Last evening, Eyegal and I stood in the receiving line of a local funeral parlor to pay our respects to the family of a man who suddenly died this past weekend. He was a great-grandfather, full of years, and a pillar to his family and community.<\/p>\n
We arrived a couple of minutes before the visitation was to start and the receiving line already wound its way through the chapel and stretched out the door into the lobby, snaking its way through the narrow hallway past several other viewing rooms, the water fountain and the bathrooms, all the way to the casket display area.<\/p>\n
Apparently, in the Deep South, “fashionably late” does not apply to funeral home visitations.<\/p>\n
We waited well over an hour in line before we met with the family, and while it was a little hard on the feet and lower back, it really didn’t seem much of a burden at all since we and everyone else there were so busy visiting with each other. All the people who you’ve “been meaning to call and check up on” or “have lunch with soon” were there. The majority of folks there had some connection with one of two large Churches of Christ in town. In fact, many of them had gone to church with each other until 1979 when the church split over a “Crossroads” controversy or some such.<\/p>\n
But as we’ve noticed over the years, the people from these two churches, regardless of whatever feelings they may have over all that spilled milk, always set their differences aside when someone dies and have themselves a regular party.<\/p>\n
This is odd, of course, but strangely comforting. It did make me wonder how well all of us might get along if we actually made an effort to get together in some other venue besides a funeral home.<\/p>\n
The Rite of the Funeral Parlor–it brings ’em together when nothing else can.\n<\/p>\n
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