A RURAL FUNERAL FOR AN URBAN HOMELESS MAN

As a young pastor just out of seminary, I was asked by a local funeral director to hold a graveside service for a homeless man who had no family or friends. The morning funeral was to be held at a new cemetery deep in the country. The man would be the first to be laid there -- the final resting place purchased by the city for the nameless souls of the city's poor.

As I drive to the site, unfamiliar with the backwoods area I quickly became lost and being the typical male, I couldn't bring myself to ask for direction. Finally I arrive an hour late, the backhoe and the crew were still there, but the hearse had left. By now it was lunch time and the crew was eating their bagged lunches.

I apologized profusely to the workers for my tardiness and implored them to join me at the site of the open grave. The vault lid was already in place. I assured the workers I wouldn't keep them long, but they seemed to understand that this was the proper thing to do. As I preached and poured out my heart and soul for this unfortunate being and the workers finally put down their lunches and stated to respond shouting "Amen" and "Glory" and "Praieeeeeee the Laawwwwd." I was further inspired and I preached as never before, moving to tears by the beauty of the moment. I closed the service with prayer and returned to my car.

As I was opening the door and removing my coat, I overheard one of the humble workers say to the other, "I ain't never seen nothing like that before and I been putting in septic tanks for twenty years!"