A Deacon's First Funeral
> As a new deacon, I was asked by a funeral director to hold a graveside service for a homeless man, with no family or friends, who had died while traveling through the area. 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 were 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 long, but to hear me talk 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 feeling I had done my duty for the homeless man and that the crew would leave with a renewed sense of purpose and dedication, in spite of my tardiness.
> As I was opening the door and taking off my coat, I overheard one of the workers saying to another, "I have never seen anything like this before and I�ve been putting in septic tanks for twenty years."
