Here's to Good
I went to a funeral on Thursday. My great aunt died at 82, Lella Beatrice Whitaker, to me and my generation, Aunt Bea. There were nearly 300 people at her funeral. I know because I counted them. I counted some sad and some smiling faces and the backs of faceless heads that sat in front of me, much like I used to count the tiles on the ceiling in that very same sanctuary years ago during Sunday sermons that seemed to last forever.
I have spent countless hours in the sanctuary of that little church in Buda, Texas, and I have never seen it so overflowing with people. There was standing room only. Extra chairs were placed at the end of each pew and people stood shoulder to shoulder at the back of the church. It was excellent.
I know that when people die, their loved ones tend to go to hyperbole. They tend to remember the good things because it’s easier that way. They probably tend to say what I am poised to say, but I am going to say it anyway, because I believe in this case it is literally true. My aunt was really different. She was really, well, GOOD.
She was a Christian woman in the old-fashioned sense of the word. She “lived for the Lord” in the most genuine capacity. She believed what she said and better, she lived as she believed. I never heard her utter a negative word about anyone. Never. I can remember her sitting at the kitchen table with my grandmother, her sister, who’d be rambling on about someone doing someone else wrong. My grandmother would freely vent, usually with good reason, and Aunt Bea would just listen, smile, and nod.
Then Aunt Bea would respond by talking about the opportunity the Lord was giving us all to practice patience. And she meant it. She wasn't preaching. She never condescended. I once witnessed this scenario when the person being discussed had wronged Aunt Bea herself, had “borrowed” money with no intention to pay it back. Aunt Bea held no ill will toward him. Yet, she wasn’t a pushover. She learned her lesson. In her mind, she had been given an opportunity to help and she had done right. And that had no impact on how her help had been received. It was all God’s will. That sincerity, that generosity, is amazing to me. Who can do that just once, much less consistently during an entire lifetime? Not many.
No, it doesn’t push me any closer to Christianity. But it pushes me to something. It pushes me to good, maybe if only for a tiny moment. I'm not saying I can actualize that. But it's a push in the right direction.
I have spent countless hours in the sanctuary of that little church in Buda, Texas, and I have never seen it so overflowing with people. There was standing room only. Extra chairs were placed at the end of each pew and people stood shoulder to shoulder at the back of the church. It was excellent.
I know that when people die, their loved ones tend to go to hyperbole. They tend to remember the good things because it’s easier that way. They probably tend to say what I am poised to say, but I am going to say it anyway, because I believe in this case it is literally true. My aunt was really different. She was really, well, GOOD.
She was a Christian woman in the old-fashioned sense of the word. She “lived for the Lord” in the most genuine capacity. She believed what she said and better, she lived as she believed. I never heard her utter a negative word about anyone. Never. I can remember her sitting at the kitchen table with my grandmother, her sister, who’d be rambling on about someone doing someone else wrong. My grandmother would freely vent, usually with good reason, and Aunt Bea would just listen, smile, and nod.
Then Aunt Bea would respond by talking about the opportunity the Lord was giving us all to practice patience. And she meant it. She wasn't preaching. She never condescended. I once witnessed this scenario when the person being discussed had wronged Aunt Bea herself, had “borrowed” money with no intention to pay it back. Aunt Bea held no ill will toward him. Yet, she wasn’t a pushover. She learned her lesson. In her mind, she had been given an opportunity to help and she had done right. And that had no impact on how her help had been received. It was all God’s will. That sincerity, that generosity, is amazing to me. Who can do that just once, much less consistently during an entire lifetime? Not many.
No, it doesn’t push me any closer to Christianity. But it pushes me to something. It pushes me to good, maybe if only for a tiny moment. I'm not saying I can actualize that. But it's a push in the right direction.
Comments
May she rest in peace, with light perpetual shining upon her.