It is very sad sometimes how we measure the importance of someones life. For example , their successes or achievements, their family or the numbers at their funeral. It’s very sad because all these miss out on the real value or importance of a person. That real value of course comes not from our observations but from the only one who has the right to value us. To God, E was someone of infinite value, someone important enough to allow his son to die for.
I struggled to find a neighbour that could tell me anything about her for her funeral today but was glad that a few neighbours had turned up so I wasn’t alone. The funeral was simple, we didn’t say much about E but I felt I was treading on holy ground.
For some reason the funeral directors had booked an organist even though I had said that we wouldn’t be singing. It wasn’t the usual duty organist at the crem. As we left he played an amazing piece of Buxtehude. I have never heard the crem organ sound so good. He played the piece right to the end to an empty chapel and I was able to slip back in having said goodbye to the neighbours in order to give him a round of applause.
E’s piano stool was full of classical manuscripts and old choral festival songbooks. I guess she would have approved.