Brown Paper Wrappers

I had a roommate in college who used to swear that the only reason he had a subscription to Playboy magazine was because of the articles . . . but, I don’t remember seeing any articles pinned up to the wall of our room.  I remember how he used to sneak it into the dorm so that no one knew what he was perusing in his spare time . . . those articles took up a lot of his spare time.  Over the past couple of years I have come to understand that roommate and the importance of brown paper wrappers . . . I subscribe to Sports Illustrated.

                                                                                        

I honestly have subscribed to Sports Illustrated because of the articles.  This magazine has some of the best writers covering sports . . . they do a good job . . . and the photography is good too.  I have subscribed to the magazine for almost thirty years now and I really enjoy the articles.  Well . . . at least for fifty-one weeks of the years . . . then there is that one week.  Once a year Sports Illustrated puts out its “swimsuit” edition.  That is the week that it arrives in a brown paper wrapper.  This past week was the week it arrived.

The swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated is a much anticipated magazine.  I think it is Sports Illustrated’s way of rewarding those faithful subscribers who have endured a lot of silly articles about so-called sports like cricket, curling, and bowling—cricket is a bug that one smashes when they get in the house, curling is what the wife does to her hair, and bowling is one does after several hours of heavy beer drinking.  To reward the patience of die-hard sports fans the magazine puts out a swimsuit edition . . . at least that is the rationale I use when explaining the magazine to the wife.

The swimsuit edition is a controversial edition which seems to be catching more and more heat each year.  Seems the heat has been going up as the suits have gotten smaller and smaller each year.  For about ten years now the magazine has offered subscribers the option of skipping this edition and extending their subscription an extra week.  I don’t think it has made much of a difference . . . for a couple of weeks following the swimsuit edition there will be a ton of letters complaining about the edition.  People will call it pornography . . . the gateway to pornography . . . setting women’s liberation back a hundred years . . . a disgrace.  They also get—about at a ratio of three to one—drooling litanies of appreciation from others who appreciate the reward of enduring so-called boring sports.  I figure that if people have the option to cancel that edition, then they should have no reason to complain if they are either too lazy or forgot to cancel.  As I said, Sports Illustrated has offered that option for nearly a decade now.  No one enjoys having their parade on . . . besides, I get it for the articles.

There lies the problem . . . there is not much in the way of articles in the swimsuit edition.  Honestly . . . there are mostly pictures of beautiful, no, smashingly beautiful women in swim suits.  I guess you can call them swimsuits . . . there is more skin than swimsuit.  Sometimes I have had to really look closely to find some material that constitutes a swimsuit—several times!  I will admit that over the years there has been less and less material in the swimsuits and more and more goose bumps on the models.  I can see why the magazine comes in a brown paper wrapper.

I imagine that there are those of you out there who are wondering . . . isn’t he a minister?  Well, duh!  I celebrate the 30^th year of my ordination this spring, but what does that have to do with the price of tea in China?  I know, I know . . . should a minister receive the annual issue of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition?  Good question . . . that is why it comes in a plain brown paper wrapper and I get the mail the week it comes late at night.  But for those who know me, they know that I am squeaky tight when it comes to money.  A subscription to Sports Illustrated is not cheap . . . about seventy bucks a year—a little over a dollar an issue.  For that price I want every single issue . . . besides, I have said it before, I only read the articles!

Unlike my college roommate, and my wife will attest to this, I have more articles pinned up to my walls than pictures.  Besides, I haven’t seen the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition since it came home . . . it has disappeared . . . I think it has something to do with the two twenty-something year olds son who live in our house.  I think they like the pictures more than the articles.  Me, well, I like the articles and can wait until the magazine reappears . . . thank God for trifocals! 

Dying to Laugh

I beg to differ . . .

It has been said that death is not a laughing matter, but I beg to differ after nearly thirty years in the ministry.  There is plenty of humor to find in death and I speak from experience.

As a minister one of the ministries that I perform are funerals.  Over the years I have performed lots of funerals for members of the churches I served and for others in the communities where I lived.  Most often these are not somber, sad affairs, but more often than not they are celebrations of the life of the deceased as blessings and gifts to those who are left mourning.  Often there is laughter in the stories that are shared, mingled among the tears that are shed.  I assure you that there is laughter associated with death.

Not all the laughter associated with death comes from the stories shared about the deceased . . . sometimes it comes from things that take place during the actual funeral or memorial service.

Years ago, I was approached by an elderly female member of the congregation I was serving as I walked through the kitchen during the funeral dinner.  “Pastor,” said the little old lady, “the barn door is open.”  I am not always the sharpest knife in the drawer and this was one of those occasions . . . I had no clue as to what she was talking about.  Seeing the clueless look on my face she pointed down and proclaimed, “Your zipper is down!”  Six shades of red later, the barn door was closed but not before those in the kitchen had a good laugh at my expense.

Now, I don’t know about other clergy, but I do not like having elderly female members of the church pointing out that I have left the “barn door open”.  After zipping it up, all I could do is wonder how long the “barn door” had been open . . . since the beginning of the service . . . since saying grace before the dinner . . . only a couple of minutes?  Who knew . . . I sure didn’t.  All I could do was smile; pull the zipper up, and reply, “Hmmm, maybe that is why it felt so breezy up there in the pulpit.”

Following one service the committal service was to be held in a remote rural cemetery . . . a place that neither the funeral director, family, nor I knew of.  We were given simple, basic directions that pretty much made no sense, but we took off anyways with plenty of time to spare in case we got lost.  We got lost . . . and, we barely made it to the cemetery in time. So, there we were . . . cruising the back roads looking for a cemetery out in the middle of no where . . . twenty cars following a hearse around and around and around.  Needless to say, after that adventure, I made sure that the funeral director always knew where we were going.  Nothing worse than showing up late for a funeral . . . especially when you are the one in the hearse.

I have also experienced flat tires on the hearse going to the cemetery.  I have encountered blizzards that had just me, the funeral director, and the gravedigger doing the committal in howling wind, below zero temperatures, and unrelenting snow . . . it is amazing how such weather can curtail a minister’s repertoire.  I have had people show up at the wrong church.  I have witnessed the pallbearers dropping the coffin.  Locking keys in the hearse.  Accidentally stepping too close to the coffin hole and slipping, nearly falling into the hole.  These might not have been funny at the time, but looking back they make me smile and laugh now.

Then last week . . . I had a memorial service that will bring laughter for years to come.  The service went well . . . lots of stories were shared about the deceased . . . rollicking hymns (favorites of the deceased) were sung . . . there were tears and laughter . . . and a choir member tried to set himself on fire by standing too close to a burning candle; but, overall, the service went well and the family was appreciative.

Things were going well as we all piled into our cars to head off to the veterans cemetery in another town.  The weather was cooperating and we had plenty of time to get there . . . and, we did!  All of us except the deceased . . . no one had remembered to bring the urn holding the cremains of the deceased.  The urn and the remains of the deceased were still back at the church sitting on a table in the sanctuary.  A rescue party was quickly sent off to retrieve the ashes (two of the congregation’s finest elders—one who was quite familiar with the state patrol in case they got pulled over speeding back to the church).  Then someone cracked a joke, “Isn’t it just like Al to be late to his own funeral?”  There was laughter in the acknowledgement . . . yeah, Al would have loved it.

Eventually the urn arrived . . . along with the snow and wind.  But, the color guard was nowhere to be found.  They were not only late, they were nowhere in the county.  It seems that they had written down the wrong day and time for the committal service.  Kind of tough to do a military service without the military’s representatives there to do their part.  I thought about humming taps after the benediction, but I thought better of that . . . it was too cold.  I stepped up, said a few words, and remarked that Al was probably having a good laugh at our expense . . . something, in life, he would never let us live down.  I doubt if any of us will ever forget this adventure . . . so, in the end, Al won.

Death is not easy . . . I agree with that.  At the same time, though, I cannot agree with there being no laughter in death.  As sad as it was to gather together to celebrate, remember, and say goodbye to the deceased this past week, it was good to have the laughter.  The laughter brought us all together . . . connected us . . . in a way that the formality of a funeral never could do.  I am sure that God had a good laugh . . . sometimes we take this stuff too seriously and forget that it is all about relationships.  Laughter creates relationships.  Years from now we will all look back, smile, laugh, and remember not only that day, but the one who made it possible.  Isn’t that the purpose of a memorial service . . . helping us to never forget?