When my mother set up a burial fund through the funeral home, my daddy didn’t. I figure he thought he’d live forever. Not long after that, my mother’s fund was cashed in. Daddy became my sidekick – for almost twelve years.
Even though I suggested he change his will and make final arrangements, he kept putting it off. He finally decided it was a good idea when he understood his procrastination would put an extra burden on me.
When I asked who he would like to preach his funeral, this man, who had preached for 50+ years, said, “I don’t want a preacher.” Okay – well – that didn’t help much. “Whatever you decide will be fine.” I really didn’t like that burden of responsibility so let it slide for the time being.
One morning in January 2018, I gave the Man of the Mountains an assignment. I said, “Daddy, I’ve decided on a preacher for your funeral.” He looked at me a bit puzzled since he had already told me more than once that he didn’t want a preacher. “Who is it?” I paused a second and said, “You.” His eyes lit up, he got a great big smile and he chuckled that chuckle of his.
I told him I’d keep it a secret. Not even the family would know who was to speak at his funeral. He laughed. “I can say, ‘Hey, I’ve been asked to do a funeral for this old man and I know him better than anybody else.” He jiggled as he laughed, “He got old in a hurry and it was because of the company he kept. He had sisters to bring him up – his older sister,” he paused, “and his younger sister made a contribution towards bringing him up because she’d kick his slats in if he got out of line. He respected her!’”
After a period of several weeks, in between many days when he could barely breathe, I recorded him telling stories of his life, his family and his ministry. Little did I know at the time that in three short months his family and a congregation of friends would be watching and listening to him preach his own funeral.
This morning as I rocked on the front porch and listened to the recording of the above conversation, I couldn’t help but chuckle a bit myself. Hearing his voice again brought back many remembrances of the sheer joy of spending time with him. We shared one last secret.
His words brought laughter and tears. He didn’t need a preacher.
His funeral preached itself by a life well lived.
