In know that this makes two consecutive posts with "funeral" in the title. Don't ask me why. I've just been involved in a number of funerals during the past two weeks. Today I officiated at a funeral. At the previous two services I didn't attend the graveside service, but today, of course, I did. I had forgotten about the police escort. I love that part! I imagine my chances of ever being in a presidential motorcade are pretty slim, so a funeral procession with a police escort is about as close as I will come.
We all got in line with our headlights on "bright" and followed a motorcycle policeman and one in a patrol car. The motorcycle would zoom ahead and stop traffic at the next busy intersection and the patrol car, with its lights flashing, would lead us through the intersection. I loved going through the red lights, especially. I felt a little cheated if the light was green, because, well, anyone can drive through a green light. I do that all the time. As soon as we were all clear of the intersection, the motorcycle policeman would zoom around us so he could beat us to the next intersection, where we would repeat the drill. We went through traffic lights and through stop signs. We made left hand turns across traffic. We made it all the way to the cemetary without stopping.
I like having a police escort. People pulled over and waited for me to go by. I was Reverend Whitlow, the funeral officiant. After the graveside service, I looked for the policemen, but they weren't there. I had to wait in line to get on Northwest Expressway. Once on the road, I wasn't a special member of an entourage with a police escort. I was just a preacher who doesn't get to preach often wearing a suit I bought on a half-price sale driving my dirty ten year old pickup. I got stuck behind a traffic accident that took me twenty minutes to get around.
Fame is fleeting.
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