Rev. How Chin Yong

侯牧师的讲道总是非常流畅的，不拖泥带水，简单明了。 感谢侯牧师用神的道喂养我们，即便腰疼腿痛也和我们小组到圣淘沙徒步、被蚊子叮。谢谢您！

2021年信义会大风吹，吹来了一位身材高大魁梧的侯牧师，让人看了敬而远之。

但是，我与他共事服侍主的一段时间，发现他很友善，做事非常认真尽责，井井有条，不马虎，有颗敬畏上帝的心。

会友对他的误会，他接受回馈，并勇于面对，约我一起与对方面质澄清误会。感谢神！在过程中，双方都有个和睦解说的机会，事件也就圆满结束。天上的乌云消散了，我们也带着轻松愉快的心情回家。 荣耀归给神！

回想起与牧师一起探访的日子，他常说我走路健步如飞。我停下脚步，回头笑着说：牧师你的脚比我长，应该走得比我快。我只是一步一步的跨步走，并没走得特别快呀！回答脚痛。原来脚痛并不是近来的事。髋关节疼痛感已有一段时间，看中西医，但并没有好转。看来牧师也是一个很耐痛的人。虽然如此，他还是很努力的去家访。

有一天，牧师看医生被诊断为前列腺癌，突如其来的消息，有如晴天霹雳。治疗期间，我们去探访，他很健谈，也很幽默，常被他逗得笑哈哈。令人觉得他对上帝的信心很强，他说回到天家是“好得无比”。

我写游记常寄给他读，他读后都会写些鼓励的话语。去年尾至今年初，我寄游记，他没有回应。深知他在抗癌过程中的不适，需要时间多休息。我只能默默为他祷告，他曾说后期治疗，不接受探访。因他要留给会友有美好的印象。

侯牧师，谢谢你给我的劝导，“要爱我儿子”，使我现在能领受到，儿子给我很多的爱。 感恩有你！🙏🏻🙏🏻

侯牧师，我为你感到欣慰，在安返天家前，达到了你的愿望；母亲受洗归主，回乡探亲，含饴弄孙。
荣耀归主名！

谨此对牧师的思念
救主堂姐妹秀绵。
19/3/2026周四

怀念侯牧师的一些片段
信义会救主堂行政同工 敬念
（谨以此文表达追思与感恩）
在追思侯牧师的时候，心中浮现的是一些与他一同服事的点滴片段。 回想这些平凡的日常，更让人看见上帝在一位牧者生命中的恩典与神的带领。
与侯牧师共事，并不总是轻松的。他对事工十分认真，也非常看重细节。无论是主日PPT上的歌词和经文，还是每周的报告，他都会逐字逐句地核对、修改，常常写得密密麻麻，井井有条地交代清楚。对像我这样常常赶时间的兼职行政员来说，有时也会感到压力。
但渐渐地也明白，在这份认真与坚持背后，是一颗敬畏神的心。
刚到教会就职不久，因母亲病重，需要经常往医院奔走。侯牧师很体谅地让我灵活办公，使我能够兼顾家庭与工作。这份理解，在当时给了我很大的安慰。
后来，他自己也经历了病痛。 即使在身体软弱的时候，他仍然关心教会，也关心同工。 年议会前，他发信息询问工作是否顺利、是否应付得来，还叮嘱如果加班可以补假。 信息最后常常写着：“辛苦了！主与你同在。” 年议会结束后，他也会再发信息问候：“AGM过去了，你还好吗？”这些简单的关怀，在忙碌的事奉中显得格外温暖。
在生病期间，他也常常表达感谢，说：“感谢主为我预备你们这些好同工。” 其实大家只是尽本分地服事，但他总是记得，也总是感谢。
侯牧师退休时，曾说想请一顿告别饭，但因治疗与休养的安排，这顿饭最终没有实现。之后的日子里，他仍会偶尔分享生活的点滴：圣诞节的祝福、孙子的出生、母亲生日时教会用客家话唱生日歌的视频…… 这些简单的分享，对我来说，就像他那顿没有实现的“告别饭”，带着温暖的心意。
侯牧师曾与我分享过他心中的两个心愿：一是盼望确定母亲已经信主得救；另一个是他一直惦念的一次顺德之旅。感谢主，这两个心愿后来都得以实现。
有一天，他发短讯告诉我，他再次认真地问母亲是否真心相信耶稣。母亲愿意接受，他便带她做了接受主的祷告，并把后续的关怀交给姐姐继续跟进。母亲开始参加客音天恩堂每星期六的崇拜，且非常喜欢。看到这些事情成就，他心里充满感恩。
顺德之旅完成之后，他也很开心地分享旅途的点滴与喜乐; 并感恩有机会向在广州的亲人传福音。那些分享，让我看见上帝在他生命中所赐下的满足与喜乐。
回想这些点滴，更让人看见的是上帝在一位牧者生命中的恩典。
侯牧师已经走完了他在地上的路程，如今已经在主里得享安息。他留下的忠心与榜样，也提醒着我们继续在主所托付的道路上前行。
愿主亲自安慰侯牧师的家人，在思念中赐下从祂而来的平安与力量。
愿一切荣耀归于神。

To be frank, I don't have many memories of my dad while I was growing up and I never really intentionally spent much time with my parents. Until he got diagnosed. That's when I realised how much family meant to me.

I accompanied my dad to many medical appointments, brought him out to eat and went on multiple jb day trips over the past 3 years. My dad would always say, "冕, 给你钱用." "Mian, take this money to use.". And like what my siblings have shared, that was how my dad showed his love for me. He knew that I liked buying clothes and would always help me read the reviews in Chinese on Taobao before buying it for me. After that, he would start asking me "你是不是从淘宝买个件衣服，很像中国人." "Did you buy this from Taobao, you look like someone from China.". I think that was his way of saying "You look very pretty in the clothes I bought for you."

It definitely took very long to realise that my dad loved all of us, but in very VERY different ways. I'm grateful that I got to spend so much time with him, and these memories will stay very close to my heart till the day we meet again.

I miss you lots already pa ❤️

Living halfway across the world and pregnancy made it impossible for me to say goodbye to Bakbak, and going Home to SG will never be the same again.

I reminisce on the years I got to spend with him as a young child when he was a bachelor living with Gonggong and Porpor while they babysat me, where I enthusiastically wanted to help him get his bag (usually the 2nd by the time I was picked up from school) of kopi, and to see him tend to his precious guppies. Even then he took really good care of me.

Until he got sick, Bakbak and Aunty Grace never failed to make it to the airport whenever Philip and I, and subsequently with our son, flew back to SG. Our flight usually arrived before the sun was even up, but they ALWAYS offered to come help ferry our many suitcases back to my parents’ house no matter how many times my parents told them that they didn’t need to. They were equally excited to see us the once a year we’d fly back, and always hosted us with a plethora of food and durians.

One of his last requests was for me to make my Porpor, his Mum’s, Hakka Yong Tau Hoo while I was in SG. I’m so very glad that I got to fulfill this request. His last video call to me the day we were leaving will also be etched in my memories. I know he did that because we both knew that that was likely the last time we saw each other in person.

Us Hows have our quirks and our tempers, which also means we understand how each other show our love and concern without words. Thank you Bakbak for your ways of having been involved in my life since I was a baby. You are sorely missed.

My favourite memory of my father:

When I was a child, I once threw a fit in the middle of the bookstore because my mom refused to buy me a set of headphones, and I left empty handed after a huge scolding from her.
That same evening, I found a pair of headphones stuffed under my pillow and when I asked Pa if he got it for me he just grunted. Instead of thanking him, I told him he got the wrong colour. "I wanted light blue Pa, not navy blue!!!"
The next morning, I found a pair of light blue headphones stuffed under my pillow.

Pa never expressed love using words, and it took me years to pick up on and appreciate how he expressed himself — but I know for sure that he loved my siblings and I wholeheartedly. I'll miss you a lot Pa but I take comfort in knowing it's only a matter of time before I'll meet you again in Heaven. See you later 🫡

致 岳父
因信稱義 委身立志
默默耕耘 以身作則
扶老攜幼 愛妻育兒
甲子征途 靠主同行
振奮不懼 勇抗癌魔
為義盡瘁 為主而活
感恩不盡 天家再會
女婿 敬輓

To all of Dad’s (Chinese) jokes, the great (home-cooked) food, the wonderful (red and golden) beverages, and the many good times we shared. Pa, we already miss you so much. Rest well, we will see you again.

Once, we were sitting side by side watching TV.
You paused the show, turned to me, and asked tentatively,
“Bird, what is it about my son that you like?
Why do you want to marry him?”

I remember sitting quietly for a moment, searching for the right words.

Then I said,
“Your son walks closely with the Lord.
He will lead our family well.
You raised him in the faith.
You should be proud.”

Papa How, thank you for passing your faith down to your children.

Because you did, my life has been changed.

Because of your faithfulness, I am married to a man who loves deeply,
and now, have a son to pour my life into.

And because of that, I finally know what family feels like.

Eulogy 4, 11 March 2026

The night before my father died, in the room next door to where he lay unconscious and gasping for air, I watched my son sleep soundly, his round belly silently rising and falling. I gazed at baby Micah longingly under the dim light, completely taken by love.

"Do you think Ba ever played with me, the way I play with Micah?" I asked my wife.

"Of course," she said. "In his own way."

--

One morning, a month before my father died, he called me into his room to speak. In tears, he said "Every time I speak to you, I end up shouting. I don't know why that happens, but I'm so sorry. Zong, will you forgive me?"
I told him "It's okay, I don't even remember when you ever shouted at me," and hurriedly left his room.

That wasn't entirely true. I'm sure I could easily recall instances of him shouting at me if I tried bringing them to mind, but I didn't want to be petty. "It doesn't affect me!" At least thats what I wanted to believe.

Then a few weeks passed, and my father lost his cognition. In his pain and delirium, he got very angry. He said the doctors were treating him like a sick medical experiment, and his children were laughing at him for it. The one night I was tasked with taking care of him, he woke up twice, and each time, he scolded me for looking at him before curtly barking orders at me. I was so afraid, I spent the night phasing in and out of light sleep.

For five days after, I didn't dare to visit him. My mind kept on going back to his apology. Maybe be meant it, maybe he didn't - but this was the way he'd always been.

Then one evening, Micah was fighting sleep really hard. He was so sleepy his eyes were swollen and red, but still he cried and cried. In my helplessness, I turned on the lights and flipped him over for tummy-time to try and exhaust him. But Micah was so tired he couldn't even hold his head up - his chin fell straight onto the mattress, and he began struggling and screaming in frustration.

I was shocked! Immediately, I scooped him up, held him tightly in my arms, and said, over and over and over again: "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry my son, I love you."

Instantly, my mind was taken back to my father's apology - only this time, I finally knew his heart.

--

Long ago, before I can even remember, my father played with me as a little infant, in his own way. He watched me sleep, and was filled with love.

Ba, I'm scared that I'll cry every Christmas and New Year, at mei's wedding and when my other children are born, because I'll miss you so much.

Life will whiz by in a blur, and soon I'll see you again. You didn't have any family to receive you in heaven, but on my deathbed I'll take comfort knowing you'll be there waiting for us alongside Jesus.

Eulogy 3, 10 March 2026

My first conscious memory of being loved was when I was 4 years old. My father would pop his head into his children's room to check if we were asleep, before closing the door, ever so slowly, such that it didn't make a sound. He did this every night.

When it came to getting around our living quarters, my father was less like a cat, and more like a mule. Back then, if you were in our house early on a Saturday morning, you would hear the sound of heavy footsteps around the house followed by the door shutting decisively after him, the occasional clearing of his throat and the audible turning of newspaper pages.

So every night, when he slowed, almost to a stop, to close the door to his children's bedroom, 4-year-old me, curled up in bed, taking in all the sounds of the world, heard his silence - loud and clear, wishing us without words - "goodnight".

Too quickly since then, I grew into a man. When I was 22, I smacked my head on the shower screen by accident while I was bathing. A few days later I still felt nauseous, so my father brought me to the hospital, and waited 9 hours by my side until I could get scanned for a concussion. That day was one of the few times in my life I spoke to my father. He didn't say much, but he told me about his hopes for my future. When I finally got home, I looked at the clock, and I remember it read 11.50pm on 21st July. We didn't realise it was his birthday, until it was almost over.

It was poetic, really. Like another drop out of his leaking bucket had just hit the ground. He didn't say a word about it. He didn't mind wasting his birthday away beside his son. It was almost as if he had been so resigned to pouring out the rest of his life into his children, that another afternoon was barely perceptible.


But to focus on two rare instances can't fully capture who my father was. The other 99% of the time, you could say my father cracked the code, because he somehow broke the laws of logic by being painfully stubborn while simultaneously flip-flopping on his every decision. You could never tell the worse way to spend your evening - dinner arrangements booked months in advance being cancelled at an hour's notice, or letting him into the kitchen to shout commands at his helpless sous-chef.
But among these, I remember him most for his temper. He was perpetually disgruntled from the discomfort of being emotionally constipated, and because of that he seemed to take forever to forgive, and would never forget.

So when I look back at my childhood, what I see are the heated fights, cold wars, and missed celebrations. One time, I got so angry I really could've killed him. I guess considering the occasion, I won't ever have the chance to anymore.

But however much my father's flaws hurt me, I know they tormented him more. In his most helpless, most frustrated episode, he said to me "你们就把我当魔鬼吧." "You already think of me as the devil, there's nothing more to say." Looking back, it wasn't personal that I couldn't convince him otherwise. When he looked inward, that was all he could see in himself. The good he wanted to do, he would not do, the evil he did not want to do - that, he kept on doing.

But Pastor How was a different person. When we hear about Pastor How, it's of a man who was firm and clear about his convictions, and deeply caring - especially toward the elderly, in his own understated ways.
And he was an excellent preacher. To my ears, the best. Most Saturday nights of my teenage years, I found safety and comfort in the faint sound of his deep voice from our dining table, running through the next day's sermon deep into the night. As he drove us to church the next morning, he'd explain the day's teaching to my mother, and excitedly tell us the joke he'd planned to use as an illustration, which always ended with him laughing to himself, before going ‘’eh 为什么没有人笑？”

You see, How Chin Yong was called by God to be a father and a Pastor, and as he performed these callings it was no longer him who lived, but Christ who lived in him. By natural means you would not have expected the man he was to be capable of any good at all. But God's power is made perfect in weakness.
God first grafted How Chin Yong into His olive tree.
Jesus, the true vine, remained in him, and he in Christ.
And the seeds God sowed in our family through him, God will personally see to it that they grow.
In this way, there's no denying that good fruit was borne through the tainted hands of a broken man.


My father used to enjoy a good drink. He often joked with us that if he was ever bedbound, he wanted to spend his last moments buzzed from alcohol poured into his IV drip bag.
Toward the end of his life, drinks stopped tasting the same for him. Instead, he preferred watching his children drink, if only to hear them gather, talk and laugh. He never had much to say. But at his last Christmas dinner with us, my father teared up as he pointed to our family photo behind him and shared how proud he was of my height.
Just a disclaimer, my father doesn't despise short people. He didn't get emotional imagining how shameful it is to be short.
I understood what he was trying to convey, only because my wife had just birthed my son. What my father felt was this: "I'm tall, so of course my son is tall! I'm happy to see that I've left a piece of me in my son."
About a year ago, my father told me I would now be the one to pray before mealtimes as the head of the household. I think as a father and pastor he had an instinct that Jesus was the most valuable thing he could pass down to us. He'd be proud to know his son agrees.

-

Well, funny story of the first time my family heard of my father's cancer diagnosis: My jie, jiefu and mother had just gotten home after visiting my father in the hospital, and just about the time we had started having our dinner, my mom received a call. The rest of us listened closely to the voice on the other end, unsuccessfully trying to make out the key words. When at last my mom put down the phone, I asked, half joking, half knowing that it was a very real possibility: "What, ba has cancer?"
There was no prize for getting it right.
My mom and my jie wept. Which you could say was perfect timing because we were headed to someone's funeral that night - though the grieving family might have been a little confused about when my sister had ever gotten so close to their grandma. 

If you know my mother, you know that the first thing she said after hearing my father's diagnosis was "Let's go on one last family trip!" And if you know my father, you know his first response to that proposition was: "Nose means nose."

By God's grace, we dragged my father on many trips after. In fact, he lived long enough to see his favourite and oldest daughter get married, then saw my jie get married for the second time, in Hongkong. And if that wasn't enough, he went to Hongkong and China again, just for fun, not to mention many trips to JB. Every single time, I know that my mother secretly hoped my father's illness would awaken the love we had for one another that had slumbered all these years, and it would be the one trip where no one fought.

Sigh. Good news and bad news.
The bad news is: time and time again, trip after trip, it didn't happen.
Heated episodes seemed to always find us. Whenever one of us got irritated, patience went straight out the window.
Whenever forgiveness had to be given, anger held onto it tightly.
And whenever an apology needed to be made, pride pushed it deep inside, and held it there.
And the bad news gets worse - I'm a hundred percent certain that if we had a hundred more lifetimes, each with a hundred more family trips, we still would've fought on every single one. In fact, each successive trip would've added more baggage for the next. And by the end of it, my father would've been forced to face the fact that through and through, he was utterly helpless.

The good news is this: one day, we will see my father again. And on that day, there will be no fighting. No death, or mourning or crying or pain. Just the perfect love of God Himself between us. It'll be my mom's biggest hope fulfilled, and my sisters' biggest surprise.

As we speak, my father is waiting for that day in paradise. I know he's there.
Because of the life he lived? No.
Because despite his wretched human body, dead to sin, he was gifted faith in Christ, who died for us, and one day, will raise us up with Him. Praise be to God!
So I thank you all for attending this celebration of God's faithful hand throughout the life of His servant.

Rev How

Thank you for recommending me for studying theology. That represented the first giant step you had me take, on my way to becoming a pastor today. You remained the only Chinese pastor I know who leaned into Lutheranism so much that you even bought many English books just so you could be the best Lutheran preacher you could be. I’m happy to be a grateful recipient of many of them and they will be my treasured collection. I promise and endeavour to be the next best, after you, Law and Gospel Chinese preacher, delivering Christ’s forgiveness liberally to all his beloved children. Today, one such child has gone back to the loving Father. Till we meet again in Heaven. Fare thee well!

At my siblings' weddings, I hated my father's wig. Now, I would rather have my father with wig, than no father without wig.

But all I have left is wig.

Eulogy 2, 09 March 2026

My name is Elizabeth. I am Evan’s wife, and I have the privilege of affectionately calling my father-in-law Papa How. I stand here with his children’s voices in this eulogy.

Even though I have not known him for as long as his children have, I’ve spent much more time with Papa How than my own father. Having him around gave me a glimpse of what growing up around a father could have been like - both the good and the bad. In the years I’ve known him, I came to see a man who was imperfect, and deeply human - but also a man who tried very hard to love his family.

Yesterday, I looked at Papa How’s funeral portrait and thought to myself how handsome he was in his younger days. No wonder all his children look so good - they resemble him. It's not that you’re not good looking Mama Grace, but as Papa How would say with a mischievous smile:
“好在他们像我。如果像其他男人, 那就惨咯! It’s good they look like me. Something would be terribly wrong if they looked like another man!”
That was Papa How. Despite his serious exterior he was very funny - especially if you understood Chinese as well as he did. If you look closely at his portrait, you will see a little spark in his eyes and the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. He was cheeky. He loved cracking jokes - and even more than that, he loved laughing at his own jokes. Very much like my husband.

Papa How tried very hard to be a giving father.
He grew up in difficult circumstances and was extremely frugal. Whenever we went to the hawker centre, he would walk round and round, looking to buy the cheapest option.
Not because he didn’t care about taste - if you’ve had a meal with him you know how particular he was about food. He did it because saving money had been ingrained in him since young.
Mama Grace still tells the story of how when he was a student at Bible College, young and slim and living off the stipend, he'd scour the supermarkets for the cheapest milk. Once, when he was checking out, the cashier felt the need to advise him: “Sir, you don't have much more weight to lose, you should be going for normal milk at least…”
Turns out, the cheapest milk at the time was skimmed milk.
But when it came to his children, he would always tell us, “Here’s some money. Buy whatever you feel like eating.”
He scrimped on himself, so that his children could have more than he grew up having.

Papa How also tried hard to be a reliable and caring father.
He showed love through acts of service.
He provided for the family.
He would learn new dishes to cook when his children came home to eat.
He drove them to places they needed to go.
He brought his children on family trips as frequently as he could.

And he tried to be a loving father.
When I gave birth to Micah, Papa How rushed to visit at the hospital in a wheelchair the very next day.
When he entered the room, his first words were not “Where’s my grandson?” Before he even looked at Micah, he asked, “Bird 在哪里?”
He was looking for his daughter-in-law first to make sure I was ok.

After Micah was born, we made it a point to visit and stay with him every weekend. Those weekends became something we looked forward to.
As his life slowly slipped away, the “weekends” became longer.
Three days.
Four days.
Five days.
And almost every time we were there, he would say, “Go home already. Time to go home.”
One day I asked him, “Why do you keep asking us to go home? You actually want us to stay, right?”
He gave a little smirk and said,
“Yes… but I’m worried you’ll be tired.”
That was Papa How.

More often than not, Papa How was a prideful man. Apologising to his children was difficult for him. His pride often came out as anger - fiery explosions followed by long cold wars.
But he always wanted to do better.
After Micah was born, he would watch our little family very quietly.
He would see how Evan loved me.
He would see how we loved Micah.
And sometimes he would say wistfully,
“好啊，好啊。你们懂得顾孩子。好好把 Maikai (Micah) 养大，我们上一代的错，你们不会继续, 我很安心。一代比一代好。”
“You know how to care for your child. Take good care of Micah - I can rest assured our generation’s mistakes will not continue with yours.”
That was his way of saying “I wish my children grew up under more harmonious circumstances.”
It put him at ease believing Micah would grow up having more than he did.

Micah was Papa How’s little suckling pig. He called me “Big bird”, our youngest sister was “Small bird”, so naturally, Micah was his “Little Bird”. In Papa How’s final months, Micah became a very special presence in his life.

At first, Papa How could still carry him, but soon he lost the strength in his arms.
Later, he would simply watch Micah and say, “Yibili yibli, what’s up duck?”
The only way he knew how to speak to babies.
Then the pain became too much and he didn’t want to carry Micah anymore for fear of dropping him.
Eventually, Papa How was confined to his bed. But even then, when Micah came close, he would use the little strength he had left to gently stroke Micah’s nose with his index finger.

Papa How always told his children that old people gave off a poison gas that speeds up aging - and a person’s dying breath is the most toxic to children.
His children never knew if he really believed such a ludicrous theory, until he was dying.
“不要再把Micah 带来，他的样子我已经记住了，在这里。”
“Don't bring Micah here anymore, I've already kept his image here,” he said, pointing to his head. “I know how to find him in heaven.”
Then he turned to Micah and said: “到了天堂，我第一个先找你。”

We always brought Micah to him anyway, telling Papa How that God would protect Micah from mythical poison gas.
One day when I carried Micah in, he looked at me and said, quite insistently,
“Go away. Stop bringing him here.
It makes it harder for me to go.”
That’s classic Papa How - always hiding his affection behind rejection. In Papa How’s last days, the home nurse told us that during his delirious episodes, he would call out Micah’s name.

Right before Papa How took his last breath, his eldest and favourite daughter leaned close to him and whispered in his ear, through tears,
“谢谢你这么爱我。” Evangeline was Papa How’s favourite, because she was just like him - right down to his discomfort with expressing raw emotion. So his daughter held in what she'd felt all her life, across their good times and their fights, to say it at the moment he died.

And in that moment, everything that needed to be said… was said. And all the hurt and pain from the past disappeared, and was overcome by love.

Papa How was a man whom God found. He became a pastor, and gave his life to the service of God. Once, over dinner, he looked at Evan feeding me while I carried Micah and said “我从来不懂得疼老婆。幸好我的儿子会。Thankfully my son knows how to care for his wife - I never did.”
But how did he teach his son to love if he didn't know how himself?
By the faith he passed down to us. Papa How knew he was a broken man, and he knew he could not fix himself on his own. So he pointed his children to God.
Now that I am a parent myself, I understand his heart a little more.
Parents may have many hopes for their children:
That their children will do the right things and that they'll be well.
Papa How knew that he couldn't ensure this would happen for his children - but God can.

Papa How’s biggest wish was for his children and the families they start to continue in that faith, because more than anyone, he knew that God’s love was needed to reform him before he could love his family. He had a little tradition, where he’d gather the family to count down the weeks leading up to Christmas at home by lighting the Advent candles together. On his last Christmas, he told us to come back to his house to do this every year - he said he’d already printed out the liturgy, and the candles should still last a few years. As children of Pastor How, we'll continue to learn the depths of the faith he taught us, and hand it down to his future generations.

When he could still speak, Papa How gave us specific instructions for his last moments when he'd be struggling for air.
Rule number 1: No loud crying, it spoils the mood.
He wanted to face death in a way that honoured the peace Christ gives us.
Number 2: Sing 十字架.
“Because the song is very short,” he said.
He wanted no fuss, right up to his last moments.
I don't think he ever explicitly said Number 3, but he always expressed that he wanted to be home when he died.
That's Papa How’s way of saying “No matter how painful it gets, I want to be where all of you can be near me.”

Papa How, I’m glad you died exactly the way you wanted to. At home, surrounded by your family, with our hands holding yours, while you held firmly to the cross.

Thank you for loving your children the best way you knew how. We were so fortunate to be personally taught the faith by you. We will hold to the cross until we meet again.

See you in heaven, Papa How.

–

Shall we sing the chorus of 十字架 once, together?
十字架十字架
永是我的榮耀
我眾罪都洗清潔
唯靠耶穌寶血

Houmu was the first pastor I can remember. He was always there, for 12-13 years in QLC. From the time we were kids to youth, he found opportunity to show up and show us concern in his own way, keeping track of how old we were (Qin was P4). He taught us kids the entire baptism class of 20 lessons, taught us how to 点烛, all personally. My family and his family share an interesting bond, having gone overseas together and enjoying. These few years I forced visits to his house every here and then, and he was always welcoming, initiating conversations and showing care and concern even in his pain. He was steadfast, and steadfast to the end, and I thank him for being there and leaving an influence on us in many ways. He has fought the good fight, and kept the faith, and I continue to admire him. His impact on his kids' faith also inspire me in a very sparkly way.

Pastor How was more like a big brother to me. As fellow workers in the ministry, we spent countless hours together over coffee and lunch, and even crossed over to Malaysia just to enjoy a good meal together.
Like a true elder brother, he looked after me and patiently coached me in the heart of Lutheran pastoral ministry — the Word and the Sacraments, rightly guided by Law and Gospel.
Many know him as a faithful and dedicated pastor. Yet few know that his first aspiration was to become a prison warden, caring for those whom society often overlooks. Whether serving the parish or dreaming of serving in the prison system, his desire was always the same: to care, to guide, and to help those in need.
Brother, I truly miss you.
Till we meet again.
Melvin+

Eulogy 1, 8th March 2026

My father used to have a certain presence. I recognised when it entered our house, from the way his keys jingled as he unlocked our gate, before he'd slap a thick stack of letters on the coffee table.

Then, he got cancer.

It's been so long since he's walked through our doors, I can barely recall the sound. For a time, he was fortunate enough to travel about with a walking stick. When that became unsafe, he was still able to go on short excursions using a wheelchair, but that was shortlived. For months, it's been hard for him to get around, much less step out of our home.

Even then, my father was always fighting to make his presence known, and to feel our presence. He fought tooth and nail to sit at the table when we had dinner. He'd scoot his geriatric chair over to my room in the morning to look at his grandson do tummy time. In his last weeks, what he wanted most was just to have his chair rolled into the living room to feel our presence, but he wasn't even able to leave the room, much less his bed.

He always used to have a strong voice - clear and resonant. I haven't heard it in so long. In his final weeks, his speaking voice became weak and breathy, and all we'd hear from him were moans of pain through the night. On his last days, what used to be his voice was reduced to gurgling, then quiet gasps for breath, before finally, silence. It's really been long since I heard his voice. Soon, I'll think of it in my head, and doubt whether I'm even remembering it right.

My father collected stamps - that was his only hobby apart from rearing fish. When he died yesterday, my sister joked: "Tell ba we're going to cremate his stamps with him, maybe he'll get up." It was the first time I'd ever flipped through his collection. I never cared to.
What was really peculiar was that most of these stamps were actually familiar to me.
I'd seen them, growing up, on the speckled grey metal plate he had in front of his PC, alongside a long metal ruler and blue welding tool. He'd painstakingly seal each and every one in plastic sheet so they'd last forever. When my father found out he was dying, organising these stamps became his sole purpose - he spent months sorting and labelling them, until he couldn't. The collection was his life's work. Yet, holding it in my hands, I couldn't help thinking: "How futile! What did all of it amount to?"
Growing up, he always told us these stamps would turn a large profit, which he'd leave for us by the time he died. More recently when he tried to sell them, he was shocked to find: nobody buys stamps anymore.

--

The first time I ever looked at my father's hand was right when he died. I tried to take in the lightly coloured age spots on them, which littered lines spread out like web. I tried to hold onto the remaining warmth in them.
Now he's cold. What does life even mean?
We no longer need his syringes, vomit bucket, pee bottles and hospital bed. Soon, they'll burn him up, and we'll never see his body pass through our doors again. When we pass by his bed, it'll just be an empty spot. His clothes won't be worn, and his stamps - his life's work - will just be tiny pictures printed on paper. Nothing matters. His presence is gone.

--

One evening, after my father had spent another long day looking at the ceiling, my mei, Nat and I visited him in his room. He began speaking to us, and said to me:
"Zong, I had a thought. Life is like a television. Every morning, the characters in it get up, go about their business, and when night comes, they fall asleep. Then one day, one of them just doesn't get up. The show goes on without him - one character gets married, another raises his kids, until eventually, they don't wake up either. But the show just keeps going on. Am I right?"

What a strange thought! I sat for a while, trying my best, praying, to understand what my father meant.

--

Every one of us has a presence. If you are reading this, my father's presence has intersected with yours somehow - whether directly or indirectly. But when you die, his memory will die with you, and that's the end of my father. Even my son won't grow up remembering who his grandfather was.

Nothing matters.

It really doesn't - unless. Unless this life isn't the end. Unless the littlest things we do every single day have eternal consequences. Unless life continues, even after we die.

--

I paused for a long time, trying to understand what my father meant by his strange analogy. Then it hit me.

I asked him: "Ba, do you feel lonely? Having our company come in and out of your room every single day - but no matter how often we're with you, you're facing death alone? And when you go, we'll move on without you?"

He nodded.

I said to him: "When Jesus rose from the dead, he had scars on his body from his cruxificion. When we see him again on the last day, He will appear with wounds as if he was slain.
When you are resurrected, you'll see that everything that you've gone through in this life sticks with you - and it matters. Your life has already left an eternal impact on ours."

--

When my father first began preparing for his funeral, he told me: "Many of the people who will come won't know Jesus. I want them to hear the gospel there." Even as you read this, the presence of the man who lives - Jesus Christ, who conquered death and offers eternal life to all who believe on Him - His presence is making itself known to you at this moment. Lean into it - that's how everything matters.

We will miss Reverend How’s preaching and his spontaneous witty humour. His faith and endurance shone through as he persevered through significant physical suffering to continue to preach, and to serve until the very end of his days.

看到侯牧师被主接去的消息，心中甚是悲痛，有好多回忆都涌了上来。。。
认识侯牧师好久了，那时他还是侯传道，我还在少年团契。所有的少年人总是喜欢围在他的身边，和他攀谈。他高大的身影，就像大树的林荫，遮荫我们一株一株小草在主的爱中长大.....
内人在转会的时候，侯牧师孜孜不倦地给她上课，让她对信义宗有更深刻的了解。内人每次回家的时候，都津津乐道地对我说，她在侯牧师的身上学到了很多东西。侯牧师一生跑遍了几乎基督教所有的宗派，也象征着他对知识和真理不断地追求，勇于接受一切新的挑战。
妈妈一直惦记着侯牧师。每次我把会讯中侯牧师的消息读给她听的时候，他总是叫我为侯牧师祷告。她说，不要忘记侯牧师很爱我们。今天真的不知道如何把这个消息告诉她，她肯定会哭红了眼睛。。。
写下这篇纪念的时候，我一直心中默默祈祷，求主擦干我们每个人的眼泪。我们悲痛，可是我们不至于绝望，因为我们知道，在另外一个世界，我们会在主的怀中再次相遇。。。

谢谢你，侯牧师。。。

侯牧师在我的信仰生活中，一直是一个非常重要的属灵长辈。多年来，他不断地鼓励、引导我，也给我许多机会，让我在信仰中成长。他的教导、榜样和关怀，对我来说一直都是很大的祝福。
我也非常感谢侯牧师和师母一直以来的热情与好客，常常欢迎我和我的丈夫到他们家中一起聚餐。印象深刻的一次是牧师亲手拔了很多 “see hum”血蚶配他预备的laksa给我们吃。那些一起相聚、交通的时光，对我们而言是格外地珍贵❤️
我和我丈夫也一直很感恩，在我们的婚礼上能够得到侯牧师和师母的鼓励、祝福和祷告。能够在这样重要的人生时刻有他们的陪伴和勉励，对我们来说是一份很大的荣幸。
虽然侯牧师如今已经回到主的怀抱，他多年来在我们生命中的教导、爱心和榜样，会一直影响着我们。我们会怀念他，也感谢神让我们在人生中遇见这样一位忠心事奉主的牧者。愿主亲自安慰师母和家人。

Pastor How was a very important spiritual mentor in my life of faith. Over the years, he continually encouraged and guided me, and gave me many opportunities to grow in my faith. His teaching, example and care were such a great blessing to me.
I am also very grateful to Pastor How and Grace for their warmth and hospitality. They always welcomed me and my husband into their home and prepared many delicious food for us. Those moments of fellowship and time spent together are memories I cherish greatly.
My husband and I are also deeply thankful that Pastor How and Grace were there to encourage, bless, and pray for us at our wedding. It was a great honour for us to have them share in such an important moment of our lives.
Although Pastor How has now gone to be with the Lord, the love, faith and example he showed throughout the years will continue to have a lasting impact on our lives. We will remember him with gratitude and thank God that we had the privilege of knowing such a faithful servant of the Lord. May the Lord comfort Grace and family.

Deeply express our condolences for the loss of our dearest faithful servant of the Lord, Rev How Chin Yong, may the living Spirit of God comfort his family members.

Deepest condolences to Grace and family on the passing of Ps How. We are praying with and for you.

HI Grace and the beloved family of our brother and co-worker, Rev. How,

The peace of our Lord Jesus be with you all.

First, I want to thank you and the family who have been a blessing to me and to LCS. My first experience and a deeply touching moment was when Pastor How and his family came to JCC many years ago.
Though Pastor How was serving at the JCC Chinese Section, he was my pastor as well. There were many precious moments and learning experiences that I gained from him. His love for God and for God’s people has been a model for me. I deeply appreciate his life that was totally sold out for Christ.

Secondly, I would like you to know that you are not alone. LCS is a big family where we can grow together and support one another in the Lord. The Lutheran family is surely here for you. Please do reach out to us so that we can also play our part in journeying with you. So please do not walk alone—we are here with you.

Finally, do rest well in the Lord. He is still sovereign in every situation, and may our good Lord continue to use you and this blessed family to shine for Jesus.

With Christ’s love,
Bishop Anthony Loh

Dear Rev, How, though we have been updated frequently about your condition and your fight against the cancer, nothing prepares my heart enough to receive the news of your passing this morning. You were my pastor at Jurong Christian Church when I was a young adult, and you should be the ONLY pastor I know who shares my hobby. Yes, and that is the keeping of tropical fishes in aquariums. I could always see the sparks in your eyes whenever we talked about fishes. Especially so about guppies.
I recalled how you also started a marine fish aquarium through my "bad" influence, and how you lamented to me how heavy saltwater is and almost strained your shoulder while you were carrying the jerry can from the car to your house. I can still remember our conversations so clearly.
It is with much regret that I could not attend the wake, as I will be travelling from tomorrow for a week. Your family will be in my prayers at such time of grief. Rest well in the arms of Jesus my pastor. Till we meet again...Admond

侯牧师，谢谢你的在主里的教导与关怀，在健成与我预备婚姻的道路时给予我们智慧的言语。那在交流之间时不时出现的幽默也使我难以忘怀。现在你已卸下一切，安息在主身边，我们期待以后再次的见面！

侯师母，愿神的平安和爱与你和家人们同在，保护你们，继续温暖你们的心。静仪师母。

主一直與Grace一家同在，特別常站在Grace身旁。三年來驚濤駭浪的日子總算過去，如今祈願一切都穩定了，平靜了。祝福Grace和子女Evangelin，Evan，Elizabeth同走一段嶄新蒙福路，願你們能重新得力，如鷹展翅上騰，飛往更高之地。
The Lord has always been with Grace and family, often standing right by your side. The stormy and turbulent days of the past three years have finally passed, and we pray everything would become calm and peaceful. Blessings to Grace and her children—Evangelin, Evan, and Elizabeth—as you journey together on a new, blessed path. May you be renewed in strength, soar on wings like eagles, and rise to greater heights.

陳廸芳牧師 師母Julia禱念

Dear Pastor How,

It is with a heavy heart that I received the news of your passing today. I am a regular member of the Mandarin congregation at BLC and have attended many of your sermons over the years.

Although I never had the chance to speak with you personally, I could sense through your preaching your steadfast faith and sincerity. Your messages brought hope and guidance to me during some of my most difficult moments.

Thank you for your faithful service and for the encouragement you brought to so many, including myself. You will be deeply missed.

With gratitude,
Ada Ong

To my dear sister and family, my heart breaks with yours at the passing of Chin Yong. He wasn't just a brother-in-law to me; he was a man of profound kindness and steady faith. I will always cherish the memories of our family gatherings and the quiet strength he brought to every room. He ran his race with grace, and while we miss him dearly, we rest in the hope that he is now in the arms of the Master he served so well."