Mark Metherell

I only knew Mark Metherell briefly, but after I knew that I had met someone who had touched, enriched, and blessed my life in an ongoing way.  I met Mark on the Wheaton-in-England trip from Wheaton College in the summer of 1990, a trip on which Mark and some of his friends participated.  I have bits-and-pieces of memory, one of which includes ending our punting on the River Cam in Cambridge for a stop at a pub for “liquid lunch,” which I assumed to be some type of slim-fast drink.  Imagine my chagrin, as the daughter of a prof., when the liquid lunch turned out to be....(alcoholic drink of choice).  Wheaton had a pledge we all signed to eschew such liquid lunches during our enrollment, except in the case of partaking of Communion.  As I look back I imagine that Mark got quite a charge out of my naivete, and am glad this moment was among his experiences, big brother that he was.  At the time I was put out, then embarrassed, and then serenely glad that I had not known before-hand where we were going, and had no need to wrestle with my seventeen-year-old conscience on this matter.  I look on this as God protecting my afore-mentioned seventeen-year-old conscience, but as I think of this memory from the point of view of today, and read these stories on this weblog, I also think that Mark and his friends, having decided they were going to have a beer for lunch, protected my sheltered innocence by teasing me in this way, and I am sure his sisters could tell many other stories of the kind of brotherly kindness he always displayed.  Of course the same cannot be said of the time, later the same day, when Mark had to have a smoke, but we’ll leave that memory in the land of learning to understand one another better, California and Wheaton....

As amusing as this is, the main episode I wish to relate came a semester later, when Mark commandeered me and my poetry and asked to see what I had written, Everything--all of it.  We met at “the House,” in which many lived and which has now been condemned, alas.  I can only remember his delight in and excitement about my faith--he loved the poems (not so great though they were) and constantly praised the vision behind them, or faith as he called it.  I went away catapulted into a kind of hope in and trust of the reality of Christ in me, the hope of glory, and am forever grateful that God sent the kind of man who could fan the spark that He had already placed within me: of hope in Jesus, the belief and understanding that Jesus in me was worth holding onto and living out, and that whatever the outward expression, the faith in Christ was very real.  I am glad he sent the kind of man who was able to speak this into my life at a very vulnerable, needy point in my life.  I get the picture that Mark did this for a lot of folks--catalyst of faith and hope, and an encourager like Barnabas.  Of course other people came along after that to encourage me at various points, but as I remember Mark I am aware of what an outstanding person he was in this area.

I hope that this encourages Sarah and her daughter: that as she hears stories about her Daddy, and however little she remembers his life with her, she will know that both her Heavenly Father, and her earthly father, had the unconditional kind of love that calls us out of ourselves to live a life of faith and joy worthy of Christ; and that she can experience and rest in the fact that this is the kind of Dad she indeed was given in God’s love and mercy; and that as a result she thrives and basks in the great love of Jesus.  We prayed for Mark, though he never knew this, and I hope that as much as God heard and answered our prayers--wonderful witness, father, husband, and so supremely happy in his life--that the Lord will likewise allow us to pray and commit to holding these dear ones that Mark was father and husband to in our prayers from here on out.  I am blessed and amazed by the love Mark obviously had for you, Sarah--few people achieve this level of in-love-ness that you seem to have had for eight solid years--God be praised for your life as a marriage.  You are truly blessed, and I am glad to have learned of this joy.  My husband and I would like to learn from and reflect a little of this more real love than we had done before.

I also want to add that the bird’s-eye view of the Metherell family gleaned from this website has been inspiring and provocative to us as we think about our own marriage and family.  I want to become the kind of parents that Mark’s parents are; in particular as a mom, I pray that I am half the mom Mrs. Metherell seems to be--able to both nurture in Christ and to let go into His hand--a truly God-inspired and dynamic process.  May God bless you as you miss your boy. 

To all the Wheaties out there reading this, some of whom I know, others not, we continue to pray for and be encouraged by (and encourage you, too) in our lives--God is close to the broken-hearted and saves the contrite in spirit, and we are blessed to read your humility of heart.  God be with you as well.

“Come then, angel band--
come and around me stand--
Bear me away on the snow-white wings,
to my eternal Home.”
--Johnny Cash

Angel Band (for Emilie Rose, Mark Metherell)

Winging free into the golden edge of morn
the wing-free arc returns the praise.

Sheer weight of glory
lifts the darkness out.

Lifts the praise-soar
return-after-return sky,
Rebuts the dawn-drawn
utter-obedience angel message
with Word-fire.

Margaret Ryken Beaird

My name is Joe Ueberroth and Mark Metherell is a special friend of mine. We met when we were kids playing at the beach and we have been friends ever since.  I rarely ever called Mark, Mark – it was either brother or Marcus so if I use these names for Mark as I stand here with you, please understand.  I start with the statement that “He is the only real action hero I know”.  However, Marcus is also much more than that - He is a devoted husband, a loving father, a respectful son, a leader in his church and a friend without conditions.

In life Marcus had an idol and it never changed.  It was the same at five, at fifteen, at twenty five, and at thirty five.  So appropriately, it was his father, Alex.  Alex, I can’t express in word what you meant to your son, but simply said, you are his hero.  Pam and Alex – It is difficult for sons to express their appreciation for their parents.  There was never a day that I know of that your son did not feel blessed to have such loving, giving and supportive parents.  His gratitude to you as parents I can not put into words.  You were his role model in faith, marriage, family, and life.

A little over a week ago in a distant land, in an instant, in a flash, all of our lives have changed - I thought that I would take this opportunity to give you a little bit of the Marcus that I remember so well – the boy

I have known Marcus for over 30 years – at his core four qualities never wavered: his faith, his kindness, his loyalty, and an unrelenting call for adventure. When we were 14 years old we left home to live on the mesa a place called Cate School.  Pam, please do not take offense, but dressing my brother in those cute checkered button down shirts and white wool sweaters did not meet the standards for assimilation into a boarding school that celebrated Bob Marley, U2 and the Grateful Dead. 

The beginning of Cate was difficult for Mark, it is now hard to reconcile that he was shy, awkward, and overly sensitive.  But our time at Cate was an extraordinary, magical period of time when we transformed from silly boys, tested our boundaries, spread our wings, and defined our character.  I stand here with total conviction when I say that Mark’s transformation exceeded all others.  In our freshman year threats loomed around every corner from upper classmen and almost anything we did tested a boundary or broke a rule.  We no longer had that protective vale that parents so givingly provide, so we had to band together to survive. We just didn’t survive, we thrived. It provided the perfect environment for Mark to begin to define himself, and begin to answer that unrelenting call with in him for adventure.

Imagine Mark in a small room planning his next adventure, then at night in the shadows of buildings make his way across campus to some objective.  To this day when I hear a knock on a window or a side door, I know its Mark.  At the house I live at today Mark would arrive some nights not at the front door, not at the back door, but at a small side door in our small court yard where he knew he would find me either working or watching TV.  I recall in our junior year that Mark came down the hall of our dorm around midnight in clothes soaking wet.  I asked him what happened, knowing that we would be planning our revenge on who ever had doused him.  To my surprise he said he had just taken a swim in the school pool – after a pause I asked him Why would you take the risk of going across the entire campus and swim in the pool in your clothes and then be soaking wet and cold and have to manage your way back undetected.  He answered smiling, “It had not been done.”

I can’t recall the defining moment of transformation – it was the aggregation of the bonds he built and adventures he had.  I could go on for days describing such things as his the impact of his bird like dance, discuss the spirituality of dipping, our run in with a biker gang, his adventure in Mexico, the serenity of dawn patrol, being boys of summer, and the impact of late night chats. They are all pieces of the mosaic. A reflection of this mosaic was seen in water polo pool - we all swam with vigor, Marcus just reached a little further, pulled a litter harder, and glided a little farther.

Mark began to find his identity at Cate but his growth never stopped. He continued to march forward in leaps and bounds. Wheaton, the Seals, and his Contract work are such great periods of his life, but his legacy is his partnership, devotion and love for Sarah and now their daughter Cora.  As some of you know Mark asked me to be his best man in his wedding.  The afternoon before his rehearsal dinner he asked that we take the “baptismal” swim in our home waters of Emerald Bay.  As my body was turning numb and blue in the 56 degree water Mark rattled on and on and on with such excitement about this adventure of all adventures of being one with Sarah…I remember nodding vigorously preying that he would indicate that it was time to exit the water…as fate would have it the last time that Mark and I had one of our deep talks was late at night at my house a while ago.  Some how that baptismal swim came up in our conversation and we laughed with the same freedom that we did when we were boys at Cate, then my brother leaned over to me with that great grin and said brother being with Sarah is far better than I ever dreamed.

I am going to end my comments with a short poem that I wrote last night – Mark showed me what’s good, what matters, what really counts, comes from inside so I titled this short poem -

“It comes from within”

Take the path on the left, the trail on the right or the route within the sea
His grin says it all, as long as you move forward any choice is fine with he
Go far, go deep embrace the mysteries and strip the lies
Adventure resides in distant lands, your next door neighbor, and in every child’s eyes

Ribbons and medals are for boxes and prefer the drink from the carpenter’s cup
Don’t tire in your faith just get on your knees and look up
Adventure is not defined by the rocks under your feet or the currents that pull
It’s the ability to see and embrace Gods gifts to us that makes us full

The heroics and deeds are post signs that are gladly left on the trail
It’s the joy that we see and touch in each individual that sets the sail
Walk in the light of our lord and acknowledge your sin
The light shines brightly for each of us for it comes from within

I know that I will never have another friend like Marcus

Thank you

These are my comments from Mark’s Memorial Service:

Mark and I met in college in the late 80s, we were members of an elite club –passionate surfers going to college in Chicago at Wheaton. Later we became roommates, went on surf trips and various adventures together, both married women named “Sarah,” both moved to Laguna after marriage, and both are raising our families on Brooks Street.

Mark and Sarah plugged me and my family right into the community in a very deep way. Much of who I am today is a very direct result of my friendship with Mark, the best parts of me have a lot to do with the parts of Mark included his wife, Sarah.

His very best friend took the place of Joe and me almost 10 years ago when he married Sarah Ochs. They became Mark & Sarah, a unit. Someone recently said that no man will love Sarah as well as Mark did. I’ll take it a little further and say that few men love their wives and treat them with the respect that Mark did. It may sound like this is candy-coating my friend, but he really did love Sarah as close as any man I know could come to the way Christ loves the church.

Mark was an anomaly. He was a paradox. I’m pretty sure that he had to be the first Lit major to become a Navy SEAL. He loved adventure but wasn’t bombastic about it. He just did things, big things, and the doing was reward enough.

At a men’s breakfast last week, we shared what we knew and remembered about Mark. We used the Inklings at Oxford, CS Lewis, Tolkien, TS Eliot, their friendship and sharpening of each other as an example. At one point, a member of the group died and Lewis said something to the effect that, “While he’d miss Charles personally, what he’d miss the most was how Charles made him a better person.” Brad Coleman’s question was how did Mark impact us to help make us better people? I think it’s a good question for a gathering like this one today.

Honesty, loyalty, humility and love would seem to be qualities that best characterize Mark to me. He wasn’t loud and he hated being in the spotlight. He probably wouldn’t like all of us sitting here talking about him, but he’s just going to have to get over that.

Mark didn’t try to be cool. He hated facades and veneers. Mark’s first impression was about avoiding first impressions entirely. He loped when he walked, like a big golden retriever or Mr. Snuffalufagas, he never wore jeans, his uniform was khakis (long or short), t-shirt of a well-worn variety, flannel shirt and “flippity floppities” as he called them – flip flops. He was always shaggy-haired and the harriest man I know – diametrically opposed to body razors. The worst criticism he could give you was, “Wow, that’s cool, Dave.” It meant that you seemed to be trying to be something you weren’t. Something that I’ve needed a lot of help with in life, and something that Mark was better than a brother at helping me manage.

If you read the blog, http://www.markmetherell.com, you’ll find a wild array of stories about Mark from decades ago to some that are very recent. The common threads that I see in most of them are two things: 1. Some form of vomiting going on; and 2.) Mark making an indelible remark to someone when they needed to hear it, and usually part of the impact was the efficiency and economy of delivery.

It seems funny that such a quiet guy could leave such a hole in my life, and I am sure a crater in Sarah’s, but it is a hole that creates tremendous substance from the vacuum it creates. And in a horrible way, I think that the economy of that void will help make me a much more honest person in much the same way that Mark did.

Mark lived his life for others. He was a soldier and he worked very closely with local people in countries where he operated in ways that were unique. In Afghanistan, he actually lived with the tribal people he was serving and training. He was invited to an Afghanistani wedding, something that never is allowed for foreigners. He was one of them, he loved them as people, because he believed that we are all children of God. When he died, Mark had essentially put himself in the lead vehicle in a convoy going into a dangerous area with Iraqis he had trained. He realized that if he was going to be an effective leader and if the Iraqis he loved and trained were going to be able to stand on their own without him, then he had to lead by example so they could do the same. Like Stonewall Jackson, Mark lived the way he expected his team to live. He did not lead from the rear. Mark realized that to be the tip of the spear, you have to ride point, and if you expect others to do that then you have to be willing to do it yourself.

But I don’t want to talk about Mark in the past tense. I am a firm and resolute believer in the very real body of believers, the communion of the saints living and dead.

When my own older brother died from Leukemia14 years ago, I remember asking God to show me that he was safe and whole and happy again – I knew he was a believer and that he was living a complete life in the presence of the Father in Heaven, but I needed to see it. God granted me a vision of my brother smiling deeply and joyfully and wholly again. His look told me that he was living entirely in the joy of the sovereignty of God.

My older brother and I started surfing on the Great Lakes together. Mark helped fill part of that hole as a brother, like my younger brother Joel does. It’s a bond the creates a tribe among surfers. You see it here in Laguna with the Laguna Bros, the Hakamoms and other rogue gangs. Every time that I would go surfing, it seemed that I was having a baptism of water and the spirit, it was a place that I could always go to feel closer to my brother and to my God.

One of Mark’s favorite verses is Genesis 1:2, I pulled from it last Sunday and then found it again in one of Mark’s short stories from college “And the earth was without form and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.”

Mark is more alive now, more real now, more true now and more whole now than he ever was on Earth. The difficulty is that we have this veil between us that separates us for a time. For me, getting in the water – getting our gills wet, as Mark and I used to say – helps bring me into communion with the body of believers beyond the veil. It is where I find the spirit of God most often and all the saints, living and dead. I find great comfort in being a small part of that body; it keeps me close to my brothers, some who are alive and some who we are separated from, for a time.

1 Cor. 3:11-17
For no man can lay a foundation other than the one which is laid, which is Jesus Christ. Now if any man builds on the foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, straw, each man’s work will become evident; for the day will show it because it is to be revealed with fire, and the fire itself will test the quality of each man’s work. If any man’s work which he has built on it remains, he will receive a reward. If any man’s work is burned up, he will suffer loss; but he himself will be saved, yet so as through fire. Do you not know that you are a temple of God and that the Spirit of God dwells in you? If any man destroys the temple of God, God will destroy him, for the temple of God is holy, and that is what you are.

For those of us who know Christ, the next time we see Mark, these words will have come to life for us in a whole new way.

I believe that we will be delighted together to see what the day will show because Mark did live the kind of life that could not be burned up by any fire. I’m not saying that everything he did was perfect, but rather that so many of the god-breathed things he did do are being uncovered to our eyes.

So much that Mark did and said and achieved in this life did not come from Mark alone but was a product of his conscious union with Jesus Christ. That is what it means to build with gold.

I believe that, looking back on his life in these past few days, many of us here have already begun to be surprised and delighted at all the gold we find in him, and saddened by the loss we feel because someone so special has been taken from our lives. But if you stop and wait on God, I think you will find that even though Mark is gone from us physically, the gold remains.

Truly God chose to manifest His life through this unique, quiet, funny, brave man, and that Life is always glorious, and is always with those of us who know Him.

Because he knew Jesus, Mark knew the real secret of living and building a blessed life.

He knew Jesus lived in and through him, and so he was and is still a temple of the Holy Spirit
And that means holy, alive, good with all the goodness of God himself.

To me this means that when Mark enjoyed the ocean
God was in Mark
Enjoying His own creation
Through the eyes and limbs
Of His man that He had made.

When Mark fell in love with Sarah,
God was in him
calling out her true beauty and life
by being with her in a special way
that no one else could know.

When Mark adored his daughter Cora
God was in him
Loving this little girl.

But for me and for you
Here is the real point today
And don’t miss this, especially if you don’t yet know Jesus as Mark did
He would want you to know this:

When Mark befriended you and me
When he smiled that Metherellian smile
Or told us a story, or made a dry joke
When he encouraged you when you needed it most
with that twinkle in his eye
When he believed in me
even though I thought that nobody would
Mark and Jesus together
Were inviting us
Into a divine relationship
A friendship so real
So dependable, so satisfying
That we could never pass it up.

I will miss him
But I have to say that now
As I look back on what he gave me
Through his friendship
That it was “more gold and gold”
And will never go away.

So for Mark’s sake now
For each of us
Let us not pass up
The friendship and comfort and freedom
that God is offering us
in the chance to know Jesus
Through Mark’s life.

Isaiah 61:1 The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me,
because the LORD has anointed me
to preach good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners, [a]
2 to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor _
and the day of vengeance of our God, _
to comfort all who mourn,
3 and provide for those who grieve in Zion— _
to bestow on them a crown of beauty _
instead of ashes, _
the oil of gladness _
instead of mourning, _
and a garment of praise _
instead of a spirit of despair. _
They will be called oaks of righteousness, _
a planting of the LORD _
for the display of his splendor.

Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some people move our souls to dance. They awaken us to a new understanding with the passing whisper of their wisdom. Some people make the sky more beautiful to gaze upon. They stay in our lives for awhile, leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never, ever the same. (Flavia Weeden)

Mark was a friend who touched my heart with his spirit and genuineness and his memory will always be with me.

As freshmen at Cate, we started out as a small group of 13 and 14 year olds suddenly removed from the routine of our childhood, the comfort of our parents and privacy of our own bedrooms.  Some of us had familiarity of Cate through the legacy of older brothers, others did not. Our lives were quickly altered when we were suddenly living in a semi secluded world located up on a mesa with roommates.  We were basically given a schedule for classes, eating, sports, chores and lights out.  Having suddenly been removed from familiarity, we as freshmen quickly developed a bond that regardless of how personally we got to know each other in such a short time, we shared common ground that we were the ‘newbies’, the new kids on the block.  We were awkward at first but over time we individually developed confidence that allowed us to test the waters (avoiding pink slips and detention) we snuck out after hours and toured the campus and had hot pots in our rooms and other things (oh how terrible we were) …..

Cate life was challenging and we survived.  As we progressed through the years our class expanded and as classmates, we grew emotionally (the guys vertically) and got to know each other as a second family.  The knowledge didn’t require private intimate discussions - we lived, slept, ate and played together round the clock, we just got to know each other.  There was always a lending ear and shoulder to lean on.  And though we may not have anticipated all the great things we would achieve in our lives, we did notice the budding character within each of us that would later guide us to achieve our individual goals. 

By the time Graduation day came, all of the bonds we developed from living ‘High Upon the Mesa’ had become the familiar part of our lives.  And once again we were leaving the comfort of familiarity and moving into new chapter of our lives.  The awkwardness and fear that we once felt as freshman was replaced with excitement and anticipation because we chose our next chapter in our lives and we were prepared for the new experiences that lay ahead that would bring us closer to our destinies.

However, there was one underlying fear - would we keep in touch and if so for how long.  Some folks are definitely better at doing that but life has a way of creeping in and consuming us with new adventures and direction.  Regardless of whether or not we physically kept in touch, our memories and bonds that we developed at Cate have kept us together within our hearts and souls.

As I think back to high school, I remember Mark being content.  He knew he had to be patient and at the right time he would go on in life to achieve personal greatness and live a life filled with passion.  The sparkle in his eyes told us that he believed in life and that good things would happen if you believed.  I envied that strength in him. As demonstrated by his accomplishments and Sarah and Cora, life at Cate was just a very small part of what was to become the rest of his life.

Within Mark were multiple characters, he was content and confident, quiet and gentle but there was this random quirkiness in the things he did and said often sending me into mass confusion of my own thoughts - ….. the moment before something so outrageous came out of his mouth like the calm before the storm …. Then the seconds after thinking to myself did he just say what I thought he said …. and then the next moment wondering, was that supposed to be prophetic …. Followed by me assuring myself that ‘nawww’ he was just pulling my gullible leg again ….. and the final icing on the cake - the look in his of eyes and the ear to ear grin thinking to himself ‘you don’t know what to make of what I just said do you?’….

I remember him talking about going into pre-med and going to Wheaton, he seemed happy about his choice to go pre-med but I never felt he was ecstatic about it … But then I heard about him going into the Navy and becoming a Navy SEAL - WOW I thought to myself, Mark in the military - the places he’ll go and the world he will see.

I regret not keeping in touch for I would love to hear his laugh see the sparkle in his eyes, and feel the spirit of his presence especially now that he has been successful in fulfilling his passions and living life to its fullest with Sarah and Cora as such an important part of it. 

I know that words will not take away the pain, but I am so grateful to have had the opportunity to have known Mark if for only just the high school years and a little bit after.

Julie Diebenow ‘87

Here’s another poem—always the comedian. . .

Joy of Spring

I walk beneath a leaden sky, along
A sidewalk slick with rain, and from around
A leafless elm a squirrel inspects and cranes
Its neck. Its patchwork coat of tattered greys

Conceals protruding bones. With cautious steps
It drifts towards the curb, instinctively stops,
Then onto shimmering asphalt it timidly creeps.
It niddles contendly, filling its cheeks, but careless

Of the Ford (a lady with puffy, unseeing eyes
Is driving) careening up behind, and I
Unconsciously shout, “A car! Run away!”
He looks at me with rodent brow upraised

Then turns too late as tire embraces squirrel.

Sarah thought it would be good to share some of Mark’s words—he was an amazing poet. This poem appeared in Commonweal Magazine.

Spearfishing

Youthful Maui, with bone tipped spear
Obtusely angled towards the mobile hedges
Of ruffled silt, stalks parallel, sleek
Javelin quivering. A liquid wind that ridges

The sand envervates the flotsam, shifts
The boy into dynamic rhythm with aqueous terrain.
Eyes attend each wriggling shadow that wafts
Ethereal, seeking reward from this foray

Between solution and precipitate. A coney
Breaks; the hunter dives, and in a kick he closes
The space, lets free and lances the body.
The Ulua jerks in a storm of sand and scales;

Through exploded belly hang veined intestines;
Mouth a circle of agony; their eyes, akin.

Maui: Hawaiian demigod who was born premature, thrown into the ocean, where sea creatures cared for him until he was old enough to live on land.

Bone tipped: an allusion to Maui’s magic hook made from Pele’s bone.

Ulua: a Great Fish.

It is so incredible to read all these stories and tributes about Mark and feel how deeply he was respected, trusted, and loved.  I am David Burchi’s wife and while stories of Mark preceded our first meeting, I have only known Mark and Sarah since the summer of 2006.  While I think a part of me feels cheated for only having known him a couple years, much more of me feels very privileged for having known him at all. 

I’ve noticed that many of the things that I have been remembering and feeling are very similar to what has already been written.  Though it’s been said already in so many beautiful ways, I thought I would just add a few stories and thoughts to this growing tribute to Mark’s impact and legacy on this earth.

One thing I find remarkable, but not surprising, is how many people remember the first time they met Mark.  I have a lot of friends that I have met at different times in my life – from 35 years ago to just a couple years ago – but I cannot say that I really remember the first time that I met most of them.  But I do remember meeting Mark.  David and I and our kids were visiting Laguna Beach and Mark and Sarah had us over for dinner.  David already has commented in his memorial on the first part of that evening, where we almost interrupted them praying, which already speaks volumes to who they were and what they were about.  But I also will never forget the end of the evening when we took a walk down to the beach.  Once we were on the sand Mark turned to our son Max (who was not yet 2) and asked him if he wanted a crab.  Max, of course, said yes, at which point Mark walked toward the ocean, watched the waves come up and recede, and then dove his hand into the sand and pulled out a crab.  I’m quite sure that Max didn’t realize that most people can’t do that, but Mark was an instant friend to Max, and mine as well. 

Another theme I keep reading about was Mark’s smile/smirk and sense of humor.  In that same vein, I keep thinking about Mark and Sarah’s Christmas cards.  For most people, sending out Christmas cards means finding your best photos from the past year (or perhaps wearing coordinated clothes or otherwise trying to look your best for a special Christmas picture) and sending that photo out to all your friends and family.  Mark and Sarah didn’t take themselves that seriously.  I imagine the two of them laughing and scheming and eventually coming up with some new clever, imaginative, and/or hilarious photo op.  The last one was probably the most precious.  It was Cora’s first Christmas and I had visions of Cora in a red velvet dress, a bright red bow for her hair, white stockings, and patent leather shoes.  Instead, Mark and Sarah recreated a manger scene in their Laguna Beach backyard, with Mark and Sarah in nomadic clothes hovering over Cora sitting in a simple white dress in a wooden basket, complete with watchful lawn reindeers and stuffed animals.  There is no way anyone that received that card didn’t laugh out loud and post in prominently among their other Christmas cards.

One more beautiful theme repeated throughout this website is how clear it was to everyone what an incredible, passionate, and loving relationship Mark and Sarah had.  No matter how big the issue or how small the task, Mark and Sarah handled it together with composure, grace, and a smile.  This might make me sound a little strange, but if I’m going to be honest, which I know Mark would expect, I used to watch and marvel as Mark and Sarah cleaned up after having people over for dinner.  We were over their house for dinner many times in the past couple years; sometimes just David and I, or our family, or sometimes there were two to three other couples or families.  Mark and Sarah were gracious hosts and they cooked fabulous meals, but as soon as the meal was over Mark and Sarah went to work.  They worked in unison, shoulder to shoulder, putting food away, washing and drying pots and dishes and glasses, wiping down counters.  Maybe this sound too trivial, and maybe I’m just exposing some of David and my shortcomings, but it takes a special couple to work that well together and be that in sync with each other.

Finding an appropriate way to end this seems hard.  It’s been said so many times in so many different and wonderful ways, but thank you Mark for enriching my life and for being such a huge impact in David’s life and the lives of countless others.  Sarah and Cora, I hope you find some comfort in the words of all these people who loved you all so deeply and will be there for you.

Well, I think it’s fair to say that most everyone on this forum knew Mark better than I did. But even from a distance, Mark made a pretty big impression on me...maybe that’s just one more sign of what a special and unique guy he really was.

Mark and I landed on the same floor our freshman year at Wheaton College, and were both from Southern California. I thought that fact alone should be enough to crown us as the cool kids on the block, but it was immediately clear to me that Mark wasn’t in the business of being very pretentious. He was obviously secure in who he was and gave everyone a fair shake.

Like most of his classmates, I was curious about why a hard-core surfer would decide to spend his college years in freezing cold Chicago. But that was hardly the only paradox about Mark. I soon learned that he was an astute pre-med major, though I rarely saw him crack a textbook. He was usually hanging out in the lobby chatting up the chicks or had his nose buried in some non- academic novel. 

Then, while still a student, I heard he actually found time to start writing a novel of his own… and a few of my snobby lit major friends even admitted that it was really good storytelling. But no matter what he was doing, Mark seemed to be so comfortable in his own skin, strolling around campus in his vans and Bermudas while wearing his Wheaton swim team parka, and always sporting that big affable grin.

Occasionally we talked about missing the left coast and how much we craved a burger from In N Out… and we joked about transferring back to school in California if either one of us slipped one more time on another icy sidewalk in that sun-forsaken part of the world.  But I think the funniest thing I remember about Mark was the way he stashed his chew in the heater of his room…at least he was honest enough to admit it was one of his vices that even “the pledge” just couldn’t shake.

So considering all of Mark’s anomalies, I was hardly surprised when I heard he bailed on med school in favor of going into the SEALs. I only saw Mark a handful of times after he enlisted, since we had a mutual friend who was also a SEAL. But I loved hearing their stories of “drownproofing” in BUDS training or being followed by sharks while swimming in formation miles out in the Pacific. Like most of the general public, I was fascinated with their experiences, and so proud to have a few friends serving in the SEALs.

Mark and I lost touch several years ago, but I’m not surprised he continued to be a light and a joy to so many people. As a father myself, I feel heartsick for his wife and daughter who obviously loved him well. Our family’s prayers will be with you Sarah and Cora in the difficult days ahead. And one day, Mark, I look forward to seeing your smile and hearing more stories again in heaven. Thank you for your joyful spirit with family and friends, and your brave service to our great nation.

Ron Romberger

Many people, including me, have written about how subdued Mark could be. He also had a goofy, wild side that came out from time-to-time. Last Christmas, my wife and I hosted a holiday party at our home. Somehow, I was able to convince Mark that wearing big plaid Christmas pants was important to my wife (right). So the evening of the event, Mark was taking forever to get down to our house—I always expected him to help me tap the wassail a little ahead of the crowd. Sarah called after the party started and asked if I had any tuxedo studs that Mark could borrow because he couldn’t find his—my wife did promote it as a formal party—and this is what he showed up in. Unreal, he totally stole the show.

We ended up walking down to the Sand Piper, aka, The Dirty Bird, later that night. When we walked in (I think Mark was wearing the first plaid tuxedo ever into that bar), a girl looks at Mark and says, “You’ve got to be kidding.” He didn’t even acknowledge her, using his best British snubbery tactics. We got our Sarahs some drinks, went to the dance floor and started slam dancing to a ska cover band. It got so out of hand that they had to close early. Big plaid can do that.

The paradox of Mark’s outfit is a funny metaphor for who he was—half goofy and half professional. Living life in Tuxedo Plaid.

Mark was my husband David’s best friend, and I adored him—though it took a year or so after a very funny first impression of Mark for this love and adoration on my part to actually take hold! When I first met Mark nearly 15 years ago, David and I were living in a damp, drafty little cottage on Oak Street in St. Helena, in the Napa Valley. Enter Mark Metherell… and David Burchi with him. I had heard so much about “Metherell”—David talked constantly about how brainy and kick-ass he was, and how he was a surfer and a poet and loved literature—to me he sounded like some kind of minor god, and I couldn’t wait to meet the guy. So when he and Dave Burchi showed up for a visit one weekend I was anticipating a civilized weekend of quaffing wine and talking about Dostoyevsky with the legendary Metherell and Burchi… Well: while David and I finished up our workday, Mark and Burchi had hit the local watering hole called the Pastime, and they had hit it hard.  By the time David and I got home from work, Mark and Burchi were well on their way, and Mark threw up in my bathroom for two days straight. I was annoyed to say the least. I’m ashamed to say that at some point during that weekend (maybe right around the time I was cleaning vomit out of the shower) I told David that his friends were idiots. Mark and I were not off to a good start, and let’s not even get started on Burchi!

Fast forward a few years to my first real memory of getting to know Mark and realizing that he was not in fact an idiot, but a great human being. David and I had had our oldest son Schuyler, and Mark had come to Northern California to visit us just before New Year’s 1995. I remember that it was about a week after Mark Foo had died surfing Mavericks, and we drove to Half Moon Bay to get a glimpse of the spot and pay our respects. We stood on the bluff overlooking Mavericks; the breaking waves sounded like thunder. It was sunny but cold. I don’t remember what we talked about that day, but I remember that Mark carried Schuyler in the backpack, and we stood there on the bluffs in quiet conversation for quite some time. That weekend, I discovered a bit of the Mark Metherell that I had been hoping meet. He was soft-spoken but straightforward, kind and funny with our baby son, and fully in possession of that unique-to-Mark quality that I have come to love: depth of character AND goofiness, happily, simultaneously coexisting.

Over the years I got to know Mark even better—he had become a Navy SEAL, and was always off doing really cool, dangerous-sounding things that he couldn’t tell us about or he would have to kill us. Our visits with him were sometimes few and far between, but he and David always picked up right where they had left off. And then enter Sarah: David and I didn’t get to meet her until we came to Laguna for their wedding weekend, but Mark had told us about her, and she sounded every bit as amazing as he was…and when I got to know her, I found out that she was, and is. Two incredibly smart, talented, daring world travelers had found each other and fallen in love...It has always seemed to me like Mark and Sarah’s life and adventures together were like something out of a movie. And one of my favorite memories of Mark is the way, almost at a loss for words and with his characteristic humility, he described Sarah to my husband just before we met her at the rehearsal dinner: “Dude, you have just got to meet her. I don’t even know what to say. She is just SO HOT I have no idea what she’s even doing with me!!” He shrugged and shook his head, as if to say, I don’t understand this, and just don’t blow my cover! And, as anyone who knows Mark and Sarah will attest, his passion for Sarah never wavered. Mark was so, so in love with her.

I treasure my first impression of Mark, vomit and all, because it makes me laugh. It contrasts so sharply with the more recent memories I have of a man who became a close, dear friend over the past 15 years. And anyone who knows Mark knows that what made him so amazing was that he was a study in contrasts, a paradox. You can’t sum him up by pointing to just one of his many fine qualities, because it’s really the beautiful tension between his seemingly opposite qualities that made Mark who he was. 

He was a man’s man who (I have heard!) could be blunt and bracing, but I knew him to be gentle and tactful. He was a man of action who didn’t like to sit around and waste time, but he always seemed to have time to talk to my children and take them spearfishing and surfing. He was a man of God whose uncompromising faith informed every aspect of his life, but he was refreshingly un-churchy, un-stuffy, and free of clichéd answers and religious jargon. Mark was fiercely intelligent and well-read, a lover of stories of great battles and heroes; but he was also capable of telling the funniest, most profane story you can imagine, with perfect comedic timing and a twinkle in his eye. Another contrast I find so funny: I used to tease Mark about the fact that he feared and hated public speaking and being the center of attention, but jumping out of an airplane? No problem!

I could go on and on: I knew Mark to be a skilled soldier but also a devoted, diaper-changing dad. He was warrior but also a poet. He was a child of privilege, born to a loving family, with every conceivable advantage in life, but was one of the most humble, unassuming people I’ve ever known.

If I could say one more thing to Mark, it would be “Thank you.” Thank for being the friend to my husband that you were. Thank you for being “Uncle Mark” to my sons. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for being a loving husband to my friend Sarah and an absolutely smitten father to Cora. Thank you for your service to our country and to the cause of freedom. And if I were pressed to sum up Mark in one phrase, I would say that he was a prince in flannel shirts and flip-flops.

Since Mark loved books, and was a citizen of the world and a man of faith, I want to close with a quote from the poet-priest John Donne. Most everyone has heard his famous statement that “No man is an island”—but this is a slightly less familiar part of that quote that I think speaks particularly well to Mark’s life:

“All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators: some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God’s hand is in every translation; and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again….”

Dear little Cora,

Though we have never met, I’m joining the voices here to let you know that you had a very special father. You’ll read among all the tributes here of the truly special qualities that made your dad an exceptional man. And not that many people are exceptional. Everyone is special in their own way, but not everyone rises to the ranks of exceptional for the respect and admiration they earn from others.

As freshmen students at Cate Mark and his roommate Russ were kind enough to share their room with me (a day student) as an on-campus home base, a place where I could leave books and change for sports, etc. From the day I met Mark, he was unconditionally a genuinely good guy. We shared a Laguna Beach upbringing, a love for the water, and a love of ska music. And anytime Mark was listening to ska (Madness, the English Beat – go listen to these bands if you haven’t because they were in your dad’s consciousness in high school) he would do his dance. And what a dance it was. Anyone reading this who saw Mark dance will likely remember his catchy “ska wiggle” which had his arms flailing together in circular motions while his body wiggled like worm. It was both screwy and delightful, and he was always enjoying himself. Others have noted his quality of physical awkwardness – almost like his limbs had some wet sand in them and made them a little harder to coordinate – no less strong or adept, just a little goofier.

I think a lot of us, upon learning that Mark had become a Navy SEAL had to do a real mental reset. Mark? Metherell? Sweet, mellow Mark? You mean that dude is a SEAL? As in top, top physical condition? Weapons expert? Could take me down with his pinky? Has been in harrowing world combat situations? What? For me, it was a source of fascination. We haven’t been in touch since Cate, so I mainly got updates at class reunions.

Then when I learned of his death, my first reaction was: Dude! Now why would you go and do that! You’ve left a wife and baby and grieving family behind. Wasn’t it maybe time to move towards something exciting still but less life-threatening? Why risk it ALL and ask so many to pay a price along with the ultimate one you paid?

As I read over tributes to Mark the pieces start to fit together. And they only serve to deepen my respect for your dad. Most of us choose the safe course in life even as we see a path that may be our truest path yet forego that road out of fear, inertia, complacency. Mark seemed to have clicked one day in determining that he knew his path and was going to be THAT true to himself. His friend’s tale of his declaring that he was going to join the Navy and become a SEAL and then jogging ten miles, puking three times along the way- how many people would take on a mission with that determination? How many people would keep running after the first vomit?

All these qualities weave together to form a picture of a man I only knew as a young man but who ended his life as a man we aspire to be: gentle, loving, funny, grounded, loyal, committed, strong, patriotic, god-loving, a powerful warrior defending what his heart told him was worthy of it.

I had a dream about Mark. It was a day or two before I learned of his death. And I find this a slightly haunting coincidence given that it’s the only dream I’ve had in which Mark has appeared. We were in a faraway land facing very worrisome battle conditions. Mark was there for me – he was a very reassuring and calming presence. It made me feel the kind of safety I felt from leaning my head into my dad’s chest when I was a young boy. I knew everything was going to be OK because Mark was there.

I’m so sorry that you won’t have your daddy’s chest to lean on anymore. His chest is gone, but here, through the words of his family and friends he’ll leave you with a greater legacy – a tribute to his exceptional character – something which will serve you longer than his chest would have – something which will inspire you for your lifetime.

He chose you, wanted you, knowing that he risked not being there to raise you to adulthood. And he decided that in the larger scheme of things, living true to himself and his mission was worthy enough to risk his life, to risk your father, to risk Sarah’s husband. And that, Cora, is a mighty exceptional thing to do. Mark was one hell of a guy. Bless you, Sarah, the Metherell family, and all those who are missing Mark.

Colin

Colin Drake, Cate ‘87

I had the honor of being Mark’s platoon commander at SEAL Team Five from 1997-1999.  We became good friends during that time and I was proud to have him at my wedding in ’99.  I’m not exaggerating when I say that he was one of the anchors of the platoon… a rare breed, even among SEAL operators.  In addition to being one of the more experienced guys in the platoon, and the best surfer, he was our lead communicator, possibly the most critical role in a SEAL platoon- responsible for ensuring that wherever we were- whether in the arctic (yes we were there), or in the rugged mountains along the Korean DMZ (there too), or some tiny island in the Pacific (there too) or on the front lines in the Middle East (yep), that we always had good radio contact with our supporting aircraft or boats, and satellite and computer communications back to headquarters.  When you’re a small team behind enemy lines, your only life-line to any type of help is your communicator. Obviously this job required a huge amount of technical expertise, but most don’t realize it also entails tremendous physical effort.  Because we’re so often on our feet, slogging through the snow or up a mountainside, how much we carry is always an issue of contention.  And 2 guys in particular are loaded down like mules: the heavy machine gunner (who’s carrying a huge weapon along with thousands of rounds of ammo), and the communicator (carrying at least 2, sometimes 3 radios, at 20lbs a piece, plus a ruggedized computer, plus several antennas, plus numerous batteries called ‘bricks’, plus his own gear and weapons and ammunition.)

To illustrate a standard job for Mark: right before we deployed we had to pass a graded training mission off the coast of Alaska.  After several days of preparation, with little sleep during those busy days, in late afternoon we embarked on one of our high-speed boats for a 6 hour hammering ride through rough seas.  Finally we launched in our small rubber Zodiacs which brought us closer to our insertion point.  After a 30 minute swim in the icy water, towing our 100lb rucks and weapons, we made it through pounding surf to shore, only to then scale massive cliffs, at night, with Mark hauling the heaviest equipment.  Reaching the top of the cliffs we then were able to patrol to our target, 6 miles inland.  Throughout this grueling approach- just to reach our objective, we welcomed any chance to stop and rest for awhile.  Unfortunately, while the rest of us sat down and maybe pulled out something to eat, Mark had to pull out his communications gear, check in with our support craft, then figure out the correct bearing and azimuth to the satellite- and type out an encrypted message to headquarters and receive any additional instructions.  Plus he was almost always doing this at night, usually in bitter cold or rain or snow, and sometimes having to climb a tree to get the satellite dish in a good line-of-sight position.  But Mark never failed, and even though we were back on our feet and moving the second he packed everything up, he never once complained. 

Many times I thanked God for Mark- and this was before I became a Christian.  He was always unflappable, always on top of things, never complaining, always upbeat and ready for anything.  The nicest guy in the world but tough as nails.  I later came to realize that a big reason he was different was his Christian faith.  He was down to earth, easy going, but at the same time his actions were without reproach, both on and off the job.  I’ve had several friends who were killed in the past 6 years, but hearing about Mark hit me particularly hard.  He was a great man, a shining light in a dark world, and will be missed.

As a Wheaton swimmer I knew Mark as a teammate. He fit right in with the zaney/prankster nature of the team.  As I coach swimming today I often wax poetic about the closeness and chracter of those Chrisitan men that I had the privilage to train and compete with.  It was a high honor for me to know Mark and to have him as a teammmate, and even higher that we were able to do so as Christian brothers.  I pray that the Lord will keep Mark’s family close to Himself and watch over them.  It is truly amazing how many lives one can touch. Mark you will be missed...see you in Glory Brother!