By Norris Burkes July 28 2024
According to the animatronic skull at Disneyland’s “Pirates of the Caribbean” ride,
“Dead men tell no tales.”
The saying didn’t prove so true some years ago when I received a phone call from the director of a funeral home in Stockton, Calif.
The director asked if I was available to conduct the funeral of a person unknown to me. Honestly, these were welcome requests in my early pastoring days as they supplemented my modest pay while demanding little from my emotional bank.
I told him I’d be happy to do it, so he launched into the background story of how a local man had visited the funeral home a few months prior to make advance preparation for his own funeral. The director was happy to oblige and helped the man make his plans, choose a casket and select the music.
“There would have been nothing odd in this man’s request,” the director said, his voice trailing. “Except for his modest prediction.”
“Don’t expect a crowd,” the lone man told him. “In fact, probably no one will be here at all.”
With that, the director approved the plan and accepted payment.
“Perhaps my visitor was only being modest with his attendance prediction,” the director said. “But no matter, we will provide what he paid for.”
I agreed and hung up the phone to write a short sermon outline tailored to what I expected to be a handful of mourners.
A few days later, the director greeted me inside the funeral chapel, handing me a business-size envelope containing an obituary and my honorarium. We took our seats in the front row and over background music speculated how one approached life’s end with the expectation that no one would attend your funeral.
At twenty-five minutes past the hour, I stood to signal the director I was done with our chit-chat. I thanked him and turned to walk toward the exit.
“Aren’t you going to preach your sermon?” he asked.
“Really?” I asked, waving my hand over the vacant pews.
“The man paid for a funeral. You and I agreed that he should get one.”
I nodded and took my spot before the empty chapel pews and preached a cookie-cutter sermon about God’s love for every man.
Later, back in my office, as I considered the deceased’s predicament. I began to see the similarities to the biblical parable from Matthew 25.
It’s a story Jesus told about a king who’d entrusted three servants to make investments on his behalf. Apparently, the king had a reputation for rewarding people by letting them keep their heads.
The first two servants did well. One doubled the king’s investment and the other increased it by half. Both were rewarded with their own kingdoms.
However, the focus of the parable is on the third man. Fearful of his king, this tightwad buried the treasure so as not to lose a cent.
When that servant offered the king only his original principal, the scripture implies that the king executed the man.
I won’t presume to say that this man whose funeral I performed was just like the scaredy cat in the parable. I won’t speculate, judge or even pretend to know his life.
Perhaps this fella simply outlived everyone he knew.
However, if you forced me to guess, I’d say I have to wonder if the no-show funeral meant that this guy never gave to anyone. Did he ever help out in a food kitchen?
Or I might say that the biblical servant and the guy who advanced planned his funeral were trying to live their lives dodging the risk of failure. They worked hard to avoid disappointing people by steering clear of meaningful relationships.
I’ve done many funerals since that day — some for saints and a few for scoundrels.
But this funeral has always reminded me that life is not without risks and those who seek to evade risk are often sentenced to a solitary existence. This is certainly not the way I want to live, and I’m convinced that it’s not the way God wants his investment returned.
Fun Fact: “Dead men tell no tales,” was first attributed to a 16th century English clergyman named Thomas Becon. Of course, it was easy for him to make that claim because his day was never interrupted by phone calls.
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