I would have written about this sooner, but I wasn't entirely sure what to think; therefore, I wasn't sure what to write.
I buried my grandfather almost two weeks ago. I mean that literally. His body was cremated and, when I arrived at the cemetery, his ashes were in a box next to his headstone. My uncle John, the oldest of my grandparents' three children, had already dug a hole. Children, grandchildren and great grandchildren gathered around my grandfather's grave to say goodbye.
I gave the eulogy. I shared fond memories of my grandfather, and spoke of the kind of man he was, and the impact he had on our lives. My grandfather was a noble, honorable man whom I desire to emulate.
My uncle John, who over the years has grown quite zealous in his Christian faith, told everyone after the eulogy that, three weeks before my grandfather died, he said the "sinner's prayer" and accepted Christ. I didn't know how to respond, so I just smiled and let my silence be the liar. No, I didn't share my uncle's joy. I don't know what awaits us beyond the veil, if anything. I certainly don't feel confident that saying a "sinner's prayer" guarantees a happy afterlife.
The difficult part for me is that my family still sees me as the minister. Delivering the eulogy only helped to perpetuate that perception they have of me, but I did it anyway because there were things that needed to be said of my grandfather, and I knew I'd be the only one who would think to say them. I said nothing of god, or heaven, or anything spiritual. I spoke only of the man. Nevertheless, my family knows me as the Lincoln Christian College graduate who felt the call of god and got ordained into Christian ministry.
Needless to say, they don't read my blog.
They knew about the email I sent out back in 2004 that said I didn't consider myself a Christian anymore, but such things are easily ignored, especially considering that after Steve died I relapsed for a while back into preacher mode. I don't talk about religion much with my family, and I certainly wasn't going to make any bold proclamations of agnosticism during my grandfather's funeral. So I stood there, smiling silently, waiting for the moment to pass.
My uncle John placed the box containing grandpa's ashes into the hole. Then we each took turns scooping a shovel full of dirt into the hole, starting with the children - John, my mom, and Ed, and then the grandchildren, starting with me. I served as facilitator of the shovel, passing it to each member of the family. At the end, I filled the hole with the remaining dirt, and my uncles placed the patch of grass back on top. This was our final goodbye to my grandfather, our patriarch.
Dead-Logic.com
Saying Goodbye to Our Patriarch
Saying Goodbye to Our Patriarch
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