*Funeral For a Friend (A gimps into the mind of a Christian preacher ? )

Years ago a white twenty-something year old man who taught at a Native American college died of a stroke.

His funeral was held in his Christian church that he and his wife, with two children and a 3rd on the way, devoutly supported.

The congregation hall was segregated into two sections: his (work/student) family of over a hundred people from the College and one or two people who were not from the college filled the pews on the left side of the great hall. His widow, two kids, and his parents (her parents died when she was very young) sat in the first row of the pews on the right.

The preacher, who’s original demeanor resembled the Pillsbury Doughboy sat elevated on the stage, both adorned with crosses. With his round happiness he gleefully strummed his acoustic guitar and sang a series of simple songs praising Jesus. Then he lead the audance in two additional songs praising Jesus. When he finally finished praising Jesus he begrudgingly announced, “I understand there are a few people here from where he worked that have a few words they would like to say. This is my church but I suppose I’ll let them talk.”

The following half hour was nothing short of a poetic, emotional and tear-filled beautiful event, an array of students spoke of the good their teacher had contributed to their lives. The college president spoke, and in addition to offering respect for the departed and his family, noted how Native Americans treat family, how, because he had contributed to their lives, he was a part of their family. Near the end of the moving testimonials a small group of fellow (Native American) teachers (one with a hand drum) spoke of how when a family member dies, they will sing a cross-over song to help the one who has passed find “the happy hunting grounds”. Their following song was both heart felt and lovely. On the left side of the pews, there was not a dry eye in the crowd.

When the last of the college people sat, The Christian preacher regained control of the event with an air of condescension,

“Well, now that that’s over. . . “ He spent roughly the next hour on stage staring only and directly at the widow telling her over and over. . She must have done something to displease god. This is god’s way of testing her. To be saved, she must become even more devout to Jesus. Jesus will forgiver her but only if she does what Jesus wants. . . . . Etc.

As I watched the widow, she lowered her head and slowly nodded in agreement each time the Preacher asserted how God is testing her and how she must be better. To me, she appeared to be a bobble headed servant, with no choice but to drink his cool-aid.

After the preacher closed the event and we were free to leave his church, on the way out the doors I asked our college librarian what she thought about the preacher’s lengthy closing rants. She replied, she thought he was feeling intimidated (all the Native American’s and their stories) so he returned to his “comfort zone”.

This did not occur to me but I think she is correct.

What kind of a person would you have to be if your “comfort zone” was defined by belittling widows to affirm your own superiority as the moral authority of her life?