Saturday, May 31, 2014 We talked in the hall two Sundays ago, and held her memorial services yesterday: ‘Monte’ West. James Martin and our choir sang “When The Rain Is Over, and her friend Robert Harris sang “Thank You.” Both ‘specials,’ and each of the hymns were filled with compassion and power. Glenn Pope of the Lakeshore Church and I did the eulogy. Juniper, Monte’s daughter, spoke with eloquence and power from the perspective of a loved daughter’s love, and many came to receive Communion, and we all worshipped ‘in Spirit and in truth.’ Funerals should be celebrations of life and affirmations of faith. This one was. You could ‘see it and feel it’ in your soul. What Monte was, is-- whenever and wherever she is remembered, or when some of us act on prompts offered to us by her life. I hope her family felt our love for them in their hour of need and in this service. What will be said of us when that time comes? And will what is said not raise the question a preacher’s kid asked his preacher dad, “Was that the truth, or where you just preaching?” You have to smile, but you also have to take a deep breath about that kind of thing. Here are a few remembrances sifted from more than fifty years of being a part of funeral and memorial services: “She was a real friend.” I think of this when I think of Mama’s best friend, Vermell. The word, ‘friend’ can even touch the power of their relationship. It was moral, deep, and filled with love and laughter. When Vermell’s family had no money for heat, Mama smuggled coal in her bra (her Mom wasn’t too gung ho about sharing her familys precious coal) to Vermell’s family. When our family was broke, Aunt Vermell, (as we kids called her) paid our light bill and got them turned on again. Once in conversation, Mama said to Aunt Vermell, “It would be good if there were a word adequate for our love and friendship shared, but since there are none, our relationship will have to speak for itself.”* To be remembered as a real friend would be good. “You could really rely on him.” That’s what she wanted me to remember about her husband in the eulogy. Can you imagine how important that is to a relationship and family? It’s nice to be nice, grand to be loved; good to be ‘there’ for each other, but even better to be relied upon. One of the most wonderful aspects about faith in Christ is precisely that—you can rely on Him. To be reliable is to ‘be’ that, and to do what you say, and do what you don’t say. It’s to be faithful without reminders, and to know the value of intimacy mixed with the value of ‘giving space.’ It would be good to have said of us, “You can rely on him or her.” “Grandpa truly loved God and other people.” I preached that funeral forty-seven years ago, and felt, ‘Oh, that’s so very true,’ when the grandson mentioned that as something to be remembered about his grandpa. Loving God does not require preaching all the time, or handing out tracts, and the like. It means that God’s ‘steadfast love,’ somehow becomes the center of your being to the point that you don’t have to say it, you just ‘are’ it. When that happens, people know it. The grandson went on, “You hear religious folks talk about “loving God and others,” all the time. “Grandpa did it.” he went on, “he loved black people before civil rights came around, and some of the strangest people in our town. I even asked him once why he loved people like that and why. You know what he said? He said, because they are God made, son, because they are God made.” Oh how I’d like to be remembered as loving God and God made people. Sometimes funeral directors call pastors in for families that have no church or pastor. I’ve always felt moved to serve in that way when an opportunity presented itself. Once Baldwin and Lee (the old one on Manship St.) called with a request for such service. I met with the family and said something like this to them, “Since I didn’t know your loved one, could you give me a few ideas of some of the good things about him you would want remembered. I had my notebook and pen ready. The three family members in the room looked at each other, and one said, “Could you come back in about fifteen minutes or so?” I left, and when I went back, they said, “You can say he was a good softball player.” And that’s what I said. Let’s hope, no, let’s live so that when our time comes, our loved ones won’t need time to think of something positive to say about us. So much more could have been said about Monte West, but what was said mattered. It mattered to family, to friends, to reliable co-workers, to Chuck, her fiancé, and to those who attended the Memorial Service. None of us live or die without the need for grace and forgiveness. Monte received both in her life, but gave it back in large measure. Monte’s ‘was’—is. Always love, always, Keith *Do you really remember all this, or do you just ‘recreate’ it when writing?-- one of you asked. I actually found that sentence in some of the notes left in one of my Mom’s ‘keeping places.’ The rest is only as accurate as years and memory allow.
Posted on: Sat, 31 May 2014 11:56:17 +0000
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