Holy Ground

January 21, 2018

“The Lord must have loved the common man; after all, he made so many of them.” So said Abraham Lincoln, a common man with uncommon ability. The call came in on Monday. A man I’ve never met asked about having a funeral for his father at the church. We talked for a few minutes, with me assuring him that we could make it happen, although I wasn’t sure how we would manage any music. He wasn’t sure when it would happen; Thursday or Friday, as best as he could figure. I took his name and number and told him I would be in touch.

We talked again today, and this afternoon, I drove over to his sister’s house where the family was gathered to put a collage together for the service. It was one of those rather nondescript houses in what had once been a proper middle class neighborhood that had fallen on hard times. Knocking at the door, I was greeted by a shouted, “Come in!” So I did. Immediately, the pungent smell of cigarette smoke hit me like a wave, and I was greeted by a veritable ethnic melting pot of family who welcomed me into their home with offers of something to drink and eat. The rooms I saw were barren of furniture except for the living room which had a wrap around couch facing a large TV on which was appearing the Jerry Springer show.

We sat and talked, daughters, granddaughter, son, and ex-wife, about a man who had lived like the house in which I sat—nondescript and a little worse for the wear. Their love for him was almost palpable. He had been on disability for years, but was known by many as he rode his bicycle and had coffee with friends at various diners around town. They talked vaguely and without any sign of bitterness or judgment of skeletons in his closet, and we talked about the service to come. I prayed with them and said my goodbyes.

Walking to my truck, I thought of Lincoln’s statement, and marveled at the beauty of what I had just witnessed. Later that evening, our president gave his first State of the Union Address. Those on both sides of the aisle speak of their standing up for the common man, but other than photo op moments, most of them couldn’t name a single one with whom they are friends. I am blessed and honored to have the opportunity to get to know this family and others who will only get their names in the newspaper when they die. Friday’s service will be a holy time as they say their goodbyes to a loved one, and I get the sacred privilege once more of entering people’s lives with the Good News of Christ’s love and sacrifice for them. So tonight, I bow and give thanks.