But now I have to take my preaching shoes off. I had them
laced pretty tight. This afternoon I put on my son shoes. I drove around town
and took a look at the various places we lived and the places we used to go. I
drove back to the cemetery. I read my Dad’s name on the tombstone. I picked up
a handful of the barren clay under which my father’s body is buried. I crumbled
the clay in my hand until it soiled my fingers and palm. I am going to miss you
Dad. I am going to miss you bad. Son shoes are a lot harder to wear than
preaching shoes.
Monday, September 9, 2013
Preaching Shoes and Son Shoes
Today I preached my father’s funeral. I did it because he
requested that I do so. But I did it at my own insistence. If the task had to
be done then the task belonged to me. But in order to do this task I had to put
on my preaching shoes. So I put on my preaching shoes and laced them up real
tight. And for the past four days the responsibility of preaching my father’s
funeral has consumed me. Today I delivered the thoughts that had been burning
on my heart. I hope my words helped others. I found catharsis in the
experience.
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Thanks for this great post, Brent. Certainly with my reaction comes my prayer that God will be present, and that, even in the midst of such loss God sustains and encourages.
ReplyDeleteIt's a great reminder -- particularly for those of us in ministry -- that we all face this role as both minister of grace and recipient of the same. Lace away!