I went to a funeral this morning. I didn’t know the man who died, I don’t know his family or friends.
I first laid eyes on him in church two weeks ago. He was standing in the middle of the aisle being anointed, prayed for and embraced.
“You’re not going back,” the pastor, his cousin, said.
The man had been in and out of prison – mostly in – for thirty of his fifty years.
And then, two months ago, God, in His mercy, arranged his release. So he could reconnect with his family and friends. So his family and friends could reconnect with him.
Saturday morning the man got up, got dressed, went out for a bit and then returned to his apartment and very suddenly died.
And I love God. I love the gift He gave the man and the gift He gave the man’s family and friends. I love His omniscient and omnipresent care for each of us.
“He had a good heart,” the pastor said, “and he did a great job of caring for my father these past two months.”
And that’s why I went to his funeral.
I went to hear more about his good heart. I went to know a little something more about the One whose image he bore. I went because he is God’s handiwork, one of His masterpieces, and every one of God’s masterpieces ought to be seen and appreciated.
It’s not often that a secular rock ’n roll song is used for the postlude to a funeral, but today it was perfect.