Celebration

As we enter the auditorium I am immediately struck by the picture on the screen. Al, far thinner and older than I remember, but pointing a finger right at us, wide smile across his face, beside a pool. Larger than life, in fact, huge.

But he was.

The platform is covered with flowers so one hardly notices the casket. It’s there, but not the centerpiece. The man on the screen is alive; the body in the casket is just an empty shell.

The service starts with a sax solo, “Great is thy faithfulness.” The man beside me, an old friend we met because of Al, whispers, “He’d have to have this one.” Music follows music. “How great thou art. How great is our God. You are my King.” Drums, sax, guitar, and a wicked good pianist. The auditorium is packed with a at least 500+ and they sing with gusto.

The widow, younger by far, welcomes the audience. Al’s first wife died in a heartbeat almost 20 years ago, and though I knew he remarried, I have never met this woman. A stock broker, she speaks with ease, and grace.

Different family members speak. Two of the adult stepchildren speak with tears of the father that Al became to them, a wonderful gift in their young adulthood. The oldest granddaughter, now 34, speaks for all 26. I remember her parents stopping by our house the night she was born to borrow a Nikon for the hospital. Can this poised young woman be the toddler I sat up with one night with croup when her parents were off somewhere? Only the eyes are the same.

A son-in-law tells of sneaking in brats and sauerkraut when wife #2 was golfing. He apologizes, in a sense, to his long gone birth father for his deep love for his father-in-law. To know Al, evidently, was to love him. Most of this middle aged audience knew him when they were teens. He was the father figure who told it to them straight, but since he wasn’t their father, they did what he told them to do.

The highlight of the service is a video interview done just three weeks ago by a broadcaster daughter, and videographer grandson. Once again, Al lives. The color of his Florida home drenches the screen. He talks about fighting cancer, about hating to leave his family, about loving life. “It’s not about me though,” he says. “God doesn’t make mistakes.”

The pastor closes the service simply. “Al loved people and was totally generous with himself, his time, and his money. He loved his Lord,” he reminds us. “In fact, he made Jesus so appealing that if he gave an altar call, you just couldn’t stay in your seat. You had to go find out what made Al so happy.”

The graveside, dripping in gray November rain, is short and sweet. The crowd huddles and shares umbrellas. It’s a formality. Al isn’t there.

Back at the church, there’s a lavish luncheon. The tables are full of people talking non-stop, catching up with each other, telling stories. The family are greeting people, talking to each other. Little kids finish their food and begin to wander around. Laughter rings around the room.

The pain of loss will come. No one can replace a father. But living large leaves a legacy that is winsome.