Paying Respects

Funeral entourages don't happen very often these days. The long, slow stream of cars, headlights beaming following the hearse to the cemetery has nearly become a thing of the past as fewer and fewer people seem to opt for caskets and vaults and graves as final resting places for their mortal remains. During my entire time at Trinity, I think I've only ridden in three or four processions. Previous to today, the funeral director was charged with "traffic control" -- which amounted to hapless attempts at darting in and around the rest of the folks on the roadways without causing an accident, or in any way slowing the pace of everyone not in the procession.

I asked one director a few years ago, "Don't people stop when a procession comes by, out of respect for the dead?" He simply laughed at me. Then he said, "I think people don't want to stop, because they don't want to spend even a minute or two of being reminded that, sooner or later, they're going to die." I also asked about police escorts for processions. He patiently explained the number of municipalities in our county and the costs associated with such extravagances. I simply reminded myself, "You're not in the South anymore, Gary." And let it slide.

Then today happened. Today I was in a funeral procession like none in my years of officiating at funerals. At least a half a dozen (but I think several more!) of our city's police department turned out -- squad cars spit and polished, lights flashing and when necessary, sirens blaring. And bringing up the rear? One of the city's Engine Companies, loaded with firefighters.The official vehicles blazed a trail -- parting traffic like Moses parted the Red Sea.

We ignored stop lights.
We took our time.
We "owned" the road.
People had to wait.

I also noticed something else. Vehicles in the oncoming lanes moved to the edge of the road and stopped until we had passed. I even saw a few people cross themselves. I saw some road maintenance people remove their hats. I saw a couple of spontaneous salutes. Paying their respects. Pausing in the busyness of life to reflect on the brevity of life and reverencing the dead.

I'm sure some people who saw this sight probably thought all of the commotion must have been for some politician or "famous" person. Certainly, Pete had the nickname, "Mayor of Wauwatosa", and he was more-than-famous to his family, his friends and the public servants (police officers and firefighters) he welcomed day in and day out for decades into his bicycle shop. Pete was a guy who served his country (WWII), raised his family, ran his business, enjoyed a good meal and a good brew. He was a good neighbor. He was a person who embodied hospitality and humor.

And the friends he made through his life would not have Pete's final trip be interrupted by the likes of traffic lights and impatient drivers. So they did what Pete would have, undoubtedly, NOT wanted. They made folks wait. They saw to it that respect was paid -- by paying their own respects in a caring, solemn and professional fashion.

Pete was laid to rest with the prayers of the Church. The sounds of "Taps" and the flapping of the Flag as it was folded, wafted through the air. His family and friends huddled in the almost-spring breeze. His officer friends stood at attention in a final salute. Paying respects.

Being in Pete's processional today,
The day before Ash Wednesday, makes me wonder.
If we took more time to respect the dead,
How would we more fully reverence the living,
Since we are all, after all, created in the image of God?
"Remember, you are dust, and to dust you shall return."