In Memoriam, Jim Toop

My friend, Jim, died last week. We met at work, in 1987. We were a funny pair—I was rather prim and proper, and he was rude and crude. But don't think that I'm talking behind his back now that he's dead -- in recent years he took great delight in describing himself this way. He was a staunch friend, and we treasured each other, even though we sometimes baffled each other, too.

We appreciated each other’s ability to analyze computer software, and enjoyed engaging in intense discussions about the best way to design something. At times, our discussions became very heated, yet we would happily adjourn for lunch together, with mutual respect and good humor. We shared a hobby of reading, although our choices were dramatically different. I read light murder mysteries, interspersed with inspirational Christian non-fiction. He concentrated on military history. He is the only person I know who actually owned a set of the official United States Annals of the Civil war. The volumes covered an entire wall of his apartment.

During that phase of his life when I first met him, he was rather a hermit. One December I foolishly asked “have you finished your Christmas shopping?” I hate this question myself, and felt stupid as soon as I asked. But I felt even worse when he answered: “Yup. I sent my aunt a check, and bought myself a book. I’m all done”. His life basically consisted of going to work, reading, and occasionally attending concerts. He often wore the same shirt all week long. When he spilled food on it (an unfortunately frequent occurrence), he would scrub the food with his tie. By Friday, an archeologist could have figured out the meals for the week.

On Monday mornings, we greeted each other after the weekend. Our conversations fell into a routine.
Jim: What did you do over the weekend?
Ann: I went to church.
Gradually he started asking me specifics, about what the pastor said. It started simply as a means to extend the conversation, so I missed the fact that he was actually becoming interested. I related the sermon to him each week. It was simply our Monday morning routine.

And then one day, out of the blue, he asked if I had any books about Christianity to recommend to him. Knowing his personality and hobby, I made an untraditional choice, and lent him Josh McDowell’s Evidence that Demands a Verdict, in two volumes. I figured that anyone who was so interested in original sources would appreciate a discussion of the Bible from the perspective of the actual documents. I gave the books to him just before a long weekend, and the following Tuesday he handed them back and announced: I’m ready to read the reference manual. Well, I had never heard it called that, but I realized he meant the Bible. I immediately started planning to provide him with a good study Bible, but he headed off my plans at the pass, and insisted:
I don't want one with any opinions, I just want the text.

So the following day I showed up with a plain NIV. No commentary. No notes. No devotions. Just the text. As I handed it to him, I said, "Most people prefer to start with one of the gospels." But he was not interested in doing it that way.
Jim: I start books at the beginning.
Ann: The Bible is actually a collection of 66 books, and it is easiest to understand if you start with one of the gospels.
Jim: I start books at the beginning, and I read them until the end.
Now I was beginning to get a little worried. I wondered what he would think of Genesis.
Ann: Do you have any church background?
Jim: I've been to a wedding, and a couple of funerals.

A few days passed, and I wondered if he was reading it, but I was too afraid to ask. 8 days passed, and I couldn't stand it any longer, so I finally asked.
Ann: Have you been reading the Bible? How is it going?
Jim: It's going pretty good.
Ann: How far have you gotten?
Jim: I'm in Second Samuel.
I didn't see how that was possible. I figured he couldn't possibly be grasping it. After I got saved, it actually took me 6 years to get through Second Chronicles, and he was almost that far after barely over a week.
Ann: Do you understand what you are reading?
Jim: I'm getting it pretty good.
Ann: Really? What do you think it is about?
Jim: The schmucks keep screwing up, and God keeps giving them another chance.
Typical of Jim, it had a crude edge to it, but twenty years have passed, and I still haven't found a better one-sentence description of the Old Testament.

A couple of months passed, and Jim approached me:
Jim: Can I ask you a question?
Ann: Sure, what is it?
Jim: I'm reading Isaiah, and I want to know, is some of this sort of a preview?
Ann: Yes!
I realized that the Spirit had to be inspiring his reading, because there is really no way he would have grasped the prophetic significance on his own -- after all, he hadn't read the end of the book yet, and didn't know how it turns out.

Finally, after 81 days, he came to me and announced that he had finished reading the Bible. In order to understand what came next, I have to tell you about one of the sermons that I had related to him months beforehand. In that sermon, the preacher told about writing a list of things he was going to do for God, signing the bottom, and presenting it to the Lord, to a resounding lack of applause. Upon asking the Lord what was wrong, the Lord said that what he wanted was for him to sign the bottom of an empty piece of paper, letting the Lord write the list.

So before I even knew what was going on, Jim whipped out a piece of paper, signed the bottom of it, and asked:
Do I give this to you?
I was dumbfounded. Did this guy just get saved in front of me? Standing next to my desk in the insurance company? Without coercion? Without pleading. A sovereign act of the Spirit. While I was still standing there speechless, he continued:
I guess the next thing is for me to go to church with you. What train should I take?
Sure enough, he came to church that Sunday, and announced that he would be back the following week, but I encouraged him to get hooked up with the Manhattan Vineyard instead. He lived way uptown, so it didn't make any sense for him to be taking the train all the way out to Long Island.

The next thing I knew, he was not only going to the Sunday service, but also attending a kinship. Then he started going to a weekly prayer meeting, and also joining friends from church at the movies. The hermit was turning into a social butterfly (although he still didn't wash his shirt!) Finally his new church friends taught him how to hug. It's not that he was unwilling, or weird, it's just that he really didn't know how, and the term bear hug doesn't do it justice. We were afraid he would crack someone's ribs. Subtle hints didn't help. What worked better was to yell "that's too hard". Of course, you had to yell before your breath was squeezed out of your body.

Eventually, his job moved to Atlanta, and he moved with it. Ironically, although a computer programmer by profession, he was a Luddite, and resisted getting a PC, or even using email. So we didn't see much of each other or talk much in recent years. A couple of months ago I received a message that he was in the hospital, and I called him there. He had had a knee operation and was having trouble learning to walk again. He was expecting to be released to a rehab unit, and said he'd give me his phone number when he got it. I offered to send him some books, and was momentarily uneasy when he wasn't especially interested -- that really didn't sound like Jim. But I didn't pay too much attention, I just waited for the call to give me his new phone number. And instead, I got the call that he had died. The woman who called me was trying to find out if he had any living relatives, and where he should be buried. And while I know he is in a better place, I miss my friend.