A week ago Friday we buried my pal Chebon Thomas. He is a good Christian man; a fine father and husband. A pipeline welder by trade and a violinist by avocation. A Native American who drove a red pickup and had two wolf-mix dogs. At the funeral service, the pastor invited anyone who wished to speak about him to come forward. After a pause, I walked up and speaking to those assembled in the church, said:
“I don’t know most of you… but I knew Chebon….. and you knew Chebon, so that makes us friends. The thread that connects us was Chebon himself so I feel a kinship with all you. The fabric of our lives has a tear in it, in the place where Chebon once connected all of us.
The first time I met Chebon, I noticed two characteristics about him: kindness and gentleness. That meant to me he must be a strong man, for only a strong man can afford to be gentle. It is weak men who are vicious because their fear drives them. Chebon knew his duty as a husband, father, and worker, and he fulfilled it even during the past decade when he was in ill health and continual pain. Even pain did not take away his kindness.
At the gravesite I was musing on how fine it must be to be in Heaven, where one has no cares and no desires left unfilled. I thought whether Chebon now has any unfilled wish and I realized that he might desire something even in Heaven. It was then that this thought seized me by the lapels and demanded that I express this thought to you, what I believe Chebon would ask us for if he stood here today: “Take care of the people I cared for“.Chebon was a family man and he leaves a family here on Earth that he used to protect, encourage, and care for. So I would like all of you to repeat after me: “I love you Cara”.(his daughter)……”I love you Trudy”..(his wife)… And I want each of us in this room today to commit right now to reach out to his family and touch them in some way; a phone call, visit, or letter in the weeks ahead. We must break out of the paralyzing sadness we feel right now and do our duty, just as Chebon did his, to knit together the torn tapestry and weave in new threads stronger than the old.
I’d like to ask everyone for one more action as we sit here today: forgive. If anyone has a grudge against anyone else in this room, forgive them now, right now, before another moment passes. We simply don’t have any spare time or energy without healing our grudges with each other. Thank you for listening to me and God bless us all, especially Chebon’s family.”
I wanted to sing a hymn for Chebon, but my voice wasn’t strong enough at the time. So I sang it tonight for him, alone except for the company of the bears hibernating in the forest. I stood outside in the cold December night, with two feet of snow on the ground, faintly glowing blue from a full moon. This beautiful and solemn hymn, “In Paradisum”, is over a thousand years old. Tens of millions of our ancestors have been buried with it. You can hear it sung *here* and the lyrics and translation are below (BTW, it refers to Lazarus from Luke 16:20, not John 11:2):
In paradisum deducant te Angeli:
in tuo adventu suscipiant te Martyres,
et perducant te in civitatem sanctam, Jerusalem.
Chorus Angelorum te suscipiat
et cum Lazaro quondam paupere
æternam habeas requiem.
May the Angels lead you into paradise:
may the Martyrs come to welcome you,
and take you to the holy city, Jerusalem.
May choirs of Angels welcome you,
and with Lazarus who is poor no longer
may you have eternal rest.
We Catholics have a concept called “The Mystical Body of Christ” and there’s probably another name for the same thing with Protestants. The idea hearkens back to St. Paul talking about how people are like components of a body, each different, yet all essential. (Ephesians 4:4-13). The idea is more than just the brotherhood of man, it’s the indissoluble bonds of all those with new life in Christ. In this mystical body, we’re linked with Christians from all ages, times, and countries, whether on Earth or in Heaven. In that sense, Chebon is just as much with us as when he was on Earth, because these spiritual bonds can’t be broken and this tapestry can’t be torn.
But the Earthly tapestry is made of flesh and blood, people, memories, friendships, and physical objects. That’s the tapestry that is wounded and must be re-woven by those of us who remain. Chebon did his duty, carried his Cross, and pulled together people of many occupations and locations. Now it’s our duty to re-connect the frayed edges; through reaching out to each other, making contact, and expressing the love and support that Chebon did when he was with us. This idea grabbed me by the collar at the gravesite and wouldn’t let me go until I had said this to everyone.
I’ll share a story with you. I was at a funeral a decade ago, for a parishioner who was a good Christian and father. One of those people truly missed when they go. The priest did his usual job at the gravesite, but seemed to be taking special interest in talking with people and spending extra time with everyone, one-on-one. I won’t call his behavior “happy”, but it was “animated”. When I asked him about this on such a solemn occasion, he said: “Funerals are a time when the Holy Spirit has a chance to work. These people mostly don’t go to church and go through their lives not thinking about Heaven and Hell. A funeral shakes them up and makes them think about what future lies before them. It’s my chance to proselytize them and get them back into church so they can form a relationship with the Lord. So I like funerals”.
This astonished me at the time, but over the years as I’ve reflected on it, I understand exactly what he meant. If even one person who went to Chebon’s funeral thought “I doubt anyone will say such positive things about me when I’m dead, perhaps I should change”, then opens wide the door to Christ, Chebon will have done his work one more time.