Years ago, I attended a funeral that was sort of "new age." I really didn't mean to stay for the funeral. I had gone to the visitation and got caught talking to someone and stayed too late to quietly slip out.
I remember that there were maybe 15 people. The deceased was the father of a co-worker. I had never met him but had heard his daughter speak of him many times. We stood in a circle while certain people read famous poems and quotes and such.
Several people then shared happy memories of the man they had known. His daughter was the last person to share, and when she was through, she asked us to join hands and pray.
Of course, I reached for the hand on either side of me and then bowed my head. And then one of the people in the circle started praying… to the dead guy. Yes, that's right, they were praying (talking) to the dead man. I can't remember what they said, but a thought came to my mind so strongly, I was afraid I had blurted it out loud.
I don't pray to a dead guy. The guy I pray to is alive and has been from the beginning and will be until the end of time. Oh, he was dead for a few days, deader than a doornail. But on that third day, he rose and saved us all.
Yes, I pray to a guy that is more alive than any of us will ever be this side of heaven, and I'm so honored to do so.
|Photo by Cindy West McGregor|