Her funeral was on a sunny Spring day several years ago. My mom’s sister Jewell had struggled with cancer and finally succumbed. She was in her 80s, so no one could say it came as a surprise. But what did startle us was just how spry she’d become post mortem.
Before I go any further, I promise you – this is a TRUE story…
When Jewell passed I wasn’t yet a senior pastor, so her’s would be the first funeral I actually led. So I felt a bit off-balance as I walked into the Spry Funeral Home (ironic name considering the residents there). I feigned confidence as I greeted friends and family who’d come to pay their respects.
As I worked the room, I was still editing my sermon mentally. There were part so Aunt Jewell’s life that my mother saw as an embarrassment.
Mom considered her sister Jewell a bit of a wild woman. In a family full of good little Southern Baptists, she was the sole heretic Methodist. She’d sadly strayed from the true faith years ago, and tales of her exploits swept through our house over the years. I remember my little blond-haired momma speaking in hushed tones of Jewell’s wicked nights going dancing at the local Methodist church.
“Whuh…whuh…David? (Mom made these whooping sounds when leading up to something astounding)
“Jewell’s out almost every Friday night now, dancing at that Methodist church with men she hardly even knows. I’m glad your granddaddy’s not still alive to see it!”
Yes, sweet death is a welcomed comfort compared to watching your children descend into wanton Wesleyan “jitterbuggery”.
Through the years, those dances became her “fishing pond” for new husbands. As soon as one wore out, she’d snatch up another within the year. This spree of serial-marriages lasted until she could no longer dance. When she finally passed, she’d married and out-lived three men, and was already working toward her fourth. No telling how many of them she might have nabbed if the clock hadn’t run out on her.
Now her dancing shoes were finally still inside the open casket at the Spry Funeral Home in Huntsville, Alabama. Cancer had finally done what her Baptist upbringing couldn’t, and Aunt Jewell had gone on to the “last dance” in the great beyond. As my mom stared in the coffin, she remarked, “She just doesn’t look like herself anymore”.
“Well, mom, that’s what extended illness does to people,” I responded, still trying to keep my mind on my eulogy. I wasn’t about to get distracted, and this was going to be the best eulogy ever delivered by a Baptist nephew for a prodigal Methodist aunt. No time for one last look at Jewell. “She’s not going anywhere,” I glibly joked to myself.
I began my sermon and quickly disintegrated into a sweaty, nervous mess. When I finished, I’d probably preached the lousiest sermon that pulpit had ever heard. I can hardly remember anything much about what I said, which is probably just as well. I only hope I managed to say her name correctly and didn’t offer up prayers to Buddha or Mohammed.
Trust me, you lose major points for getting Jesus’ name wrong, even with a Methodist.
After the funeral, we made the long trek to the cemetery. Another short service at the grave, and finally Aunt Jewell’s remains are lowered into the ground. We all go back to the house for a late lunch.
Some time passes and now it’s late afternoon. I look out the window and notice a Spry funeral van has pulled up in front of my parent’s house. A chubby little bald man hops out and carries some of the flower arrangements with him to the front door.
“Wow,” I say to my parents, “this funeral home really gives terrific service. They even bring the flowers straight to your home!”
We invite the gentleman in, who’s very polite but sweating at an alarming rate. He quickly asks if he could speak to mom and dad in private. All three step into the kitchen and shut the door.
Less than a minute later, I hear my mother’s whooping alarm go off again.
“Whuh…whuh…whuh…what do ya mean it wasn’t her body?!?!”
That’s when we realized that Aunt Jewell wasn’t done dancing yet.
The reason Aunt Jewell didn’t look like herself wasn’t that her body was showing the ravages of the cancer she’d fought for over a year. No, it was something much more unexpected than that…
The funeral home had put the wrong little old lady in Aunt Jewell’s coffin. No big deal, right?
As the little funeral director drove away, I thought to myself, “Who’d have thought my Aunt Jewell would pull off only the second resurrection in 2000 years!”
As chance would have it, earlier that afternoon another family dropped by the funeral home to view the body of another little old lady. As soon as they saw her decked out in the dress they’d carefully picked out, they’d immediately shrieked (in southern drawls dripping with molasses), “That’s not Momma! What have you done with our Momma? And who’s that wearing Momma’s dress?!?!”
Yes, believe it or not, Aunt Jewell had once again proven light on her feet. Not only had she tripped the light fantastic at those Methodist dances, she’d now managed to skip out on her very own funeral and spend one more afternoon above sea level!
In the aftermath, mom remarked, “At the funeral home, I was wondering what had happened to Jewell’s favorite ring. I just figured it had been lost. And people never look much like themselves at their funerals…although she did seem a lot shorter than I’d remembered.”
I was pretty proud of how my mom took the news. Even though the other family had a wholesale meltdown and went to the press the next day, my parents took it all in stride. After all, good Baptists know that was only Jewell’s body that went awol. The real Aunt Jewell had two-stepped her way into the presence of Jesus several days earlier.
At least, that’s what we all say we believe. We say, “They’re in a better place” but make such a fuss about their remains you start to wonder if we truly believe in an afterlife. Maybe that’s why Jesus took pains to remind us He wouldn’t leave us on this earth…
In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. – John 14:2
“If it were not so, I would have told you.” No, He wouldn’t play around with something that important. So that means I can dance through this life with confidence He’s gonna waltz me right into the next world. And it won’t matter whose dress my corpse is wearing (although I do hope they recognize me enough not to put me in a dress).
Whenever I perform a funeral now, I’m thankful for the confidence I saw in my mom and dad that day. How awesome is it that we can face the worst this world has to offer – death itself – and see it as only a minor inconvenience on the way to a glorious eternity. The same event that devastated another family became our source of laughter for years to come.
Why? Because we didn’t take death seriously. Jesus knocked the teeth out of that monster 2000 years ago. He took the worst it had to offer and came right back to life again. Best of all, He made a laughing stock of the greatest bully of all time.
So here’s to Easter, Aunt Jewell, and any loved ones you’ve lost along the way. Easter Sunday is our reminder death has been defeated and the grave is eternity’s biggest April Fools joke.
And with all due respect to mom, I hope I go out just like Aunt Jewell. I want to spend the rest of my days joyfully kicking up my heels. And I won’t be surprised if I get to heaven and discover Aunt Jewell teaching everyone there the Macarena too.
Well, at least all the Methodists.
