This morning I was at the crematorium we sometimes use that's just about in either Derbyshire or Staffordshire to conduct a service for someone who lived in Skegness but died in Dibley. Such is the logic of life!
The weather was inclement - foggy and near freezing, and the timing meant that the school run would be still active when I set off from home, hence an early start. For whatever reason the traffic was uncharacteristically light and I arrived with a good forty minutes before service time. I got chatting to the chapel manager (or whatever they're called) about some of the weird and wonderful things that happen in services these days. He's a lovely chap who happens to be a member of a highly conservative Baptist church that is not in Union or Association, so sometimes being in his role is a definite challenge. He told me of a service where someone had requested something by Eminem (is that spelled right, I haven't a clue!) the minister officiating had said he'd allow an instrumental but not the vocal version, however the family insisted and their word carried sway. He had struggled with this and felt the song (littered with expletives) was totally inappropriate for the setting. He then told me about a pagan ceremony earlier this week - priest in clerical looking robes, mourners in long robes adorned with various symbols, and a service conducted with dignity and respect; he'd had a good and respectful conversation with the pagan priest, in the course of which he'd been able to express his own views. After this he told me how his views had changed in the time he'd worked at the crematorium - he had arrived intending to be 'straight down the line' and nothing to do with anything that wasn't, but had learned that actually his task was to show God's love by treating everyone with respect and dignity, no matter who or what. This guy is a conservative evangelical who has learned a wonderful lesson of grace, and I'm sure his gentle presence and quiet witness to what he believes is more Godly than he can ever imagine.
My funeral party arrived and the service went off conventionally with cheesy music in and out and boring hymns sung almost solo; I spoke of a God of grace and mercy and of the defeat of evil and death by Christ as well as sharing few reminiscences from his friends. This, too, was a witness to God's love, as a stranger was shown dignity and commended to God's eternal mercy and grace.
It is easy to take for granted, and even to moan about, crematorium staff - but I am glad to know that in this place, as in many others, followers of Jesus embody something of his grace.