Creature Praise – A Memory of My Brother, Norman

I have said that there are certain milestones one passes when growing older. As a pastor I participated in many funerals in the course of serving a number of churches, but I remember well when I buried my father, then my mother. Burying your parents is one milestone.

Another milestone was when I buried someone who was not only a church member, but also a close friend.

Then came what has been, thus far, the hardest: burying my siblings. Once there were eight of us (Daddy, Mama, five brothers, and one sister.) Now we are four, since the death of both parents, the sister, and now one brother.

I’ll write about the death of my sister, the first to go, at a later time. Today I want to share a memory of Norman’s funeral.

To get my take on grief at the death of a Christian, see my earlier post on the subject.

We Wheelers have always loved to laugh – often at inappropriate times. More than once we – or our spouses or children – have gotten tickled (actually, become borderline hysterical) during the quiet of a church service.

I had already had a “moment” during the funeral at the church, Potts Memorial Presbyterian in Penderlea. Before the service started I had silenced my cell phone (duh) but it had vibrated three times during the songs and remarks by the first speaker. So, as the “main” speaker began his eulogy I decided to turn it off – the vibrations were becoming annoying and distracting.

What I forgot was that, when turned off, my phone plays a little tune. So, during the quiet between a song and the speaker, while he was opening his Bible and organizing his thoughts, came “Ding-ding-dinga-ding-ding, Ding-ding-dinga-ding-ding” (you get the idea.) With a red face, I tried to silence it with no success. As everyone looked at me and laughed, glared, or whatever was their predilection, it finished playing its little tune, and the service went forward.

Finally we all headed for the gravesite, about 100 yards or so from the church building. With many elderly family members present, it took the better part of 15 minutes to get settled under the tent.

We sat there, some sniffling, others crying openly. (Aside: the grave side part of a funeral is especially hard for me, for some reason. It has a sense of finality that is absent elsewhere. Again, see my post on grief.) We were all dealing with our grief in our own way as one of Norman’s best friends read scripture and performed the committal.

Then it was time for military honors and the presentation of the flag. The detail of sharply-dressed, smartly-moving young airmen (Norman was in the Air Force during the Korean conflict) surrounded the casket, folded and presented the flag, then stepped out.

In the distance, came the rifle salute, followed by a bugler playing “Taps.” As the last plaintive note echoed among the buildings and trees, we were wiping our eyes. Then: “Hee-yaw! Hee-yaw! Hee-yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw!” sounded from a pasture across the road.

And – predictably (see earlier paragraph about our tendency to laugh) the entire family burst into uncontrollable laughter.

As we (again) wiped our eyes, this time from mirth, I thought about how singularly appropriate was that jack-donkey’s benediction. Norman had always had an off-beat sense of humor, finding laughter in the oddest places. As we stood around the casket of our mother, during family visitation in the funeral home, I was quietly shedding a tear or two when he came up behind me and bumped me, knocking me off-balance. We both laughed and hugged. He would always find a way to lighten the mood.

In my mind’s eye, (if such a thing were possible) I could see his incorporeal form standing in that field, behind that donkey, just waiting for the time to be right: then, at the last minute, taking hold of that poor, unsuspecting animal’s tail and giving it a good twist.

Many years ago there was a children’s song titled, “Creature Praise,” that said “Let all creatures praise the Lord!” It would have been just like Norman to incite that donkey to “raise its voice in praise” at just the right moment, and to give his funeral a benediction we will never forget!

The donkey put a unique spin on the last church service of his life, even as Norman himself made a unique impression on all who knew him. In many ways, he was my role model in ministry, and I still miss him – especially when I hear a donkey’s bray...