Pastorsl Undertakings:

The FirstFunerals are never easy things, but are a necessary part of a preacher's work. My first one was not exactly a typical one. Just recently married, we were setting up housekeeping when a brother of mine appeared. Rather abruptly he asked, "Jake, can you preach a funeral?" I told him that I could, thinking I would have a day or two to prepare. "When is this to be?" I inquired.

"Just as soon as you can get down to Old Salem," he replied.Old Salem was a graveyard where long ago in 1818, my great, great grandfather had organized and built, as far as we know, the first Protestant church west of the Mississippi river in what was the Louisiana Territory and later to be the state of Missouri.

After hasty preparations, I grabbed my Bible and drove about fourteen miles to the burying grounds. There were the grave diggers and a few of the relatives of the deceased standing by an open grave. There was no undertaker present. The body had been brought from the adjoining county. A younger brother of mine and I sang a hymn, and I did my ministerial duty. The outline of that whole occasion is stamped on my memory, but the sermon outline, if there was one, is totally forgotten. After all, that was seventy years ago.

The Run-away Casket

Some years and many funerals later, I was called to go to a hospital in Leavenworth, Kansas where a young man was finishing his last night on earth. I had never met him before. The funeral was in an almost forgotten village in southwestern Missouri. Apparently the dreary church was the most forgotten part of the village. The floor was of plain splintery boards and everything else indicated disuse. My wife and I and her sister were to provide the music. So I had to make a few trips from the pulpit to the old piano for the singing. If this musical instrument had ever been tuned, it was not in recent years.

For the viewing, I stepped down and stood at the head of the casket. This was not only proper, but also fortunate, for the last two viewers, the father of the deceased and the father's brother were somewhat unsteady on their feet. They were roughly dressed and rough in appearance and evidently had been imbibing something stronger than coffee or tea. No doubt this was to fortify them for this solemn occasion. Approaching the casket, the father muttered, "I'm gonna' kiss him," and the uncle said that same thing. Having delivered themselves of this declaration, they leaned, or lurched against the casket which resolved to go somewhere else. By being positioned where I was I was able to check the runaway casket. If it had struck the low platform that served as a pulpit it would no doubt dumped its contents on the floor.

Of the hundreds of funerals I have been involved in, I will relate one more, and this of a very different ending. This service was in another state quite a distance from my place of residence and ministry. The deceased was a saintly old lady whom I had known for many years. Earlier she had been involved in missionary work mostly in the homeland, and for many years had, with another younger preacher lady, been involved in the pastoral work. Years prior to this, I had been the evangelist for eighteen days in a tent revival where these two ladies had been the musicians, singers and children's workers.

The deceased had no near family members except an elderly disabled sister who was unable to attend. So the chief mourner was this preacher lady who had so long been her co-laborer. This person was seated alone on the front seat. Off to my right was a group of about sixteen ministers. I was reading my scripture, "Our Savior Jesus Christ, who hath abolished death, and hath brought life and immortality to light through the gospel..."

To everyone's surprise, the chief mourner on the front seat let out a shout, and waving her handkerchief set of a chain reaction among that bunch of preachers. The speaker had to either join the pack or take a back seat in the glory storm. The air was electric with victory. A soldier of the cross had left a world of trouble and sorrow and had entered glory and everlasting rest.

The remainder of the service was easy. The audience was in sympathy with the proceedings. The only uneasy persons were the two Catholic undertakers. I think they glanced at the door a few times just to see if there was still a way to safety. They bravely stood their ground and did their duty.

On the way to the cemetery someone said, "I wonder what those Catholic undertakers thought." My reply was, "Who cares what they thought? They've got the rest of the day to figure it out."