Then a young pastor, I recall leaving one of my first graveside services. (Though it felt more like escaping.) Outwardly, I may have appeared calm and serious. Inwardly, I berated myself for forgetting parts of the Lord’s Prayer.
Yeah, I said forgetting!
I didn’t know the son and daughter of the dearly departed. They’d called my church, searching for a minister in their “hour of need.” Now, with the simple service finished, the two siblings walked behind me. Without glancing back, I easily overheard their not-whispered conversation. I fretted they might be exchanging snide criticisms about the stupid pastor who messed up Christianity’s most famous prayer.
Not at all!
They were arguing about their mother’s will and her possessions.
I had fumbled the Lord’s Prayer’s final sentences. How embarrassing! At the open grave of a stranger, with a handful of her family that I’d only met in one meeting prior to the service, I’d shut my Book of Worship and invited the mourners to pray with me. It was just the Lord’s Prayer. They were words I’d memorized as a kid in Sunday school way back when. But I was nervous. Faking a few final muttered words, I hurried to the “Amen.” Read More →by