Family and friends – and those simply moved by his story of redemption – came together on Saturday to celebrate the “short but beautiful life” of Myuran Sukumaran, the drug smuggler who transformed his life and touched millions with his astonishing art and compassion.

There was high emotion, laughter and tears during the three-hour long commemoration. For many, the measure of the man was his extraordinary bravery as he prepared for death at the hands of a firing squad.

In a powerful remembrance, his brother Chinthu – who dedicated the past 10 years to freeing his sibling and was shattered by his death – recalled those last moments on Nusakambangan. They had 30 minutes left together and “I could see such sadness in his eyes, that hope was all but taken. Myu wanted to live so much”.

“I asked him if he was afraid and he said no. But I didn’t believe him so I placed my hand on his chest for a few minutes and I felt his heart beat. And then again on his wrist, to feel his pulse and it was beating slowly and I knew that he was not afraid.”

Unlike the other Australian who died alongside him, Andrew Chan, Sukumaran did not quickly embrace religion on death row. But family and Christian ministers testified to a late and deep conversion to Christianity in the days leading up to his death on the penal island of Nusakambangan in central Java.

“Nusakambangan island become a road to Damascus for Myu,” said his uncle Mani Sivasubramaniam.

​Pastor Christie Buckingham, who was with Sukumaran until his last moments, said they spent hours recalling psalms and hymns from his childhood, reading scriptures and debating theology.

Family members spoke of a young boy who loved pizza and videos and would watch Blossom and The Babysitters Club – television programs aimed at young girls – with his sisters.

"I think he really enjoyed watching them,” said his sister Brintha.

In a heart-rending speech, Sukumaran’s mother Raji spoke of her distress that her son was sent to Sri Lanka at just two months of age to live with his grandparents. She and husband Sam were working long hours to keep their heads above water in London.

When he was three, they moved to Sydney, where life as a new migrant in Sydney’s Auburn was difficult. Sukumaran, the eldest child, took on a heavy load growing up, cooking and caring for his siblings.

Ben Quilty, Sukumaran’s artistic mentor, spoke with simmering anger at those who killed his friend, and those who didn’t understand his powerful story of rehabilitation. He recalled a child who was bullied mercilessly at school for the colour of skin, who was attracted to the easy money and glamour of drug dealing, but then changed his life in prison, building a workroom and sanctuary in Kerobokan prison that he had to defend from gang members who wanted the space for their own nefarious activities.

Just like Sukumaran, Quilty had drunk at the Castle Hill Tavern, across the road from the church were the funeral service had been held. Like his friend, he too slept off the booze on the lawn in front of the church.

He called on Australian society to do more to reach out to young men enticed by violence, going through an “awkward and rudderless coming of age”.

Chinthu revealed that his brother had spent his last months and weeks frantically preparing for his art studio and classes to continue and thrive after he died. Fellow Bali nine members Si Yi Chen and Matthew Norman will take over the enterprise in Bali’s Kerobokan prison.

Sukumaran wanted his other legacy to be a renewed effort to abolish the death penalty.

As Sukumaran walked to his death, guards at Nusakambangan apologised, hugged him, and then saluted him, Chinthu said.

It was a great shame that those who ordered his death did not have the courage to meet the man they condemned - If they did, Chinthu said, they could not have killed him.