During the pandemic, a family asked me to officiate their loved one’s funeral. I arrived twenty minutes early at Westview Cemetery, but a long line of cars already awaited the funeral procession. I nodded to the funeral home director, passed all of the guests, and parked behind the hearse.
At the appointed hour, I led the family and friends to the grave site. I parked down the road to make room for the family. After pulling on an overcoat and mask, I walked to the funeral tent with my Book of Worship.
A brass trio played jazzy spirituals as the crowd gathered. Then I saw a stranger dressed in a clergy robe who held a Bible. Huh. I didn’t recall any of these details in the funeral plans. Looking around, I also did not recognize a single soul.
I was about to officiate the wrong funeral.
Turning quickly on my heel, I hurried back to the truck and pondered my next move. Westview Cemetery contains 100,000+ gravesites scattered over 600 acres; and I had five minutes to find the right one.
I had never sped through a cemetery before, but I would have given a NASCAR pole winner a run for his money. After a frantic few minutes, I finally spied a likely crowd gathering around a freshly turned grave. I drifted around a final curve and came to a head-snapping stop.
I hurried to the graveside—only to discover the pastor co-officiating the service was running late. After a deep sigh of relief, I prepared to celebrate a life lived long and well.
All my life I’ve heard the saying, “You’ll be late for your own funeral.” Turns out the adage is true for officiants as well.