In The Land of Giants
The brass plate on top of the box reads you are the wind beneath my wings.
Funerals are part and parcel to my work.
Butchers butcher, bakers bake. Candlestick makers make and pastors bury the dead.
There is a place we have learned to go to, a mental and emotional land without feeling where we set ourselves aside in order to do the work at hand. But there is a high toll paid for the journey there -- our ability to grieve.
Today I sat on the podium with two other pastors, credentialed men of high learning and experience beneath whose table I am not worth to gather crumbs....
This was the kind of people who also sat before us, who came to pay tribute, who traveled from near and far to honor the passing of one who lived well and long.
Life is filled with glimpses of the good, sneak peaks of heaven, sacred moments that we can miss if we are not careful. Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote:
and every common bush is on fire with God;
but only he who sees takes off his shoes;
the rest sit around it and pluck blackberries.
Labels: celebration, funerals, ministry