Last night at 10:25 our beloved David found his reward in heaven, with his savior Jesus Christ. With a peaceful last breath, he won his courageous 10-year battle against brain cancer. We will celebrate his life at Forest Hill Church in Charlotte, next Wednesday morning. He is so incredibly loved and will be deeply missed every day.
Time’s Joe Klein remembers him. Excerpt:
We were friends, I think, instantaneously. He was the least self-righteous man of faith I’d ever met. He was, in fact, a hoot. He loved oysters and Martinis. And we were fellow members of a long-suffering tribe: We were Mets fans. At one point, David and I decided to go down to spring training—and golf school!—together. At his insistence, we rented a red convertible. David adored life, and living well. He always reminded me that Jesus’s first miracle was turning water into wine.
Ahh, Jesus. He was the heart of the matter. We talked about Jesus a lot. We studied Matthew together. David’s fundamental verse was Matthew 25: “when you do this for the least of these, you do it for me.” It was the verse at the heart of the faith-based social programs that David never tired of promoting. He never could get me to cross the divinity bridge—I am a Jew, for chrissake. But Jesus was, too. He was the greatest of the Jewish prophets, a true egalitarian who taught: you don’t need the priests to sacrifice animals for you or intervene on your behalf with God, you can have your own direct relationship with God through prayer and meditation, by helping others, by living simply and carefully—that is, a life full of care.
I spent Easter Sunday with David in hospice. He couldn’t talk and had difficulty swallowing. We held hands for seven hours. He could understand what I was saying and he would squeeze my hand in response to my recollections of our times together—the red convertible, the Bible study, the times he asked me—a man old enough to be his father—for advice, the times, the many times, he gave me comfort and support and inspiration.
David always closed every conversation by saying, “I love you, Joe Klein.” I think he probably said that as often as my wife has. And so I must close this by saying one last time, “I love you, David Kuo.” And I will always love you, and I will always have your enormous heart and spirit to guide me. And I will miss you, and so will the world, especially the least of these. I love you, David Kuo.
Read the whole thing here. May you and I live our lives in such a way that we inspire that kind of love and admiration. God bless you, Joe Klein. And God love you, David Kuo. Pray for us.