The Juxtaposition
We have attended two events at Morrison Heights Baptist Church recently.
The first was the wedding of a young, very-much-in-love couple. Jmk was a groomsman, Poodle was the flower girl. It was filled with family and friends and the whole place seemed to have love and joy spilling out from its seams.
The second, this past weekend, was the funeral for a not quite as young, very-much-in-love couple who were liked by everyone. MHBC was filled with family and friends and the whole place seemed to have love and sorrow spilling out from its seams.
And during both events, God was glorified and His love filled the hearts and minds of all that were there.
The stark difference between the two events was not what surprised me like I thought it was originally going to. The similarities did. And, to me, it was a lighthouse-in-the-storm moment of how present God is in our lives. He is with us in the good times, and He is with us in the bad times. And, like Bro. David said during the funeral - being in the house of sorrow is what is more likely to change lives. The Lord filled that place with His spirit on Saturday.
I don't know if any of you have ever been a part of a funeral for a fireman (or police officer, etc). But it was so.... honor-filled. Respectful. I don't have the right word. It wasn't dramatic, or full of artificial pomp and show. But the things that his fellow firefighters did to honor Eddie and his wife Vicki were things that I will never ever forget.
The funeral itself was relatively "normal". I lost it when the bagpipes were played, but most people have a hard time maintaining composure when they hear that beautiful, touching instrument. And, of course, seeing the two young girls in so much heartache was a tearful thing. But the memory sharing was wonderful, and the preaching was uplifting and God-honoring.
Then, it was time to leave. This is where I felt so honored to be a part of the day. I was in the very back of the line of cars leaving the church. I wasn't going to the gravesite, because I didn't want the children out in the heat. So I let most folks get ahead of me, and due to where I was parked at the church, there weren't but a handful of cars after me.
We get around the long frontage road that leads us to the highway, and the procession has been guided to the center of the road. The reason became apparent as we rounded the last curve. Two ladder trucks had their ladders fully extended and touching each other, so as to create an upside down "v". A stairway to heaven, if you will. With 7-10 firefighters on either side, in front of both trucks, standing at attention.
And this wasn't just for the deceased. And not just for the family. Or even those going to the gravesite.
But for every single person who was there to mourn the loss and celebrate the life, both here on earth and the eternal one.
Every single carload of people were shown the same respect and honor for being a part of the funeral. We were shown that honor as a tribute to the firefighter, and his wife, who had gone home to God.
And from that point on, every side street was held to a stop for us. Highway 80 was held to a stop. Lining every turn, every traffic light were firefighters and police officers and AMR workers. All at attention with somber respect. There were fire trucks from all the neighboring counties. It was a sight to behold - one for which my poor grasp of the English language does very, very little justice.
And at the risk of sounding like quite the broken record, this honor and respect was shown to every car of mourners - down the the very last one. This was a very long procession of cars in 95 (and climbing) degree heat.
And, you know, it's what these professionals do for us every day. They work hard, at a life-threatening job, and show every person they encounter the same respect. They work as hard in putting out the fire at a crack house in the slums as they would a multi-million dollar mansion on the water.
Saturday was a day I hope I hold in the forefront of my memory banks. I know the intensity of it will diminish as the days pass. But I hope I can always hold some part of what the day has brought to my mind and heart.
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