The funeral is over and I'm reflecting on the events of the week. I am reminded that it is an honor to be allowed into peoples' lives during such traumatic times.
On the drive back to Wilmore I realized why I like sad books. Cindy finds my list of favorite books a bit too tilted toward suffering. The Brothers Karamazov, The Living, Diary of a Country Priest, The Idiot--none of these books give the reader much to cheer about. I think I like them because they are stories about the redemption, grace, and hope to be found in the midst of suffering. They are able to point to that hope without pollyannish optimism. They are models for ministry when times get tough.
Times are, as you would guess, tough. Once the services are over most of the world goes back to what they were doing before the tragedy. Meanwhile, the family has to find a new life together while dealing with the weight of the loss.
In the midst of all this, a moment of grace. During the service I was sitting up on chancel while one of Charles' co-workers shared stories from the pulpit. He commented on work ethic, competency, and other such things--but he focused on the practical jokes (Charles was a prankster). While he recounted some of Charles' exploits I looked to the front row and saw the face of a son who was surprised by the depth of his father's rascally-ness (if you have a better word for it, leave it in the comment box). He just looked up at the speaker and shook his head in sweet disbelief and admiration.
Thanks to all of you who prayed for the family and for me. God is faithful. Please continue to remember the family.
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