The mournful sound of “Taps” echoed slowly across the gently rolling hills of the cemetery one county over from our church. One of our members, a veteran of the United States Air Force, was being laid to rest. I stood in reverential awe through it all; the 21-gun salute, the folding and presentation of the flag. It was all so well befitting of one who served in honor.
But death still took him; death is no respecter of honor.
The next morning was Sunday, and for one of less than a dozen times in more than 22 years, I would not be in my own church for morning worship. I was driving exactly 100 miles to get to another church where the funeral of a dear pastor friend’s wife would be held.
The church was packed. Metal folding chairs were being placed down every aisle beside the pews. Six other pastors had done as I and were in attendance. The service was lovely and lighthearted; though there were tears, there was also a great deal of joy. This sweet lady had been the faithful spouse of her husband for 55 years and had served selflessly beside him in that church for 45 years. One person after another stood to give testimony of how her service had benefited them along the way.
But death still took her; death is no respecter of service.