HELLO!

I was presiding and preaching at a funeral early this morning at a local Dartmouth funeral home. The funeral director estimated there were 250 people there, standing room only. Earlier this year I presided and preached at a funeral for someone who lived near the church and wanted his funeral in our sanctuary. At the funeral service earlier in the year a woman approached me with a simple request. She was dying with cancer. Would I preside at her funeral? I said yes. At the Coffee Party Bethe hosted last Friday the woman’s family called, could I come now, Joan was dying. I left immediately and spent the afternoon with the family. Joan was still conscious. She shared with me some of her story. We stood around her bed and held hands, prayed. I could feel the love in the room.

It’s interesting to read the faces of people I meet in these pastoral situations. When I walk in a room I am met with a hug. I hug back, but my body language is not one you would associate with a hugger. My brothers nicknamed me, “Rainman”, both for my memory and my aversion to touch. In a time when we claim to value inclusion and diversity no such understanding exists for non-huggers. Rarely am I given a choice, people will hug me. If I resist, I am told, “get over it”. Believe me, I know I am in the minority on this matter. I am not sentimental or emotive or touch oriented. And I rarely cry. It’s a myth that men don’t cry, they do. 99% of men cry at the drop of a hat (listen to Country music?). In pro sports, male athletes are always tearing up. You will only see me cry if I see a dog in locked car or a dog tied up outside a café waiting for their person to return. But here’s the thing, within minutes, in room where someone is dying or at a funeral, I can “meet the moment” and typically I leave with the friends and family feeling heard, connected, and even touched, just not necessarily in a physical way. And it happened again today.

I can’t explain this. After the funeral this morning I had no fewer than 10 people waiting to tell me how they felt, how they were touched, how they felt heard and seen. I referenced in my sermon the work Joan had offered in diverse communities and several persons from those communities were there. Two persons, from a very marginalized community, told me they had never heard a minister, at a funeral, call out for support for their community. They were moved to tears.

For someone who likes to live six feet apart, who rarely (unless I am talking about dogs) cries and is not moved by sentimental things or words, I find a way to connect with people, even on an emotional level. This remains a mystery to me. God is full of surprises. Peace, Kevin

PS After this emotional response I returned to the office. I worked for several hours until the funeral director texted me to say the family were leaving for the cemetery (Mount Hermon). I started to look for my keys. I looked in my pockets, in my backpack, on my desk, everywhere I had gone in the church. Kaitlin joined in the search. Finally, I went to the car. The keys were on the driver’s seat. I felt like a fool. Humility is a gift.

PPS At the Committal service a woman whispered to me, “In that corduroy jacket you look like Bill Murray in “The Royal Tenenbaums”.