Church on The Rock Homer

When I think about my own funeral, I imagine it would go something like this: I'd like to be cremated and have my ashes kept in one of my five-gallon buckets. As attendees walk through the door, everyone gets a Bowersox Tile t-shirt. My wife has already told me that she will likely not attend.  I believe this is because she will be too overcome with grief, though I suspect the real reason is this will be her first opportunity to clear the kitchen counter of all my paperwork and whatnot.

After the service, we'll all meet at the homestead where Alan and Linda will provide burgers, and Pam and Dwayne will provide Cocoa Pebbles. We'll gather around the campfire as Robert Tonner leads us in a sing-along of Paul Overstreet’s greatest hits. The only piece I don't have figured out is who will speak. I would like Aaron Weisser to share, but he will likely be too choked up (you know how he gets). Scott Fraley could share some funny stories about selling encyclopedias. That really has nothing to do with me, but it’s always fun to hear. We could just do an open mic as long as you guys promise not to let my brother-in-law, Josiah Fisher, have a turn.

Unfortunately, our best option for speaker at my funeral would be the dead guy in the bucket. I know exactly what passage I would share. I know exactly what message I would give. If I were preaching at my own funeral, I would turn to the passage that has most clearly defined the gospel in my own experience.  Ironically enough, this very gospel passage is found in the Old Testament. Since I can't preach it at my own funeral, I decided to beat the rush and preach on Nehemiah 8 this Sunday. No need to bring flowers.

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