As a young minister, I was asked by a funeral director to hold a
grave-side service for a homeless man, with no family or friends.
The funeral was to be held at a cemetery way back in the country, and
this man would be the first to be laid to rest there. As I was not
familiar with the backwoods area, I became lost; and being a typical
man did not stop for directions. I finally arrived an hour late. I saw
the backhoe and the crew, who was eating lunch, but the hearse was
nowhere in sight.
I apologized to the workers for my tardiness, and stepped to the
side of the open grave, where I saw the vault lid already in place. I
assured the workers I would not hold them up for long, but this was
the
proper thing to do. The workers gathered around, still eating their
lunch.
I poured out my heart and soul.
As I preached the workers began to say "Amen," "Praise the Lord,"
and "Glory"! I preached, and I preached, like I'd never preached
before from Genesis all the way to Revelations.
I closed the lengthy service with a prayer and walked to my car.
As I was opening the door and taking off my coat, I overheard one of
the workers saying to another, "I ain't ever seen anything like that
before and I've been putting in septic tanks for twenty years."
