The boy, Norris, was 15 years old. His parents were divorced but still lived in the same town and had joint custody, with his mother being the primary. Basically, he lived with her but the court had set it up so that he could split his time between parents. That would have been the best possible thing for him, except his father rarely exercised his rights. So, the young fellow mostly lived with his Mom, forever disappointed in his father’s lack of care.

          Christmas came and he spent that holiday with his Mom, but his father wanted him for New Year’s. He told his son he was going to do better from now on and he wanted to start the year out right. In fact, he told his son, you can have a New Year’s Eve party at my place. Invite your friends, boys and girls. You can have the basement. No beer or anything like that, but you can party.

          And everything went as planned. He invited boys and girls, the music was loud and everyone was having a great time. It was almost midnight and the kids had mostly paired off. Someone wanted to know where Christy was and everyone started to look around. She wasn’t in the basement. Norris said she had probably gone up stairs and someone else remembered she wanted an aspirin for her headache. Norris took off upstairs looking for Christy.

          The boy couldn’t find her, but he did hear a somewhat strange sound coming from his father’s room. He opened the door and found his father and Christy on the bed. The girl was obviously unconscious and the father was in the process of raping her. Norris yelled for help and ran to pull his father off. The father began to beat his son. While he was doing that two other boys ran in and grabbed Christy and dragged her outside. A girl grabbed a couple of coats to wrap her up in and two more of the boys jumped on Norris’ father to try and help Norris. Another girl called the police. By the time the police got there, followed closely by an ambulance, the father had run off into the night. The temperature was close to zero and it was snowing and he was naked, so the police were able to find him pretty quickly. A naked man running through a neighborhood on a snowy and freezing night draws attention. He was arrested.

          It seems Christy had gone looking for the aspirin. The father had given her two pills and she took them, passing out pretty quickly. The next thing she knew was waking up in the hospital just as daylight was dawning, with no recollection what had happened. Norris was in the same hospital, badly beaten with a broken cheek bone. On the radio, TV and newspaper the kids were all cast as heroes. The police had searched the house and the only alcohol and drugs were the father’s. It was a shocking and disgusting crime.

          I heard about it on New Year’s morning as I got ready to go to work at the funeral home. (Death doesn’t do holidays, so even on holidays there are some active at funeral homes.) The horribleness of the crime took my breath away. I thought about the girl who, even though she remembered nothing and was certainly not at fault, would always be associated with the events of that night. I thought about the son who, again through no fault of his own and who was also not at fault, would always be remembered as the kid whose father went crazy one night. In fact, all of those kids, who had acted so well and bravely, would forever be changed. It made me sick to my stomach. Later that day, the owner of the funeral home, Trevor, came in to work with me for a bit. He had three daughters, the two oldest were twins of eight years old. I had known him a long time and I could see the signs of anger in the way he carried himself. He was thinking about it, imagining if it had been his daughter…….

          The next day it was on the news that the judge had set a bail. Later, it was reported his brother had posted bail and the man was free. This really angered me, and everyone at the funeral home. We were all parents, although my son was grown. We all had strong feelings about it. But, anger or no, we had jobs to do.

          That night, January 2, the evening news reported that the man had gotten home around 3 PM, dug a pistol out of his secret hiding place, put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger. A part of me was actually somewhat satisfied. Justice served at no cost to the tax payers. I also thought about his son and how this new development would affect him. But, mostly, I felt that the issue was now closed.

          On the morning of the 3^rd I walked into the funeral home to start my day. Trevor and I shared an office and as I walked in I was a little surprised to see him already at his desk. Not that he was normally late, it was just that I was normally quite early. He had a weary look on his face. I sat in my chair and turned it so I could look at him. “Well…?”  I said.

          He took a deep breath and explained. The night before he had taken a call from the coroner’s office from the county that all of the aforementioned events had occurred in. The family wanted our funeral home to handle the details, quietly. I was a little surprised. Why, I asked. Because the brother lived close to us and they figure if folks didn’t know where the body was, there would be no trouble. Then he told me who the brother was, and I was shocked. I knew the brother, by reputation. He was a rock in his church, the kind of person that churches are judged by. A Godly man whom no one could have ever found fault. I hadn’t connected the last names, probably because it had all happened some distance away.

At that moment in time, we were shorthanded at the funeral home. We wouldn’t get the body of the deceased until late that day or early the next, depending on when the autopsy was completed. The family was coming in the next morning to make arrangements and to view the body. After that he would be cremated. At our funeral home, even that viewing before cremation was important, and we would make the deceased look as good as we could so the family wouldn’t have a negative memory. There would be no embalming. If we received the deceased that afternoon or evening, Trevor would prepare him for viewing. If it was the next morning, it would be my job since Trevor would be meeting with the family. We both had intense feelings about this situation, and I am sure we both wanted the other to have to do the preparation.

          The deceased came in early the next morning. I won’t go into detail, but a bullet to the head does frightful things. The skull had to be reconstructed and the wound hidden somehow. Usually by hair, but in this case, he was one of those who shaved his head. I finished and dressed him and got him on the gurney. My emotions were so intense my hands were shaking. I couldn’t tell you now what my emotions were, actually. I was just on edge.

          I took off the gloves and apron I had been wearing, put my tie on and my suit coat and put the deceased on the elevator and ran him up to the funeral home level. I went up the stairs, pulled him off the elevator and put him in position. I quickly put the blanket on him, with the idea of clearing out before Trevor and the brother got there. But in this, I failed. Just as I finished I heard the door open. There was no way I could gracefully exit. The family and Trevor came in.

          The wife of the brother came in first, followed by the brother. Then, a young fellow whose face was swollen and bruised with some of the worst bruising I had ever seen. Of course, this was Norris. All three were in tears.

          It seemed that God had just hit me with a baseball bat. For all this man’s evil, for all his sins, he was loved. He was loved by the brother he had grown up with, the woman who had entered his life by marriage but who had become like a sister, and a son, who had wanted a loving relationship with his father, his Dad, but had never gotten it. Now, I felt sick again. Not because of the evil this man had committed, but because of the sudden realization that he had also been loved by the Lord Jesus Christ, so much so that Jesus had willingly died for him. And here I was, for the past several days, having nothing but loathing for this man and despising the fact that I had to deal with his body. I felt an overwhelming rush of shame. I looked at Trevor and I saw his struggle as well. We were both fighting to hold back the tears.

          Trevor introduced me as Rev. Larry Wade. The brother knew me by reputation, as well. He thanked me for coming (not knowing my place at the funeral home) since his own pastor couldn’t make it. I learned later that even though this was the only showing, essentially the only ‘funeral,’ he refused to come. The three family members gathered around the gurney and shared some words together. The brother talked about growing up with a little brother he always had to protect. The son talked about one particular fishing trip, which was likely the only one. The sister-in-law just cried and held onto her nephew and husband.

          Something that people tend to forget is that funeral home personnel also have feelings and emotions. Sometimes people will be offended when they see someone from the funeral home laugh at something during a solemn moment, but most people have to build a wall to shield themselves from the daily pain of other’s suffering. But on this day, there were no walls. Emotions were too high. I am pretty certain that my boss, also a Christian man, was going through the same revelation I was dealing with. It was agony.

          The brother finally stepped away and turned to me. “Pastor Wade, if you could say a few words, I’d appreciate it.” Well, of course. He didn’t know I had just worked for a couple of hours to make his brother presentable and that I had rushed to get him in place, hoping I could escape the room. As far as this Christian man knew, I was there as Pastor Wade. I looked him in the eye and said, “Sure, Bill.” Appropriate Scripture flowed into my mind, which was really good since my Bible was still downstairs in the prep area. The words I spoke came naturally and sincerely. It was a sublime moment, a moment when God spoke through me. Inside I was quaking with emotion, on the outside I was exactly what I had been for decades; Pastor Wade. Amazing.

As the family was leaving, the brother and sister-in-law spoke nice words to me. Then, Norris stepped up to me. “Thank you, sir.” It was all he could manage. All he had experienced the last few days. He was spent and in physical and emotional pain, but he still managed to mumble his thanks through that battered face. Then, Trevor was stepping past me. Actually young enough to be my son, he put his arm on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. No words were passed between us.

          I have never shared that story with anyone. I have always been ashamed of my feelings. Don’t let your emotions grab you and make you think and act in an unChristian manner. A person may act in a deplorable fashion, in a way that is beyond comprehension, but they are loved by someone and they are loved, above all else, by Christ.

          Blessings.