I'm sure retirement will kick in sooner or later, but not quite yet. This morning I had the privilege of officiating at the memorial service for a gentleman in our congregation who inspired a rollcall of stories from his children and grandchildren. Yesterday when meeting with his children to discuss what they wanted for the service, they sat in the living room for nearly two hours, telling stories of their father and what it was like growing up in their home.
This man was not highly educated, was one of the "little people" of life who don't make headlines, but who by perseverance and determination not only make their way through life, but do it with flair, all the while living with integrity and honor. As his kids talked, it occurred to me that the best thing we could do in his honor was simply to tell the stories the way they were doing so. So this morning, we set up a couch and two stuffed chairs in the front of the sanctuary. We sang a song, offered prayers, read Scripture, then the kids and Al's wife came up, sat down together, and began to talk. Forty-five minutes later, they were still going strong. It went from laughter to tears and back to laughter. Afterward, they thanked me for the service and apologized for calling me out of retirement, but in reality, they did all the work, and it was a privilege to simply listen in.
Too many times, I've officiated at services where no one has anything to say. At best, they say, "he was a good man," or, "she loved her grandkids," all of which is nice, but those are hardly adequate words for seventy or eighty years' of living. Today, the tears were present, but they were tears earned through his years of loving and giving and building into their lives till they knew the magnitude of their loss because they knew the magnitude of his love for them.
Tony Campolo once was talking to a class of young seminarians getting ready for the Christian ministry. "Gentlemen," he said (back then, they were all male) "Someday you are going to die, and when you do, people will say nice things, throw dirt in your face, then go back to the church to eat potato salad. You have a choice in life. You can live for the titles; the letters after your name that will look good in the obituary, or you can live for testimonies; the people who will remember your impact upon them. Live for the testimonies." Wise words too often ignored these days. Al had no titles, no letters after his name, but he had plenty of testimonies, and they continue to build into the lives of his children and grandchildren. I listened today and wished that my kids could have stories like that to tell someday. I'm afraid that I let too many opportunities slip by, and pray that I caught enough of them that someday my kids will be able to sit down at the front of the sanctuary and tell stories that bring both tears and laughter. Till that day, I am grateful for every time I am given the privilege of peeking into the lives of people who have lived well, hearing their stories, and laughing and crying with them.
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