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For a loving, Christian husband

The Grand Ball

Colossians 3:12-17

Like a lot of you, I have some wonderful memories of Glenn. My first real get-to-know-you with Glenn was when I visited Glenn and his wife, Carrabelle, a few months after I came here, ten years ago. It was just a few weeks after Glenn had lost his driving privileges. I was foolish enough to bring the subject up and asked Glenn how he was dealing with it. Carrabelle said to me, "We're not going to talk about that. That's a sore subject around here."

I told you that part at Carrabelle's funeral. What I didn't tell you is that Glenn responded to Carrabelle's comment by saying to me something like, "I want to talk about it. I'm not too happy about the whole thing. I think I can still drive okay."

To which, those of you who knew them very well will already know, Carrabelle had to respond. "I won't be riding in no car you're driving."

All of which set the tone for my visit. They picked on one another. Back and forth it went. It was a very awkward situation for me. There I was -- fresh out of seminary, sitting in the living room of two of the older members of my new congregation, who had been married sixty or so years, wondering how you do marriage counseling with people who have been married longer than my wife and I had been alive -- combined.

I left their house that day thinking of them as two old friends who had known each other so long that they didn't even notice the picking on one other. In fact, it was part of their love for each other. It was the sparring of two old familiar friends. But that's not the memory from that day that I want to share with you today. The memory I want to share is of me sitting there squirming in my chair not knowing quite how to handle the two of them when Glenn noticed my discomfort and said to me, "How would you like to see my garden?"

"I'd love to," I said.

And he took me outside and showed me his tomatoes and peppers and zucchini, and some of Carrabelle's flowers. I remember and appreciate his sensitivity to me that day. I'll bet a lot of people remember him that way. Lots of times, when I have mentioned Glenn's name to people around town who are around my age, they will recall "Grandpa Glenn" as the nice man who drove their school bus. He was everybody's grandpa on the school bus. He used to sing to the kids "Come along -- Jim along." Whatever that was. He always had a smile for them and sometimes gave them milk money when they'd forgotten. School bus drivers who leave an impression on kids are rare, he was one of them.

He has, in a very real way, touched the lives of all the people who have worshiped in this church for the last forty years because he fathered a great deal of the musical talent with which this church has been blessed. The gift of song and music came through him and was passed on to his children, his grandchildren, and now his great-grandchildren. I remember hearing him sing not too long ago. Might have been at his ninetieth birthday party. His voice was gone by then. He pretty much rasped his way through a song, but the great thing about it was the genuine joy his song brought to his family. As he sang, they were all celebrating the gift that God had given them through Glenn.

I remember him coming to church, Sunday after Sunday, my first few years here in Fairview. He always sat on the aisle, always in the same place, about half way up on the right side. And he would nearly always be fast asleep before I was five minutes into my sermon. It took me a little while to get used to that, but I've put much younger and more energetic people to sleep so I couldn't get too upset with him.

Most of all I remember Glenn's stories. He was in his glory when he was telling a story. Always when I visited him at the lodge, I'd try to get him going, talking about Fairview history, most of the time it didn't take much to get him started. From him, I learned that White Swan Farms subdivision was named after the old White Swan Farm on which he used to work. He told me all about his farming days; traveling to Cleveland with produce; picking and loading tons of tomatoes; a horrible story about the horse he had to put to sleep by shooting it right between the eyes. He told me some hair-raising stories about driving a bus through some tough Fairview winters. Told me about his kids. Toby being a point guard on the McDowell basketball team -- a long time ago! Told me about Nan's softball coaching prowess, Sid's basketball and baseball exploits. Told me about how they, he and Carrabelle, were a little unsure about Floyd when Wilma brought him home. I even remember him telling me the story of his first day in school as a five-year-old. He was telling me about how he could remember things from long ago, but had trouble with more recent things, he told that story to make his point.

I liked Glenn a lot. He was a grandpa kind of guy; warm, happy, alive, wise. He did have his faults. He could be as stubborn as an old mule, a trait, along with musical talent, he seems to have passed on to some of his offspring. No names will be mentioned, but he was liked by virtually everybody who knew him. Even the staff at the home where he lived these past few years fell in love with old Grandpa Glenn.

Grandpa Glenn! Hardworking, talented, tough, warm, wonderful Grandpa Glenn. All of which means there's lots of him to miss, lots to grieve over.

I went over to Nan and Jerry's house the day Glenn died, and as I got out of the car, Jerry was standing in the door to the garage warming the garage up so he could do some work. I asked him how Nan and Wilma were doing and he said, "Fine -- it was the best Christmas present they could have received." I am sure that he was right. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. Actually, it has hurt for a long time, hasn't it? It has hurt watching him linger, knowing he was enduring life more than living it. These past years have been no fun for Glenn or the people who loved him. Which is why his passing from this life is a good Christmas present, but these last good-byes are the hardest. Glenn and Carrabelle were in many ways, for many years, the soul of this family. As long as they lived, as long as he was here, the family's heart beat on. When he died this past Monday, it may well have felt that this family lost a bit of its soul. Saying good-bye to him was saying good-bye to part of ourselves. But still, despite the heartbrokenness of today's good-bye, Jerry was no doubt right. To see him relieved of the burdens of his worn-out earthly body is a wonderful gift to you all, and a more glorious gift for him than we can begin to imagine. One day, all of us in this room who have loved him, who miss him now, and who know and love our Lord, all of us will one day have the mourning of this world turned into the dancing of the next. I sometimes think of it like this:

Maybe there's a grand ball thrown as each new one enters the kingdom. There's the trumpet blast announcing an entrance, and coming through the door at the top of a long tall staircase, at the side of Jesus Christ, is Glenn. He is more handsome than he was as a young man. He is announced, introduced by our Lord, some intoxicating music begins to play, and appearing beside him is a beautiful woman who has been awaiting his arrival that she might dance with him. Carrabelle steps out from the shadows and they dance. As they dance, Glenn spies, scattered through the crowd watching the dance, many familiar faces. His own mom and dad; brothers who have gone before him; his daughter, Eleanor, and a pretty young lady who he knew for only a short time before she was taken out of this world a long time ago. The smile on his face, the tears in his eyes, the skip in his dance step all say loud and clear that he has entered the place of perfect bliss.

I believe you might even hear him singing right now if your spirit can take you to that place. You might hear him sing -- "Come along" to all of you. "Come along to the great ball. I'll be waiting to dance with you." Amen.