Chapter Eighteen
An hour and a half later, Jake found himself alone again. The funeral party had arrived at the cemetary for the interment of Uncle Bob and everyone was finding their places for the brief graveside ritual. Sam had driven Jake in the van for the processional from the funeral home, but had rejoined his fellow pallbearers at the hearse to prepare to remove the casket. Bobby, Diana, and other close family members were being shown to their velvet covered seats in the front row under the small awning that was stretched out over the freshly dug dirt. The pastor had arrived and was kneeling with Bobby and Diana to offer them some comforting words and a brief prayer in low hushed tones as the family filled in around them. Jake, as was his habit, hung back out of the way outside of the tent. He remained on the periphery of the group as more of an observer than a participant.
As hushed and quiet as it was, there was a lot to observe and Jake remained quiet and still and took in the scene. Vignettes. Snapshots. The family all huddled together in the small space waiting with sorrowful faces to pay their final respects. The pallbearers, led by Sam, moving in awkard and clipped precision steps to carry the casket lovingly from the hearse to it’s stand at the center of the tent. The funeral director moving efficiently and respectfully to drape flower arrangements over the coffin and to pluck and distribute roses from the arrangement to the ladies. And, unexpectedly for Jake, two strangers. A U.S. Air Force Honor Guard, dressed smartly in ceremonial dress blues, to render the thanks of a grateful nation for Uncle Bob’s service. Jake had forgotten that Uncle Bob had served, as had he, and was suddenly comforted to at last feel a connection to this day in the special bond of military service that they shared. Jake unconsciously moved over a few yards and fell in place behind the Honor Guard and naturally assumed a semi parade-rest stance. Comfortable now, he turned his attention to the pastor, who would shortly start begin the proceedings, and reflected on the beautiful funeral service that he had conducted earlier at the funeral home.
The funeral service at the home was touching and meaningful, carefully planned to the last detail in the months of failing health preceeding Uncle Bob’s passing. Pastor James had officiated, of course, but the service was planned by the family to honor Uncle Bob and to fulfill his last wishes. It was very traditional, at least as far as Jake understood tradition having been to very few of these himself, in all of the specifics. Rows of flower arrangements representing the family units lined both sides of the casket and gave an air of dignity to the moment. An unseen organist played a selection of vaguely familiar hymns that Jake tried to tune in to. He wanted to sing along to himself, to assign words to the familiar melodies, but the words eluded him. He wondered casually what the order of service would be and what the mood of the family would be. Jake wasn’t nervous, because he had no role to play other than respectful mourner. But he was uneasy, and did not quite know why.
Jake scanned around from his seat in the back to see how others were faring. Hushed sobs floated back from the immediate family in the front row. Some, in the rows behind them, were pensive and reflective as they spent a few moments in their own rememberance of Uncle Bob. Moments spent, hours shared. Others gazed at him in serene repose in his casket to assure themselves of the finality of the moment. Jake looked across the aisle to the pallbearers group and saw Sam, head bent and eyes closed, in silent prayer. And then he saw Pastor James nod to the family and then rise to begin the service. Today was a day, he instructed them, to both mourn a loss and to celebrate a life. With a gracious smile to them all he invited the family to celebrate with him the life of Robert L. Ford.
Celebrate?, Jake thought to himself. Again, he had not been to many funerals and he wasn’t accustomed to thinking of them as a celebration. Grief, yes. Sorrow, yes. Maybe even remorse. But not celebration. Was there much here to celebrate today? Jake had been thinking about Uncle Bob on the ride down. About the little that he knew of him and about the sum total of his life. Jake had judged him to not be a succesful man by the only standard that he knew how to judge a man - by his achievements. He was a good man, very probably. And a family man, assuredly. A man who had weathered a hard life, especially in his last years. But a successful man? Not judging by his achievements, Jake thought. That’s sad, but true. But as he looked around the small room again, at the nodding heads of family members responding to a call to celebration, he began to wonder if maybe others used a different yardstick.
Pastor James set the tone for the celebration with a few short scripture readings about the celebration that awaited in heaven for a faithful servant of the Lord. About the streets of gold and the heavenly choirs of angels and the singing and praise that Uncle Bob would no doubt be participating in today. A congregational hymn was sung to affirm the celebration. And then came the eulogies.
Jake was surprised to see cousin Bobby rise to offer the first remarks, in praise of his dad. Jake was astounded by his strength of will as Bobby struggled through a heartfelt description of his father as a family man and as a mentor to him as a young man and then as a father in his own right. Jake knew Bobby to be a successful businessman himself, and was moved by Bobby’s tearful celebration of a father who’s stature he could never equal. Diana followed, rising with an eerie inner strength to paint an eloquent portayal of her father as a hero in her eyes. Her father, she explained, was in fact a man from modest circumstances. A man who had many reasons to be defeated by life. But he was not. He was a self-made man who loved learning and loved teaching and loved life. And he had taught his children, her and her brother, to love those things as well. And they were his legacy.
Jake had time to reflect on their words as Bobby and Diana left the podium to the strains of one of Uncle Bob’s favorite hymns being played by the unseen organist. Sam rose and hugged Diana and smiled at her to echo the celebration back to her. He helped Diana to her seat and then retook his own. Jake took a moment to look at Uncle Bob in his casket, that frail man rendered almost unrecognizable by the toll of the last year. You did good, Uncle Bob, to have raised two good kids with the kind of strength it took to stand here before us and do what they just did. You did good.
Pastor James took his place behind the podium to begin his remarks. Smiling at Bobby, the pastor reaffirmed that Uncle Bob was indeed a good father who loved family and who had indeed touched the lives of all of the family members gathered here today. Smiling at Diana, he reaffirmed that Uncle Bob was indeed a man who had embraced that challenges that he faced in life and pursued learning and teaching with an unordinary zeal in spite of them. He laughed as he recounted some stories of how Uncle Bob, who was in his congregation, would challenge his new pastor with some new thoughts from his studies with materials seemingly beyond his scope and means. But Uncle Bob had found ways to reach outside himself and his circumstances and, in doing so, was an inspiration for those who knew him. All of those things were true, Pastor James recounted. All true. And all of it could be summarized with one word: character. Uncle Bob was a man of character, as measured against the lives that he touched and as measured against scripture in a passage from the first chapter of the 1st Peter:
Eloquently, Pastor James spoke of his worthiness in each quality that the passage singled out. Uncle Bob was indeed a man of faith, from his conversion following the war until his death. He was a man who cherished goodness and evidenced in even the mundane comings and goings of his life. Certainly, he was a man who loved knowledge and was a life long learner and teacher. He was a man of self-control, not given to impulse or excess. His long struggle with life’s circumstances and with the disease that finally felled him testified to his perseverance. His fellow congregants, and the pastor himself, could vouch for his godliness and those that he helped through sacrificial service to the church could say as much for his brotherly kindness. And finally, his family represented by those gathered here today and by his children could attest that he was a man guided by love for them. To summarize, Pastor James concluded, Uncle Bob who was lying before them had finished his journey judged by scripture to be a man of character.
Character.
Jake continued his reflection even as Pastor James began the graveside service. Character.
It wasn’t a word that he had heard in use lately. It certainly wasn’t a measure that he had applied to himself. Achievement, that was his watchword. Uneasily he asked himself the question that had been circling in his mind since they had left the funeral home. How would he measure up against that standard? It was easy, he thought to apply it to others. Pastor James was evidently a man of character, as were most of the clergy that Jake had ever met. His father, Edward, had been a man of character before his death. Looking across the tent at Sam, standing serenely with the family, he could easily judge him to be that as well. But what about Jake?, he thought. That’s the question. How would people judge Jake? For that matter, how would Jake judge Jake?
Before he could answer that question to himself, Jake’s reverie was interrupted by a sudden movement in front of him. The Honor Guard had begun to move forward to execute their part in the service. Precisely, and in unison, they began the methodical ritual of removing the flag from Sgt Ford’s casket. In hushed cadence the airmen folded the flag into a triangle and neatly tucked in the ends. And with reverence, they knelt before Bobby and Diana to offer them the flag and the thanks of their country.
Jake stood in stillness as he observed the ritual, unconsciously at attention from the muscle memory of military training. The airmen returned to their position in front of him and saluted as the haunting strains of Taps rang out. Jake stood very still as he listened, not uttering a sound, and felt tears falling unbidden down his cheeks as he had a sudden realization – an epiphany. That will be me some day. My family gathered. Taps playing. An Honor Guard standing watch. Will I deserve that?And as quickly as that realization passed, Jake understood the reason for his unease all day. He was unexpectedly confronted with two facts. Facts that even he could understand. First, that he was mortal. And second, that as a man measured my scripture and not by achievement, Jake Dunbar was an upside down man.
As hushed and quiet as it was, there was a lot to observe and Jake remained quiet and still and took in the scene. Vignettes. Snapshots. The family all huddled together in the small space waiting with sorrowful faces to pay their final respects. The pallbearers, led by Sam, moving in awkard and clipped precision steps to carry the casket lovingly from the hearse to it’s stand at the center of the tent. The funeral director moving efficiently and respectfully to drape flower arrangements over the coffin and to pluck and distribute roses from the arrangement to the ladies. And, unexpectedly for Jake, two strangers. A U.S. Air Force Honor Guard, dressed smartly in ceremonial dress blues, to render the thanks of a grateful nation for Uncle Bob’s service. Jake had forgotten that Uncle Bob had served, as had he, and was suddenly comforted to at last feel a connection to this day in the special bond of military service that they shared. Jake unconsciously moved over a few yards and fell in place behind the Honor Guard and naturally assumed a semi parade-rest stance. Comfortable now, he turned his attention to the pastor, who would shortly start begin the proceedings, and reflected on the beautiful funeral service that he had conducted earlier at the funeral home.
The funeral service at the home was touching and meaningful, carefully planned to the last detail in the months of failing health preceeding Uncle Bob’s passing. Pastor James had officiated, of course, but the service was planned by the family to honor Uncle Bob and to fulfill his last wishes. It was very traditional, at least as far as Jake understood tradition having been to very few of these himself, in all of the specifics. Rows of flower arrangements representing the family units lined both sides of the casket and gave an air of dignity to the moment. An unseen organist played a selection of vaguely familiar hymns that Jake tried to tune in to. He wanted to sing along to himself, to assign words to the familiar melodies, but the words eluded him. He wondered casually what the order of service would be and what the mood of the family would be. Jake wasn’t nervous, because he had no role to play other than respectful mourner. But he was uneasy, and did not quite know why.
Jake scanned around from his seat in the back to see how others were faring. Hushed sobs floated back from the immediate family in the front row. Some, in the rows behind them, were pensive and reflective as they spent a few moments in their own rememberance of Uncle Bob. Moments spent, hours shared. Others gazed at him in serene repose in his casket to assure themselves of the finality of the moment. Jake looked across the aisle to the pallbearers group and saw Sam, head bent and eyes closed, in silent prayer. And then he saw Pastor James nod to the family and then rise to begin the service. Today was a day, he instructed them, to both mourn a loss and to celebrate a life. With a gracious smile to them all he invited the family to celebrate with him the life of Robert L. Ford.
Celebrate?, Jake thought to himself. Again, he had not been to many funerals and he wasn’t accustomed to thinking of them as a celebration. Grief, yes. Sorrow, yes. Maybe even remorse. But not celebration. Was there much here to celebrate today? Jake had been thinking about Uncle Bob on the ride down. About the little that he knew of him and about the sum total of his life. Jake had judged him to not be a succesful man by the only standard that he knew how to judge a man - by his achievements. He was a good man, very probably. And a family man, assuredly. A man who had weathered a hard life, especially in his last years. But a successful man? Not judging by his achievements, Jake thought. That’s sad, but true. But as he looked around the small room again, at the nodding heads of family members responding to a call to celebration, he began to wonder if maybe others used a different yardstick.
Pastor James set the tone for the celebration with a few short scripture readings about the celebration that awaited in heaven for a faithful servant of the Lord. About the streets of gold and the heavenly choirs of angels and the singing and praise that Uncle Bob would no doubt be participating in today. A congregational hymn was sung to affirm the celebration. And then came the eulogies.
Jake was surprised to see cousin Bobby rise to offer the first remarks, in praise of his dad. Jake was astounded by his strength of will as Bobby struggled through a heartfelt description of his father as a family man and as a mentor to him as a young man and then as a father in his own right. Jake knew Bobby to be a successful businessman himself, and was moved by Bobby’s tearful celebration of a father who’s stature he could never equal. Diana followed, rising with an eerie inner strength to paint an eloquent portayal of her father as a hero in her eyes. Her father, she explained, was in fact a man from modest circumstances. A man who had many reasons to be defeated by life. But he was not. He was a self-made man who loved learning and loved teaching and loved life. And he had taught his children, her and her brother, to love those things as well. And they were his legacy.
Jake had time to reflect on their words as Bobby and Diana left the podium to the strains of one of Uncle Bob’s favorite hymns being played by the unseen organist. Sam rose and hugged Diana and smiled at her to echo the celebration back to her. He helped Diana to her seat and then retook his own. Jake took a moment to look at Uncle Bob in his casket, that frail man rendered almost unrecognizable by the toll of the last year. You did good, Uncle Bob, to have raised two good kids with the kind of strength it took to stand here before us and do what they just did. You did good.
Pastor James took his place behind the podium to begin his remarks. Smiling at Bobby, the pastor reaffirmed that Uncle Bob was indeed a good father who loved family and who had indeed touched the lives of all of the family members gathered here today. Smiling at Diana, he reaffirmed that Uncle Bob was indeed a man who had embraced that challenges that he faced in life and pursued learning and teaching with an unordinary zeal in spite of them. He laughed as he recounted some stories of how Uncle Bob, who was in his congregation, would challenge his new pastor with some new thoughts from his studies with materials seemingly beyond his scope and means. But Uncle Bob had found ways to reach outside himself and his circumstances and, in doing so, was an inspiration for those who knew him. All of those things were true, Pastor James recounted. All true. And all of it could be summarized with one word: character. Uncle Bob was a man of character, as measured against the lives that he touched and as measured against scripture in a passage from the first chapter of the 1st Peter:
“For this very reason, make every effort to add to your faith goodness; and to goodness, knowledge; and to knowledge, self-control, and to self-control, perseverance; and to perseverance, godliness; and to godliness, brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness, love. For if you possess these qualities in increasing measure, they will keep you from being ineffective and unproductive in your knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ. But if anyone does not have them, he is nearsighted and blind and has forgotten that he has been cleansed from his past sins.”
Eloquently, Pastor James spoke of his worthiness in each quality that the passage singled out. Uncle Bob was indeed a man of faith, from his conversion following the war until his death. He was a man who cherished goodness and evidenced in even the mundane comings and goings of his life. Certainly, he was a man who loved knowledge and was a life long learner and teacher. He was a man of self-control, not given to impulse or excess. His long struggle with life’s circumstances and with the disease that finally felled him testified to his perseverance. His fellow congregants, and the pastor himself, could vouch for his godliness and those that he helped through sacrificial service to the church could say as much for his brotherly kindness. And finally, his family represented by those gathered here today and by his children could attest that he was a man guided by love for them. To summarize, Pastor James concluded, Uncle Bob who was lying before them had finished his journey judged by scripture to be a man of character.
Character.
Jake continued his reflection even as Pastor James began the graveside service. Character.
It wasn’t a word that he had heard in use lately. It certainly wasn’t a measure that he had applied to himself. Achievement, that was his watchword. Uneasily he asked himself the question that had been circling in his mind since they had left the funeral home. How would he measure up against that standard? It was easy, he thought to apply it to others. Pastor James was evidently a man of character, as were most of the clergy that Jake had ever met. His father, Edward, had been a man of character before his death. Looking across the tent at Sam, standing serenely with the family, he could easily judge him to be that as well. But what about Jake?, he thought. That’s the question. How would people judge Jake? For that matter, how would Jake judge Jake?
Before he could answer that question to himself, Jake’s reverie was interrupted by a sudden movement in front of him. The Honor Guard had begun to move forward to execute their part in the service. Precisely, and in unison, they began the methodical ritual of removing the flag from Sgt Ford’s casket. In hushed cadence the airmen folded the flag into a triangle and neatly tucked in the ends. And with reverence, they knelt before Bobby and Diana to offer them the flag and the thanks of their country.
Jake stood in stillness as he observed the ritual, unconsciously at attention from the muscle memory of military training. The airmen returned to their position in front of him and saluted as the haunting strains of Taps rang out. Jake stood very still as he listened, not uttering a sound, and felt tears falling unbidden down his cheeks as he had a sudden realization – an epiphany. That will be me some day. My family gathered. Taps playing. An Honor Guard standing watch. Will I deserve that?And as quickly as that realization passed, Jake understood the reason for his unease all day. He was unexpectedly confronted with two facts. Facts that even he could understand. First, that he was mortal. And second, that as a man measured my scripture and not by achievement, Jake Dunbar was an upside down man.
posted by Randy Masters at 8:25 PM
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