McGee: The fire and brimstone funeral

One of the family was off to a recent funeral for a friend. As they were going out the door I said, "Now if the preacherman at the funeral starts hootin' and hollerin' that you're horrible for not believing like he does it's OK to leave the place."

The door closed and I felt the gaze of The Lady of the House upon my personage.

"What was that about?" she asked, looking over the top of her

glasses.

"Well let me tell you a story," I said.

"I'm sure you will," said The Lady of the House.

It was long ago and far away, the story of a radio co-worker I'll call "Jack" who died in a car wreck.

Jack was popular. There may have been 300 or so folks at his funeral.

Jack's parents brought the preacherman in from miles away. Things began alright, the guy saying nice things about Jack's life on Earth.

Then the fire and brimstone began.

To our surprise we learned that Jack was probably burning in the fires of hell because he didn't belong to his momma and daddy's denomination. And even more to our surprise we all learned that if we weren't a member of this particular denomination we'd all roast in hell like so many rotisserie chickens.

This preaching and condemnation went on for what seemed the whole afternoon but was only about 45 minutes. Many of us in attendance shot glances at each other like, "Is this a funeral or Sunday church?"

But we didn't leave, I reckoned, because we'd been taught that once a ceremony begins you're kind of locked in.

"And that's why I mentioned that it's OK to leave some ceremony if things get weird," I said.

"Well that'll never happen to me," said The Lady of the House.

"We'll just play some of your favorite songs, serve snacks and

cremate you."

"I feel better already," I said.

Grant McGee is a long-time broadcaster and former truck driver who rides bicycles and likes to talk about his many adventures on the road of life.

Contact him at: [email protected].