making God real

There were really not that many folk along at the funeral service this morning.

Once, at such a service, there were none. Just the undertaker and myself.

I found that really sad. Because I knew the man myself: I'd seen him from time to time, been round to his flat. That sort of thing.

And it seemed to be at the end that I was perhaps the only friend he had in the whole wide world. Apart from his dog.

Today wasn't quite like that. A brother and sister were there, along with a couple of 'wider' family members and a number of faithful neighbours who had tried to be of help to him throughout his latter years.

But still, not many. And not a dog. I couldn't help but feel a little tinge of sadness once again.

Not that I'd ever met this man myself, I have to say.

I think it was the contrast with the service there on Friday when there were hundreds and hundreds present. Spilling out into the car park.

Two very different men. Two very different lives. Two very different stories.

What explains these different stories? It's hard to say. The talk on the street about the man whose funeral was today was that he simply fell out with everyone.

Maybe he did. It's not for me to say. But even then, it's worth my asking why.

And I wonder if it all was really traceable back to the day his wife had died. She was a lovely woman by all accounts: and I think she must have meant the world to him. But she died very young.

How does that affect a man? It's hard to say. But I think that he maybe struggled after that with the void her death had caused. And maybe the way he was with folk was simply expressing his grief.

Who knows?

Well, that's why we always entrust someone to God. He knows. He knows the full story, as we can never know. And he understands with a care and compassion we never could match ourselves.

After the service one of the undertakers quietly approached and whispered in my ear - 'You're going to be a busy man!'

I wasn't entirely clear about what he meant. I wondered if I'd done something wrong. But he then went on to explain - 'They thought it so good, they all want you to take their funerals too!'

Well, OK. But not all together, please!

Sometimes little unexpected comments such as that are just what a guy needs.

A day like today leaves me drained and sometimes down. The grief and the heartache, the loneliness, sorrow and pains. I feel them all acutely.

The rest of the day was all about seeing folk. I think I maybe needed that.

My sister (who is up from Wales) and a friend of hers, along with the friend's mother. Some folk from a missionary body who meet here a morning a month.

And the folk who've been sorting my mother's flat. I was over attending to them.

I was also aross at the hospital, trying to call on a lady there. But they couldn't track the lady's name at all. Anywhere. She's maybe now back home.

A bit like the efforts a shepherd makes when he looks for the sheep that is lost. Some fruitless trips down different paths until the sheep is found.

Shepherds have frustrations too. I'll get to her eventually, I guess.

In fact, I'd hoped I might have called on her at home tonight. After the meeting up town I had to attend.

But the meeting went on from before 7 o'clock 'til nearly a quarter to ten. By which time I figured the lady might well be beginning to head for her bed. I'll need to wait for another day!

So another day draws to its close. One less that I'll get to live.

And I ask myself often, just what do I do with my days? Is this how I want to be filling them all?

Do I do what I do just to earn a crust? Or, in truth, to be honouring God? It's sometimes hard to say.

I want to make God real for folk. I want to help them see that Jesus is for real. I want to help them live the life we're made and meant to know. I want to make the world a better place by being here.

And none of us really gets that long to do all that!