When I went to work at the funeral home, it was owned by two brothers. They did not get along at all. They argued about everything. The principle owner (the older brother) very often did stupid things. He once had a family that came in to make arrangements and they wanted a casket of a certain design. Our regular supplier didn't carry it, but it so happened that a supplier in Cleveland had the exact casket in stock. So, the older brother decided to drive to Cleveland to get it. It was about 3 PM and the supplier closed at 5 PM, so he had to hurry. There were three vans in the garage, but he chose to take the hearse because you never see a hearse pulled over. He figured he could speed in the hearse. Which he did. Picked up the casket and came back. No problems. 

    EXCEPT, he hadn't told anyone he was going. When he got back, he did not unload the casket. (Unloading a casket by yourself is easy with the right equipment, which we had.) Instead, he just went home. And he didn't leave a note. Apparently, he assumed that the maintenance guy would get it in the morning when he got in at 8 AM. What he didn't know, because he never really paid attention, was that there was a funeral first thing in the morning at our other funeral in another town. So, the hearse driver shows up at 7 AM, washes the hearse and leaves the garage at 7:30, waving to the maintenance guy as he was coming in. 

    He gets to the other funeral home and parks in the spot reserved for the hearse. Customs vary even from town to town. Where the main funeral home was, people came out and got into their cars and waited for the procession to pull out. But in this other town, the people gathered round and made a human aisle for the casket and pall bearers that went from the steps of the building to the hearse. Then, after the casket was loaded, they would go and get in their cars and the procession would leave. The younger brother was in charge of this funeral and he proceeded the casket to the hearse. Imagine his surprise when he opened the back door of the hearse and found another casket already there. Is the casket full, is it empty, are they looking for it back at the other funeral home? That is what I mean about the older brother doing stupid things. He didn't think it through. 

    Eventually, the two brothers decided to retire. The youngest brother had a son (Trevor) who was really into the business. He was a licensed director and mortician and was the one who did most of the work. The brothers decided to sell it to him. I really liked this young man. He was a few years older than my son and had gone to the same high school. I had known him since he had been in junior high. He was serious and thoughtful and really concerned for the families we served and he taught me with both respect and patience. But sometimes he did stupid things. He had traits of both his father and uncle. All in all, though, the brothers did the right thing selling the business to him, but he had his moments.

    It was a joy to work for Trevor. A good Christian man, very active in his church and concerned for the Spiritual and physical welfare of his workers. One of the fellows who worked there (Mark) had a sister in Pennsylvania who got very sick. She wound up in a hospital in Pittsburgh. Mark had been there for a week with his aged parents to be with her as she struggled for life. After our morning meeting one day, Trevor took me aside. We didn't have any funerals for three days. He asked me to take the lead car, the car the funeral directors drove to the cemetery, and get my wife and go to Pittsburgh and be with the family as a pastor. We could spend the night in Pittsburgh and come home the next day. Pittsburgh was quite a drive, motel accommodations were not cheap and I was to feed everyone while I was there using the funeral home credit card. All so a family could have some Spiritual comfort. 

    On the other hand, Trevor occasionally did things that were not too bright. A gentleman had died from cancer. Trevor met with the family and at the morning meeting the next day he informed the staff of the plans. I was writing everything down in my notebook because I always wound up involved in some way and I wanted the whole story in my head. Everything was fine until Trevor said that the family wanted the man's motorcycle next to the casket. Trevor sat at the head of the conference table, I sat at the other end and the staff sat in the side chairs. When he said that the family wanted motorcycle next to the casket, we all looked up. It was his tone. I just knew something was coming. So did everyone else. 

    "Trevor, a motorcycle is a lot heavier and awkward than a casket." I was trying to reason with him because I could see the same gleam in his eye his uncle would produce just before he told us his nutty plan. "We're going to have to put down plastic sheets for oil drips. And if some little kid tips it over on himself, we would be liable."  "Lar, (He called me Lar when it was really going to be stupid. My head began to ache.) sometimes you are worse than an old woman. It can go in through the crematory and up the elevator. No problem." We all waited for the other shoe to drop. "But we aren't going to do that! We will go right up the casket ramp." And I knew we were going to have a problem. The casket ramp was a rather steep ramp in the back of the funeral home that had been used in the past when the casket was too heavy to be carried down the steps or when there were no pallbearers. The casket would be placed on a special cart, called a truck, and then with someone on the rear of the casket and someone on the front of the casket, it would be rolled down the ramp to the waiting hearse. The elevator had been in place for twenty years and, as far as I knew, the ramp hadn't been used in all that time. It was old and warped and looked rotted. 

    "Lar, I want you with me." And he got up from the table and headed for the door. I knew what was coming. 

    The bike was already at the foot of the ramp and the double doors, which I had never seen opened, were standing open. This was no motor scooter. It was a larger Harley. It would be a hard push, but I knew he wasn't going to push it. He was smiling from ear to ear.

    "Trevor, you are not riding that thing into the funeral home." He looked at me. "Why not, Lar? I don't have to clear it with you. I don't have to clear it with anyone!"

    I looked into the funeral home. All the chairs were neatly arranged. "As soon as you cross that threshold you will have to make a really hard right." "That's why its got handlebars." "Trevor, lets at least move the chairs." 

    He leaped onto the Harley and settled down on the seat. "Lar, how do I start this thing?" Oh, boy.

    "You've never ridden a motorcycle, have you?" "Well, no, but how hard can it be? It sure looks fun!" It was his uncle coming out. "Why am I here, Trevor? Do you want me to pick up the broken chairs you are going to plow through, check your pulse when you blow through the far wall? Why am I here?" 

    The rest of the staff had gathered a ways away to watch. He whispered, "Just show me how to start it and how to shift." "Are you kidding? Trevor, I've never ridden a bike. If it was a tractor, I'm your guy. But I have never ridden a bike." 

    The staff was waiting. Trevor looked at me like I might be lying. "You grew up on a farm. Now show me how to start this thing." "Trevor, I don't a single farmer who rides a motorcycle." (This was before I knew Orville Chamberlain.) "I really don't know how to start it."

    Trevor took a deep breath and got off the bike. Our conversation had been in low voice so the staff couldn't hear us. Now Trevor turned to the waiting staff and said, "Mother Larry doesn't think I should ride it in. Whatever..... Joe, come help us push it in." We got it in and it was all fine. 

    I hadn't thought about this in years, but the other day I was talking to someone from the funeral home and the subject came up in conversation. As I thought about it later, I thought about us Christians doing things without praying. To not pray before acting is akin to riding a Harley into a funeral home. Something bad is going to happen. If we pray and if we read the Word, God will open things up for us. The sky is the limit, but if we forge ahead without being Spiritually prepared, we are going to crash and burn.