Funeral Procession

I officiated at a funeral last week. The drive from the funeral home to the cemetery was almost 30 miles, and we slowly drove. It was a lovely day, driving by corn fields and blueberry farms, small churches, general stores, and crossroads. There is a custom here -- and maybe elsewhere, too -- that drivers meeting a funeral procession pull over and stop. Not everyone does that, but many do. On Friday as we made our way to the cemetery, people driving tractors, work trucks, cars, and pickups pulled over until we passed. This little tribute is very moving to me, total strangers pausing to honor the dead. Maybe it is an acknowledgement, too, that we will all end our days, and that we would hope for others to stop and honor our lives. And I was reminded of some lines of poetry: 

Because I could not stop for Death – 

He kindly stopped for me – 

The Carriage held but just Ourselves – 

And Immortality. 

We slowly drove –  He knew no haste 

And I had put away 

My labor and my leisure too, 

For His Civility – 

 … 

Emily Dickinson