As a young minister, I was asked by a funeral director to hold a
grave-side service for a homeless man, with no family or friends,
who had died while traveling through the area. The funeral was to
be held at a cemetery way back in the country. This man would be
the first to be laid to rest there.
I was not familiar with the backwoods area, and I became lost.
Being a typical man, I did not stop for directions. I finally
arrived an hour late.
I saw the backhoe first, then spotted the crew eating lunch. The
hearse was nowhere in sight. I apologized to the workers for my
tardiness, and stepped to the side of the open grave where I saw
the vault lid already in place.
I assured the workers I would not hold them long, but it was
proper to offer an eulogy. The workers gathered around, their
sandwiches in hand. I poured out my heart and soul.
As I preached the workers began to say "Amen," "Praise the Lord"
and "Glory." I preached and preached like I'd never preached
before, from Genesis all the way to Revelations. I closed the
lengthy service with a prayer and walked to my car.
I felt I had done my duty for the homeless man and that the crew
would leave with a renewed sense of purpose and dedication, in
spite of my tardiness.
As I was opening the car door and taking off my coat, I
overheard one of the workers saying to another, "I ain't never seen
anything like this before . . . .
. . . . and I've been putting in septic tanks for 20 years!"