The Procession

My brother Jerry was a charmer ... everyone who knew him loved him. He had an easy smile and twinkling eyes like our dad, and he looked a lot like Daddy, too. People were initially drawn to Jerry by his laughter and sense of humor, but they stayed because of his caring spirit and generous heart. His position as a junior high school biology teacher and coach of the basketball team was the perfect fit for Jerry ... he was able to instill a love for learning and a desire to dream in countless students through the years. Jerry's love and compassion for his students were evident even on the night he died ... he was on his way home from tutoring a student who was home with a broken leg ... on his way home to change clothes and come pick me and Daddy up to take us to the game he was coaching that evening when he was involved in a car accident. Jerry died later that night, a cold January night when I was 10 years old.

I remember a lot of details from the days that followed Jerry's death, which surprises me somewhat considering it's been more than 40 years. I remember my mom's blank stare and sunken eyes the next morning. I remember Daddy's shaking voice as he told me that Jerry was gone. I remember my sister packing some clothes for me and walking me to the car of the folks who were taking me to their house for a few days. I remember expecting Jerry to walk in and say he was alive and well and that it was all a bad dream. I remember the newspaper article and the picture of Jerry on the front page. I remember the headline ... "Beloved teacher and coach killed in accident on Hixson Pike." I remember the huge Baptist church where Jerry's funeral was held. I remember the smell from the hundreds of flowers that surrounded my brother's casket. I remember there were so many people, the police closed the street in front of the church and people were standing outside. I remember it was cold that day and that there were flurries of snow when we left the church and climbed into the big funeral home cars. But for all the things I remember about those days after Jerry died, I remember the funeral procession from the church to the cemetery the most vividly.

It's about a 10 to 15-minute drive on a normal day from the church to the cemetery where Mom and Dad and Jerry are buried. But on the day of Jerry's funeral, it seemed to take an hour to go from Red Bank Baptist Church to Hamilton Memorial Gardens. Students lined the streets holding signs that said, "We love you, Mr. Dennard," "Rest in peace, Coach," and "Honor and integrity, thank you, Mr. D." I remember Mom and Dad crying in the limousine and Daddy holding Mom's hand as they saw Jerry's students standing along the road. I remember watching the hearse that carried my beloved brother as it drove slowly in front of the big car we were riding in. I remember police cars and motorcycles as they accompanied us on Jerry's final journey. I remember all the cars that were pulled over on the side of the road out of respect for the funeral procession that was passing. I remember all those cars on the side of the road ... stopped on the road so that the drivers and passengers could show their respect for my brother as he passed by.

Yesterday, I spoke at an event in southwestern Kansas, about a 3-hour drive from home. I always allow extra travel time when I drive to a speaking event, just in case there is traffic or an accident or I get lost. I arrived in the town about 45 minutes before the time the leader of the event and I had agreed upon. Almost as soon as I drove into the downtown area and began to look for the place where the event was being held, the car in front of me slowed, pulled off to the side of the road and stopped. I noticed that all the cars ahead were doing the same thing, and when I glanced in my rearview mirror, all the cars behind me were making their way off the road as well. I pulled over, too, wondering if there was an accident and looking at my directions to see how far I was from where I needed to be. When I looked up, I noticed that cars on the opposite side of the street had pulled over, too, and that's when I saw it ... an old-fashioned hearse with its headlights on, driving slowly down the street followed by several cars with their headlights on as well as they traveled behind the hearse.

As I watched the funeral procession pass by, I couldn't help but remember a cold day in January so very many years ago and all the cars that were stopped on the side of the road to honor my brother Jerry. I wondered about the person who had died, and I wondered about the family and friends whose sad faces I saw through the car windows. I wondered if the people in the town who stopped their cars knew the person who had passed away or if was old-fashioned, small-town respect that caused them to pull over. Driving home later in the day, I found myself thinking about the display of honor and respect I had seen along the road that morning ... and I began to think about how it is often after someone has died that many of us demonstrate the honor and respect we should have given while they were living. I wondered how many people die each day feeling as if they are unworthy of honor or respect, or even love.

Love with pure hearts today, friends ... honor and respect and love. Don't wait until it's time to pull over to the side of the road.

"Let love be without hypocrisy. Abhor what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in brotherly love; give preference to one another in honor; not lagging behind in diligence, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord." Romans 12:9-11