Will I be remembered

There is a quaint little church that sits along an old county road in our local community. It has been there my entire life. In fact, this little church was established in this same spot almost 200 years before I was born. I have attended services and family functions at this old church throughout my lifetime.

This church was founded in 1785. It has certainly stood the test of time. A local family was instrumental in bringing this church into being. Now, over 200 years later, this same family is still involved. The church continues to prosper.

I have strong ties to this church. Members of my own family have long since been a part of this historic location. Even today, my family continues to be very active in this congregation. It has always been a very special place to me. I’m thankful it is still going strong.

Last week, I attended a funeral that was held there. It was a memorial service for a very sweet lady. It was a very fitting service to say the least. It was filled with great meaning for many reasons. This lady’s ancestors were the ones who founded the church. She was born and raised only a short distance away.

She spent her formative years at this truly spectacular place. She went off to college, got married and spent her adult life in another part of the state. She always came back to visit though. She visited this church whenever possible. I think she had a connection, a bond with this church, the people and her family that time nor space could ever break apart.

I walked up those old steps into the sanctuary last Wednesday afternoon and settled into a pew. The pews were filled to almost overflowing. What a testament to her and the life she lived. As I sat there before the service, I was overwhelmed by a great peace. That sanctuary has always had a very calming effect on me. I think that peace is tied to the many people who have been a part of that church and to the Good Lord himself.

The preacher was leading the service and he had a responsive reading out of the Methodist hymnal. It was a lengthy reading, but it was quite profound. It spoke of life and of death. It was more than appropriate for a memorial service. It moved me to tears. I almost had to get up and go outside. I was overwhelmed with emotion.

I somehow managed to keep myself together as he read and the congregation responded. Only three months ago, I myself knocked on death’s door. I was not expected to live, but there I sat, on that old church pew, paying my respects to someone who had entered the gates of heaven. Those words about death had never carried so much weight, so much depth. So, to say that I was overwhelmed would be quite an understatement.

The eulogies were to be shared by a lifelong friend, a brother-in-law, a niece and a nephew. As each spoke it was so obvious the love they all had for that sweet lady. Each one told story after story of their respective time spent in the presence of such a beautiful soul. They all told of her utter goodness, her zest for life and how she never made disparaging remarks about others. It was beyond obvious that she had a life well lived. I really pondered that fact. I wondered in my own mind whether or not I had lived up to those standards. I have learned about the frailty of life and just how fast it can escape us.

It was without a doubt one of the most poignant services that I have ever attended. I was in pieces, as I sat there and continued to embrace the fact that I almost died. It was a very moving experience for me. I was filled with thankfulness for her and the life she lived. I was also filled with thankfulness that I had been given the opportunity for more life and the ability to take in that service was so meaningful to me.

I could have gotten up and left at that point – my heart was full – but there was more to come. A lady stood up from the front row of pews. She made her way up to that old pulpit in that historic church. She began to speak, and told us who she was and that she had been a caregiver for the lady who the service was being held for. She spoke fondly of the lady she had cared for. She had held her in high esteem and the remarks she made were of the highest accord.

After she finished speaking, she began to sing, acapella. I was stunned. There was not another sound in that sanctuary. The only sound that could be heard was her majestic voice. It was so pure, so powerful. I think the birds in the churchyard paused for her to be heard without interference. She sang a song that I had never heard. In all honesty, I cannot tell you the name of the song, but I can tell you that I will never forget her rendition of those beautiful words.

“Will I Be Remembered for the Work I’ve Done?” when those words came out of her mouth, I was unable to hold back the tears. Those big puppy-dog kind of tears began to stream down my face. It might very well be one of the most moving experiences I’ve ever had. The question remains: ‘Will I Be Remembered for the Work I’ve Done?’