God, Our Hiding Place

In God We Find Our Deliverance

From Psalm 71: 1 In you, O Lord, I take refuge; let me never be put to shame. 2 In your righteousness deliver me and rescue me; incline your ear to me and save me. 3 Be to me a rock of refuge, a strong fortress, to save me, for you are my rock and my fortress. 4 Rescue me, O my God, from the hand of the wicked, from the grasp of the unjust and cruel. 5 For you, O Lord, are my hope, my trust, O Lord, from my youth. 6 Upon you I have leaned from my birth; it was you who took me from my mother's womb. My praise is continually of you.

I had the perfect boyhood home. It was wooden and on blocks. It was near a creek back in the days when creeks had water and rainfall came often enough. My best friend lived three doors down, and my only grandma lived in the back yard in her own home. The house was raised just high enough and I was small enough, to provide a hiding place. There was a certain spot where I could lay for hours and not be found. In the heat of 90 degree or hotter weather, the coolness of the shade and the soft dirt, which was delicious for a time, hid me well. In all the times I hid there I never encountered anything of danger, no spiders, no snakes, or bugs; nada. I suspect David could not hide under his tent, but he knew hiding places. It may have been in a small cave or opening in the side of a cliff where he knew he would be safe from whatever, or later, whomever might cause him harm. And because of his relationship with God, he knew God was his hiding place and served him better than any cave or physical hiding place. I don't fit under any house today, and my boyhood home has been gone for over fifty years. The creek was paved and thanks to the Texas drought, it has no water. I don't know where my boyhood friend moved, and my grandmother has been dead since 1986. Yet, even today, like David, I have a hiding place in God. Yesterday, Nellie awoke with the thought of John Wesley's prayer room and found online a photo of it. As she and I talked about prayer and the many hours that Wesley spent in prayer, she said, "Imagine what he shared in there; he must have cried in there and pleaded in there with God." John Wesley had a hiding place, and so do you.

No castle nor fortress can compare to the strength and power of God. There is no rock large enough to offer us the protection and safety of God. If we are pursued by wicked people or from unjust or cruel people, we have in God the hope and trust that has been ours for as long as we have known about or more importantly known and had a relationship with God. Even before our birth, as soon as God knew us, He has loved and cared for us. Thanks be to God, and let us sing those praises for our God.

PRAYER: Thank You, O Blessed Lord, for the hiding place your provide. Thank You for sharing with us that strength and protection that we often need. As David prayed, so do I, be to me that which protects and keeps me, for You are my hope and my trust. Amen.

Have a great and blessed day in the Lord!

Eradio Valverde

The Death of the Funeral Sermon

When did we become a community of faith that shares not hope, but a recap of the deceased's life? Jesus said, "Let not your heart be troubled; remember when Uncle Johnny used to control the tv all the time? Yeah, he was like that."

Losing a Dear Friend

One of the toughest things I ever faced early in my ministry were funerals. There is no "fun" in funerals. I "majored" in funerals while an intern at El Mesias UMC in Mission, Texas. I did nine funerals within a period of three or so months. I did some very sad funerals working with a dear man named Mr. Ford in that year, including one where no one showed up to the funeral home. The graveside was Mr. Ford's idea for this lady whose son did not even want a funeral for her. "Dig a hole and bury her" were his words as related to us by Mr. Ford, whose first name I sadly have forgotten, though I think it was Jim. The pastor and I helped Mr. Ford carry the coffin to the hearse, something I never wanted to do, and loaded it onto the hearse. For those who think the Valley does not get cold weather, please come during a winter, for that day was cold and rainy. We arrived at the cemetery to find a small crowd, but no son. Thankfully, Mr. Ford had some nice umbrellas and I had a nice overcoat. We waited an eternity for this jerk to drive up and loudly say, "Let's get this over with!" And we did.

Years later I was the pastor at El Mesias, and the funerals continued. Folks never seem to ask permission before they die, they just die. And it was during that time I met the man who replaced Mr. Ford, a young man named Ric Brown. Ric was different from what I had perceived to be the mold of funeral directors; serious, caring, but non-expressive. Ric was anything but, except for the caring part; Ric loved people and that showed. Ric also loved life and that showed. Ric loved Jesus Christ and that showed. Ric loved to laugh and that showed all too clearly. He took his job seriously, showing his care and concern for people and he had a policy of burying children I believe under the age of two, for free. His personal life had been traumatized by a loss of a child during his first marriage and he made it his policy to show love and care in providing the best he could for families who lost little ones. Ric helped me overcome my fear of death and the dead. While in high school I had made friends with the son of a prominent funeral director and he loved to share stories that fueled my fear. Thanks, bro! Ric took me behind the scenes and explained his calling and the laws of Texas when it came to the dead. He followed those faithfully.

We were blessed with a gift that helped our funeral ministry, a piano that used floopy disks to program music and so, if we knew we had a funeral coming, our pianist would record the hymns requested for the funeral and all I had to do was to find someone to insert the disk, press play at the appropriate time and we were in business! Ric loved to be that person. Our piano was on the choir loft behind the congregation so folks had to turn to see the choir or someone singing, and so Ric loved acting like he was the one playing this wonderful sacred music and he made the expressions and hand gestures as if he were a concert pianist. He was doing that just to make me laugh, which he knew I needed, but sometimes folks would turn around and were shocked to see the funeral director playing the piano for a funeral. And afterwards, he would still play along. "That was some great music, Ric!" And he would smile and thank them. I would laugh and shake my head.

In September of 1989, tragedy struck our small town. A school bus collided with a Coca-Cola truck and sent the bus into a water-filled caliche pit. I believe 21 children drowned as a result of that accident. I responded to the call because my secretary's husband was a fire fighter and she knew the location. I was known by several city leaders and so as I arrived I was asked to be on the shore where the parents of the children on the scene were awaiting news of their children's safety or death. I witnessed the pain and agony of parents grieving the loss of little ones. All I could do was hug and cry with many of the moms there at that pit. The sheriff then asked if I would help Ric set up a temporary morgue in the county pavilion near Mission. Ric came and drove us over there and he and I set up folding tables to be beds for the bodies as they arrived on stretchers. I had no time to be frightened I was just in shock, doing what was expected of me. The bodies would be placed on the floor and Ric and I would lift them onto the table. Ric asked that we clean the faces of dirt, sand, and other debris from the accident. One little girl still had her hairbrush in her hair. I had to straighten up the heads to align with the bodies and I had to remove that hairbrush. Then I had to await the arrival of parents to identify the bodies. Ric and I would never be the same when it came to our friendship; we were now more than friends, brothers and co-sufferers of life's worst experiences.

When I moved away from the Valley I missed Ric and his style of funerals. And somehow I kept in touch with him or news of Ric would reach me. When one of Nellie's first cousins died, I had a chance to work with Ric again. I heard of Ric's health not being what it could, and last night, as his wife posted in Facebook, his journey here on earth came to an end. I shared with her that just two days ago I was thinking of Ric and how I needed to stop by and see him the next time I was in Mission. I was sure Ric has some jokes to share with me as well as bring me up to date on all things funeral.

Ric was a giver and gave his all. Ric is among that number that has heard or will hear, "Well done, good and faithful servant."

Heaven's gain is our painful loss; but thank You, God, for Ric and men and women like Ric. Bless and comfort Kathy and their kids.