As a young minister, I was asked by a funeral director
to hold a graveside service for a homeless man, with no
family or friends, who had died while traveling through
the area. The funeral was to be held at a cemetery way
back in the country, and this man would be the first to
be laid to rest there.

As I was not familiar with the backwoods area, I became
lost; and being a typical man I did not stop for
directions. I finally arrived an hour late.

I saw the crew, eating lunch, but the hearse was
nowhere in sight. I apologized to the workers for my
tardiness, and stepped to the side of the open grave,
where I saw the vault lid already in place. I assured
the workers I would not hold them long but this was the
proper thing to do.

The workers gathered around, still eating their lunch.
I poured out my heart and soul. As I preached, the
workers began to say "Amen," "Praise the Lord," and
"Glory," I preached, and I preached, like I'd never
preached before: from Genesis all the way to Revelations.

I closed the lengthy service with a prayer and walked
to my car. I felt I had done my duty for the homeless
man and that the crew would leave with a renewed sense
of purpose and dedication, in spite of my tardiness.

As I was opening the door and taking off my coat, I
overheard one of the workers saying to another, "I
ain't never seen anything like this before and I've
been putting in septic tanks for twenty years."