You tend to remember the first time you do something. June, 1984. Ponce de Leon, Florida. I had been involved in funerals before, but this was the first time I had actually been the minister at a funeral. Sally Powell. She was 96 years old and had been a widow for over thirty years. The funeral was in the church and burial was in the cemetery behind the church. Each church has their own particular little tradition. This church had a history of decorating the graves with bit of sea shells or broken glass. They would stick shells or glass in the ground and outline the grave. One grave was outlined with old Elvis records broken in half. This was something the family did after the funeral meal. There was already a box sitting behind Miss Sally’s headstone filled with her china. The pieces had been broken carefully to keep from shattering the fine glass.

         Another tradition at this church was the deceased in their casket was brought out of the church and placed into the hearse. The hearse was started and then followed the minister and the funeral director as they walked slowly down the lane to the cemetery and then to the actual gravesite. Everyone who had attended the funeral would follow the hearse. It was what they did.

         On this particular day the casket was placed in the hearse, which was a model from 1966, and the director and I took our place at the front of the car. All the people, and there were a LOT of people there that day, gathered behind the hearse. I was extremely nervous. This was different from other funerals I had been involved in and I so wanted to do a good job for Miss Sally’s family. The driver got into the car and tried to start it. The engine turned over with gusto, but would not catch. He kept the key turned over trying to start it and kept pumping the gas (everything had carburetors then) and suddenly in the country quiet that always surrounded that church, the car backfired. Scared the daylights out of me. And he kept trying to start it. Now it was backfiring every few seconds. Every time it did it belched black smoke from the tailpipe. People were staggering from behind the car, rubbing their eyes and coughing. I ran to the driver’s window and told him to stop trying tom start it. “Stop! Stop! It won’t start! Its jumped time!” He looked at me and said, “Can you fix it?” I just shook my head and walked away. I told the director that it wasn’t going to start. He said, “Well, now, how are we supposed to get her to the grave?” The grave was maybe twenty yards away and Miss Sally was maybe eighty pounds, so the weight was in the casket and it was light and we had six strong grandsons to carry it. I said, “Well, can’t we carry it?” He looked shocked. “No! We just don’t do it that way here!” I felt like Candid Camera had to be some where close by. “Only other thing, then, is to put her in a pickup.” That made the director go pale. He called for the pall bearers and they pulled the casket out of the car and walked it to the grave site. The people liked that so much that a new tradition was born on the spot. From then on, the casket was carried to the grave.

         Since that first funeral I have done many, many funerals. Until coming here in 2016 I had done between thirty and forty funerals a year for various funeral homes since the 1980s. It has just how it has worked out. Funeral homes need a minister on call for unchurched families. The details of that first funeral are sharp in my mind, but the rest, unless something happened to make it different, are mostly a blur.

         Of course, that sounds a little harsh. But the things I recall with clarity are the lives that were lived in the church that I was pastoring at the time of the funeral. This week we had the funeral for Esther Wagner. A funeral is for closure for family and friends. But what is closing? A life, of course, but what else? Is love closing? Are emotions closing? Are memories closing?

         All that would be awful. Imagine. Someone dies and you are supposed to quit loving that person. The grave is closed and the emotions cease. You drive away and all memories are stricken from your mind. I have always wondered about closure.

         Usually, love sharpens. All the little things about that person become more personal for you. Maybe you realize you have their laugh or their outlook. Maybe their smile. And every time you see those things in you, or in someone else, it makes you love a little more. The emotions go through a phase where they reach out and grab you at random moments. All you can do js endure. And memories. Anytime, day or night.

         The funeral doesn’t end any of that. If you loved someone, you continue to love them. The emotions that come are borne on wings of that love. And thank God for memories! Memories are the things that allow us to continue to feel that love.

         Esther’s funeral. In time, I won’t remember the song that was presented, although it is a favorite. But I will remember her sweet spirit. I will remember her being tickled as she told the story of how she and Duane met. I will remember how Duane and her children cared for her as she neared death.

         I often think of a funeral as the epilogue to a wonderful play. The playwright has a few final thoughts to bring before the curtain comes down. But no one remembers the epilogue. They remember the play. So it is with a life that was well lived.

         Remember my funeral? I hope not. I don’t even want a funeral. Remember the message I attempted to bring in my life? I hope so.

         Thank you, Esther, for the message and the example you gave in life.