In almost 33 years of ministry as an ordained minister, I have officiated at more funerals, memorials, and graveside services than I can count (or at least remember). Most were services for elderly people whose deaths were not shocking to the family. I've done some funerals for people whose death was untimely, unexpected, shocking. For instance, I served two families who had adult sons who committed suicide. I performed a graveside service once for an elderly man I had never known. A funeral home contacted me for the three of four elderly survivors who could attend a service. It was a very brief ceremony and one of the least rewarding services I have ever performed. Individuals who die are all unique, their families are all different from one another, the ages and circumstances of the death differ which makes each funeral in ways unique. This weekend I performed one that shall forever be in a category of its own.
On Saturday afternoon, April 28th, I performed a graveside service for my mother and led a memorial gathering of family and friends afterward. My mother's expressed wish was that I would do her graveside service. That was all she wanted done, just a graveside service - no funeral. She restricted viewing of her in the casket to one hour before the graveside service. She didn't like the idea of people fussing over her, looking at her or talking about her when she wasn't there. So, she controlled as much of that as she could. With due respect for what Mom wanted, her other children and I, our spouses and our children controlled what was important to us.
We planned a memorial gathering at Mom's church after the graveside service. There we could have a little more relaxed setting to share thoughts and memories about our loved one with others who knew her and loved her, too. Would Mom have approved? Doubtful, but then we didn't ask. In fact, we weren't consulted about what we wanted in this time. (Word to the wise: You can only control so much stuff after you are dead and gone.)
At the grave site, I shared some of the significant bio information that was printed in her obituary. She was the second born of 11 children. As such, she had responsibilities in the home to help care for the younger siblings. She was a responsible child, hard-working, reliable and trustworthy. I knew that Mom had grown up in the Great Depression, but I hadn't done the math until I prepared for her service. She was 9 1/2 when the stock market crashed in 1929. Like many of her peers, she was a frugal lady. I told at the graveside how she would go from grocery to grocer to get the food to feed her family, shopping the sales at each store. She watched sales like a hawk. And she watched the store clerks at the cash registers even closer. They made mistakes, but few if any that my Mom didn't catch. If she didn't catch the mistake at the time, she would go over her receipt at home; and when she found a mistake, it would mean a trip back to the store (even for a nickle or a dime).
Now, when I was a kid gas was 15 to 20 cents a gallon. Mom would spend the gas money to get her dime back from the store. If it were today, with gas at over $3.50 per gallon, she would still want to go back and get her nickle or dime. The injustice of being overcharged trumped all mathematics.
Mom did have a strong sense of justice. She wanted things to be right and fair. This world in not always right or fair. And my Mom knew this experientially. She experienced a lot of wrong and unfair treatment. I was a witness to some of it - from my own father. Couple with Mom's passion for justice was difficulty forgiving people who had had treated her unjustly, especially if it were a repeated offense.
Mom was a saint, in the true sense of the word. In the New Testament, a saint was not some exceptional version of a Christian - a Super-Christian; saint was the term used for Christians in general. Those who believed in Jesus, who chose to follow Him in faith were known as saints. And that was my Mom.
She knew she had a sin-debt with God. She believed that Jesus settled that debt on the Cross. She believed that Jesus was coming back for her. In fact, she - not so secretly - hoped that He would come back before she would have to face death. She believed that He went to prepare a place for her - a WONDERFUL place. She believed that He would give her a new body - one with no weakness or limitations, no pains or sickness. She believed in a place where He "would wipe every tear from [her] eyes", where there would be "no more death or mourning or crying or pain".
I stood with the few family members and friends, who gathered there at Fall Cemetery under a tent at her grave site on that chilly April day, and proclaimed what I believe. She now has that for which she hoped. I even believe she has more than she hoped for. I think heaven offers us more than we can imagine. Whatever she had in mind about life on the other side, while she contemplated it from here, fell woefully short of the reality there. I am sure that every faculty she ever possessed is more than restored; it is hers in upgraded form. She can see like she never saw in her life. She can see God's hand at work in her life in ways she never realized.
Before we committed her body back to the earth, I shared how in my last eight years at home we lived at 1270 Pike Street in Wabash. Since then, we had all moved away from 1270 Pike Street. It used to be our home, but it no longer is our home. Likewise, the body in the casket used to be Mom's home, but it no longer is. So, it was fitting that we store away that home in Falls Cemetery. And we did.
