Too Many Funerals

Yesterday I attended the second funeral in five days. It was the funeral of David M. Miller, the last surviving member of my grandparents' generation. He was my Grandfather Miller's brother, and died at the age of 92. His own father lived to be 96. Other people called my great grandfather Davy Dawdy. When we said Davy, we were talking about my great uncle. Dad always called him Uncle Davy.

Great uncle David was named for his father, David J. My father, David L. was named for the same man, his grandfather.

David M.'s next-to-youngest son, Ellis, was my classmate all the way through grade and high school. He was my age, but my father's first cousin. He is now the principal of the public grade school in Partridge. The youngest son, Nathan, attended Sterling College at the same time I did, and we used to carpool together with my sister Carol. He was a close friend to my brother Myron and preached at his wedding.

One of the interesting things I learned at his funeral was that David was in the lot for five different ordinations, but was never ordained. His father was a deacon. His father-in-law, Peter Wagler, was a deacon in the Amish church in this community. His brothers-in-law, Willie Wagler and Mahlon Wagler served in our church, but David and his wife Laura were charter members of the Plainview Conservative Mennonite Church established just before 1950. Only one other charter member remains.

David left his mark on the community in many good ways. He was a school board member during the founding of Elreka school, the grade school everyone in my family attended. Later, he served on the board after consolidation with other schools into a larger district. And then one final time, when part of the consolidated district transferred into the Haven district, he served on that board. He was also on the founding board when Mennonite Manor was built.

Two of David's sons, Harold and Nathan, have served for extended terms as directors for Rosedale Mennonite Missions. Another son, Kenneth, worked as a teacher under Northern Light Gospel Missions for a number of years and now is a local pastor. The other son, Norman, is a chiropractor in Indiana.

Among his grandchildren are two who could not come for the funeral. One is in Tibet and the other in Afghanistan. Neither one is associated with the military. Another grandson, Jeremy, preached at the funeral.

David was known for his wise counsel. His children remember many phone calls from their bishop seeking his advice. His speech was deliberate, and, even in his final days at the nursing home, laced with wit. His nickname there was "Ornery." Yet he was a master of understatement, and often provoked laughter as much by what he left unsaid as by what he said.

At the funeral, Nathan told how his father, at the age of 84, stood with other family members at the top of Pike's Peak and, as they were enjoying the view together, he said something like this:
"Wow! From here you can see . . . .quite a ways."

As Nathan said, "He was on the brink of making a bold declarative statement, but pulled himself back from the precipice just in time."

Nathan also described how his father would proceed when one of his sons needed a spanking. He took the offender to the garage (usually Norman, according to Nathan) and sat on a three legged stool among the wrenches, bench grinder, and other tools, and explained why the offense was serious. Then he said that he was responsible to punish wrongdoing, and that God would punish him if he was not faithful in his responsibility. After the spanking, he and his son prayed together, for forgiveness, and to ask for help to do better.

On one memorable occasion, the family dog had not been locked out of the garage during one of these punishment sessions. His protective instincts kicked in and he took up the cause of the child being punished by sinking his teeth into David's leg, drawing blood through the fabric of his denim overalls. That time David gave two spankings--one to the boy and one to the dog.

One of David's age mates, John Mast, is a retired bishop in the Amish church David and Laura left nearly 60 years ago. The fact that John and David remained good friends through all the intervening years is a testimony to the grace with which both of them lived their lives.

Solomon said it is better to go into the house of mourning than the house of feasting. I do not particularly enjoy going to funerals. Yet I understand something of Solomon's sentiments. Being able to join in the thoughtful celebration of a life well lived, while reflecting on the sober realities that affect all of us, really is better than having spent the day in feasting, with its accompaniment of merriment and heedlessness.

Tomorrow I plan to attend yet another funeral. Myron is to be a pall bearer at this funeral for our retired farmer neighbor, who was Myron's employer for many years. He was a member of the church in Partridge, but was never overtly religious. I know this funeral will be different. I'll soon find out how different. The pastor who will conduct this funeral sat in the row in front of me at David's funeral. I wonder what he was thinking.

The public life of the neighbor and David were parallel in some ways--both good farmers and neighbors and public servants. But I suspect their private lives were very different. I think only David led his family in worship every morning and read his Bible every evening and then knelt beside his bed to pray, and only David disciplined his children with a keen awareness of his responsibility before God to do so.

My neighbor was a veteran and will be buried with military honors. I don't begrudge my neighbor's family any honor their father receives. I know their pain at parting is real, and I pray for their comfort.

What I will do further is try to be thoughtful--as three funerals in seven days ought to prompt me to be. I haven't decided yet whether I will attend the funeral of another neighbor and friend on Friday. That would be four funerals in eight days. I'm not sure I'm capable of being quite that thoughtful.