, candid, and eloquent, with affection flooding thru choked-back tears.

As he finished, he revealed a confession: the last one George ever gave. As the speaker put it, “George was known for his honesty. He’d hate it if I didn’t do this.”

It occurred during a conversation the day of the accident, very shortly before it happened. That morning, George had apparently been struggling, wondering how he’d fulfill the role he knew God gave him.

After praying, George confessed to his friend that God appeared to him, and promised “the Lord would use him whatever the cost… so other people could know God.”

During the next two days, as George’s condition became more dire, a prayer vigil formed. Attendees who’d never prayed turned to God.

In front of hundreds of people, they trusted Him, “with their confusion, their questions and their ache.” The eulogist relayed how during the vigil he “listened for hours to people who for the first time felt God touch them, heard God’s voice, and had a vision or an image of God. Just like George. His prayer was answered.”

Center and Circumference

It’s said that God is a circle whose center is everywhere and circumference nowhere. We can’t comprehend his ways or know his plan.

God strikes the match of life, and decides when to extinguish its earthly flame. But sometimes, when He does, as the wisps rise to their final release, a radiant light remains with us.

That ray was in the church, illuminating the faces of everyone listening. We never had the pleasure of knowing the young man we came to mourn, but after this service we felt like we did, and wish we had.

It was obvious that everyone, even those of us he’d never met, was a better person because he’d lived. Even in death, George Whittenburg helped others improve.

It’s easy to take for granted the blessings we’re bestowed. But when they’re gone, and especially if they disappear suddenly, we wish we’d taken better advantage of the gifts we were given.

As the service ended and the crowd dispersed, we waited for our son. After he and his friends commiserated, David made his way to us.

When he did, I extended my arms, and told him I loved him. His mother did too. Then she embraced him, and gave him the tightest hug he’d ever received.

And the longest.

JD