So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you (2 Corinthians 4:12).
MO is at Black Rifle Coffee, Beyond Black is in the cup, silence is on the playlist, and God is in the room showing us how.
Nowadays, people tend to dress down for funerals; it was different last century. Back then, you wore not only your best suit and tie, preferably it would be black, and you dressed up.
And, when I was a kid, my whole family went to funerals, except for my brother and sister; they were too little (3 and 4), so they stayed with Grandma. Now, in the name of innocence or because of adult discomfort, we sanitize the whole death experience. An entire generation of children has grown up, never coming face to face with death, never going to funerals, and never talking about the sanctity of life.
"Do you remember the first time you were in the same room with a dead body?" I asked Bill.
"I never have, ever. That would creep me out," Bill responded.
"Let me tell you about a visitation I worked. It was well attended. Lots of family and friends were telling stories, shedding tears, enjoying outbursts of laughter — and plenty of silence. Sometimes people don't know what to do at a visitation, so they just sit in silence. This group knew exactly what they wanted."
"After a short time, one of the visitors left, but she told me she would be back in a bit.
"About twenty minutes later, in she walked, this time with her son accompanying her. He appeared to be around 8 or 9. I welcomed him at the door, 'Hi there, young man.'"
"Hi," he replied through his mask.
"As they walked toward our visitation room, she pointed out the memorial book. He stopped, stretched up to reach the high table, and printed his first and last name at the end of the list of names. She bent down again and whispered, and they continued into the room."
"I watched the boy walk up the husband of the deceased and give him a fist bump. They talked a bit, and then the boy and his mom walked over to the casket."
"He just stared for a moment, then reached up, kissed the forehead, and touched the hand of the women in the casket."
I continued describing the situation: "After a short time there, the boy and his mom walked in my direction. As they passed, I said, 'thank you for coming, little man.' He smiled.
"And, I whispered to his mom, 'Thank you for bringing him. You are teaching the sanctity of life tonight. Thank you!'"
"I could sense her smile even through the mask."
"That, is what I get to see, Bill, multi-generations learning about life and death, grief and loss. Every day is a lesson about life in the middle of death."
Isn't that what we all need right now — finding life in the middle of death?
Oh, Abba, we need that now!
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