A Good Man with a Good Name

Harvey Brower died on October 8, 2024, at the age of 88, as a longtime member of my church, who I was able to pastor for a few years. Proverbs 22:1 came to mind as I thought about him: “A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold.” There are many ways we can measure a man—by his wealth, his work, his wisdom—but Harv (as most of us called him) was a good man with a good name. He was not out chasing applause or favor. Those of us who knew him can testify that he was a character, but a character with deep character. To know Harv was to love him. He always had a story on the tip of his lips.

Whether in Bible study or after church, it was never long before Harv offer a story, or two, or three. But it was good stuff. Stories of animals, of weather, of mishaps with falling in the water while fishing, of lessons learned on land and in life. Now, you had to project your voice because his hearing was limited, but it was a part of interfacing with Harv. He was full of life, love, and devotion. Harv was a good man, with a good name.

Often enough, we found ourselves chuckling over shared experiences; everything from the oppressive heat of Central Texas, where he’d been stationed once and I lived early in marriage, to the colorful characters we sometimes came across. Harv’s service in the Army Secret Service was more than mere duty. He was a soldier protecting his country, yes, but even he was a soldier in the Army of the Lord. That was at his core. He was a man with a good name, a name that had stood the test of time and trial. He and Jan celebrated 67 years of marriage last summer, which should be convicting and awe-inspiring to anyone who has ever exchanged sacred vows.

And beyond the stories, beyond the laughter, there was Harv’s heart—a heart full of care for others. He took the Scripture seriously, as though every word on those sacred pages were a matter of life and death. In that way, he did not merely believe; rather, he lived out his belief, which is no small feat or accomplishment. He had the kind of resolve that led him to engage in thoughtful, often spirited, discussions about the Bible with Jehovah’s Witnesses, Mormons, or anyone else who knocked on his door with a contrary set of doctrines. Importantly, Harv didn’t just want to be right; he wanted others to know the truth, to know Christ as he did.

Despite the physical battles Harv faced—ailments, a ton of surgeries in life, setbacks of every kind—his spirit never faltered. I recall, visiting him in the hospital or local rehab centers. And in leaving his bedside, on numerous occasions I wondered if that was our last time together. Yet, time and time again, he defied the odds, made a comeback, and astonished the doctors like a scrappy fighter who would not stay down. And yet, in all this, Harv never took credit. His gratitude was reserved for God, the author of his life and supplier of his strength.

I remember Harv sharing the story of how he gave up driving. My impression wasn’t that he was the kind of individual naturally prone to relinquish independence easily, but there came a day when he had to face the reality of his limitations. A minor incident—perhaps the tap of the van against the garage—served as a quiet but profound epiphany. With humility, he came to Jan and said, “That’s it. I’m done.” That is a mark of a good name: the ability to humble oneself, to know when it is time to let go.

He had his battles, for sure. Harv faced aging and illness as we all must, with a resolve not to fight for personal comfort, but to fight for the right things, the eternal things. There is nothing automatic about growing in grace as the years go on. The temptation to cling to self-sufficiency, to grasp at the fleeting promises of this world, is ever present. Yet, Harv found his faith growing deeper, his dependence on God more acute. To die to oneself, to truly live for something beyond the fleeting whims of this life, takes diligence and discipline. But Harv made it look simple, I imagine because it was rooted in the eternal, in a name that cannot be tarnished, in a faith that refused to waver.

Harv’s name signifies resoluteness and endurance, a disciple who fought not for accolades or recognition, but for a greater cause. And that cause, of course, was the Gospel. He was a man who knew that this life was not perfect. Life is not ours to command, but ours to give in service—to God, to others, to the truth. This was Harv’s mission: to point to Christ, to live for Christ, and in the living, to reflect Christ’s goodness, grace, and truth.

In the end, a good name is not just the sum of what others say about us. It is what we are in the eyes of God. When Harv transitioned from this life, I am convinced that the words written in Proverbs rang true: his name was more precious than riches, and he was esteemed not for what he had done for himself, but for what he had done in the service of the One whose name is above all names. May we, too, follow Harv’s example. He was a good man with a good name.