Originally, I had planned to leave Saturday, April 8, in late afternoon driving toward Charlotte, NC, to visit son Marty and his family before heading back to Anderson University Monday night for Tuesday’s speaking assignments, then back to New Orleans. The death of my brother Charlie that Saturday morning changed everything. For the whole family, of course. I left Sunday morning and drove to Nauvoo, Alabama, visited with Charlie’s wife Carolyn and their sons Patrick, Russell, and Chris, then spent the night with my folks. Once I learned that they were scheduling the funeral later in the week following an autopsy on Monday, I continued with the Anderson University assignment. So, Monday morning, I drove to Anderson, SC, and had a wonderful time Tuesday morning speaking to the student body, then to a group of administrators and pastors.

I’ll pause here long enough to share the gist of my message to the students. This was a missions-oriented service, and everyone knew my message would be related to the New Orleans situation. I said, “I’d like to start a conversation today, one I hope you will continue among yourselves. I’d like to ask you five questions.”

“One. Do you think God knew Hurricane Katrina was going to happen and do the damage that it did? The reason I ask is there is a new theology around called ‘Open Theism’ which claims that since something has not occurred yet, it’s impossible for God to know it.” I shared with them God’s call on my life to become director of missions for the Baptist churches of New Orleans 18 months before Katrina, and the story of Patricia Prechter (told here several days ago) who said God led her to join the National Guard in 1978 so she would be the chief medical officer on duty in the Superdome for those 10 days following Katrina. What do you think, does He know?

“Two. Do you think Katrina was God’s judgement on New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf Coast for sin? Many have said so.” I told them of my letter to the editor in the aftermath of Katrina addressing this, pointing out that I am amazed at the certainty of those who know it was His judgment as well as those who are sure it was not. I suggested it may be; we deserve it; let us seek the Lord. If one says the storm was God’s judgment on New Orleans, he should be prepared to explain why the storm spared the French Quarter and destroyed the poorest section of town. “If the Lord should mark iniquity, who would stand?” Psalm 130:3 puts it well.

“Three. Is Romans 8:28 still in effect?” I told ways in which God had brought good from the destruction of Katrina.

“Four. Are you willing to trust God with your future?” After all, He knows the plans He has for you and you don’t. Can you trust Him?

And five. “Will you pray for us in New Orleans?”

I left Anderson Tuesday around 2:30 and drove straight through to Jackson, Mississippi, arriving around 10 pm dead tired. I was so tired that when two hotels in a row had no non-smoking rooms left, I took a smoking room just to have a bed. Big mistake. I was had trouble breathing all night and determined never to do that again.

Wednesday, we had the funeral services for Mrs. William “Mickey” Brunson, our longtime friend who served for 12 years as receptionist at the First Baptist Church in Jackson, followed by another 12 years as admissions receptionist at the Mississippi Baptist Medical Center. My first impression of Mickey was back in December of 1970 when I sat in the outer office at FBC-J, waiting to interview with the pastor about joining that church staff. I watched her work. She was charming, friendly, kind, efficient, and everything any business or church would want in its outer office. The McKeevers became close friends of the Brunsons and we’ve stayed in their “Hilton” on many occasions since. Mickey was the same wonderful hostess at home as in the church office.

I know a story about receptionists, if you have a minute. Lou Holtz, retired football coach par excellence and noted motivational speaker, tells of the time he flew into Chicago in the middle of the night and took a taxi to the hotel where he was to speak the next day. The desk clerk must have been asleep, because Holtz beat on the bell for several minutes before a groggy man staggered out of the back and announced, “We’re full. We don’t have any rooms.” Lou Holtz said, “Sir, I have a confirmed reservation for this hotel, guaranteeing me a room.” The clerk said, “Mister, I don’t care if you have a letter from the president. I told you we don’t have a room. There is no way you’re getting a room in this hotel tonight. Do I make myself clear?” Holtz reluctantly walked out into the cold Chicago night air with two things on his mind. He had to find a place to sleep in the middle of the night in Chicago. And, he was determined never to miss an opportunity to slam the Chicago O’Hare Hilton Hotel for the rest of his life.

That desk clerk–the receptionist, if you will–is an owner’s nightmare. He’s not the highest paid employee, but he is first one to meet the public and the face of that hotel to every person who walks in. A desk clerk can make or break a hotel. The most important hire an owner or manager may ever make is that individual–like my wonderful friend Mickey–who works the front desk.

I’ve preached this story, making the point that believers are on the front desk for the Heavenly Father. People make decisions about Jesus and the Gospel as a result of our actions and our behavior. A scary thought, to be sure, but it ought to motivate believers to show the love of God to every person we meet.

After Mickey’s funeral, and a luncheon provided for the family by the church, I drove back to Nauvoo, Alabama, to my parents’ home. Thursday, April 13, was Dad’s 94th birthday. A bittersweet day, since that evening would be the wake at the Collins-Burke Funeral Home in Jasper for his youngest child, Charlie. “It’s the second time in our lives we’ve buried our baby,” he said. The first was an unnamed son who was born in March of 1939 and lived only a couple of days. A ‘blue baby,’ they called the condition back then. I was born almost exactly 12 months later.

Thursday, Dad received 13 birthday cards from friends who read this website. Another dozen or so came Friday. The basket on the dining room table was overflowing. He said, “Son, will you thank everyone who has written me?” He has kept the envelopes with the return addresses, mainly to make the connection with where the writer lives. He has reread each one several times. Mom comments on the notes on several of the cards. Dad says, “That was pretty shrewd of you, Joe.” What? “Getting your friends to tell me what a wonderful son we have.” I laughed and said, “If my brothers and sisters will get their friends to write you, maybe they’ll do the same for them.” Dad said, “I’m getting popular, but it’s on Joe’s coattails.”

The only good thing I know to say about funerals is the way family members and old friends assemble for a kind of reunion. We saw classmates from Winston County High School days, members of every sibling’s churches, and extended family members who drove long distances. Charlie’s wife Carolyn has a big family and of course, our side is huge, so we overflowed the funeral home. Everyone had a story to tell about Charlie.

Friday, at our home church, the New Oak Grove Free Will Baptist Church, a couple of miles outside Nauvoo, Alabama, my brother Glenn reminisced. “Charlie was the youngest and we made a pet of him. He couldn’t say his name (Charles Wayne McKeever), and it came out ‘Toggy Wayne Bingo.’ So we called him that for years.” He told how Charlie loved to attend Sunday School as a child, and when Mom bought him some new shoes, he pestered her all week, “Is today Sunday?” He wanted to wear those new shoes to church. “He has come full circle,” Glenn said. He told how our grandparents worshiped in this church a hundred years ago, how Mom and Dad met here in 1930, how we all worshiped here growing up, and now Charlie has returned. “I feel like pulling off my shoes,” he said. “This is holy ground.”

The two “professionals” in the family–Ronnie and I, both veteran pastors–sat on the sidelines for this funeral, and that suited us fine. Ron’s son Steve, also a minister, worked with host pastor Mickey Crane in leading the service. They were absolutely wonderful. Mickey accompanied himself on the guitar, singing, “Beulah Land, Sweet Beulah Land.” A few feet away from Charlie’s burial place in the church cemetery, Mickey’s 16 year old son Carlos lies buried, the victim of a tragic car wreck a dozen years ago. “I know what it’s like to bury a son,” he said, emotionally. “But I am not going to stand here and tell you I know how you feel. I don’t. There’s no way I can know how you feel.” Then, referring to Hebrews 4:15, he said, “But the Lord knows.”

I once asked Brother Mickey what people had said to him following the death of his son. “Did anyone say anything truly bizarre?” He thought a moment and said, “One lady said, ‘I know how you feel, because when my son went off to college, I cried and cried.'” He said, “I know she meant well, but I felt like saying, ‘Did your son come back? Because mine is never coming back.'”

Steve told the congregation, “You’ll have to bear with our family. We don’t have a lot of experience at burying our dead.” With our parents 90 and 94, and their six children ranging in ages from 62 (Charlie) to almost 71 (Ron), we know how truly blessed we have been. These days, with Mom and Pop’s health declining and other family members experiencing major illnesses, we know we will soon be making up for lost time.

Pastor Mickey told how the morning Carlos died, he (Mickey) had to make an all-day trip out of town. He woke his son up and asked if he wanted to go with him. No, he planned to spend the day over at his girlfriend’s house. “I turned to walk out of the room, and for just that moment, I wanted to go over and hug him and kiss him. But he was sleepy and I walked on out. I had no way of knowing I would never be able to do that again in this life.” He looked at the congregation and said, “You never know when will be your last time. So, take this as a reminder to tell everyone that you love them. And if there is anyone you need to say ‘I’m sorry’ to, do that.”

A word about the special comfort God sent our family. The background is that Charlie has not been a regular church-goer most of his adult life. He was raised right and he knew the right way. He and I have had many a conversation about getting his life right with the Lord over the years. And, for what this is worth, he owned every “Gaither tape” ever made, and loved gospel music. Okay, now…

Pastor Jon Chambliss stood at the funeral and said, “Charlie came by my house Thursday before he died Saturday morning. He must have spent two hours.” Charlie told him he had repented and that he had a lot of “making up” to do with a lot of people. (Several family members told me of calls Charlie made to them that final week, asking their forgiveness.)

My Dad and Mom told us that on the evening before Charlie died, he came by their house, a mile up the highway from his. Some of his final words were, “I want you to know I’m going to Heaven.” And then, “I’ll be waiting for you when you get there.” (Imagine a 62 year old saying that to his 90 year old parents.) He had the heart attack the next morning.

My brother Glenn told the funeral crowd, “I was praying and crying. Suddenly, I saw what looked like an angel with lots of little children gathered around. And he said to me, ‘All is well.'”

After the burial, we walked back across the road into the church’s fellowship hall where the ladies of the church had provided a late lunch for us all. My sister Patricia said, “We do that for everyone who has a funeral at the church.” It’s a wonderful tradition.

We’re all hurting today. We sincerely thank you for the love and prayers. And mostly, we thank our Heavenly Father for the Easter reality that “He that believeth on the Son of God has everlasting life.” That’s the best news there is.

Someone said to me once, “Those who know the Lord never see each other for the last time.”