"Go" I had received a late night emergency call for a minister to conduct a graveside funeral the following morning. The deceased was not saved, it was a charity burial, there would only be five family members there and the funeral director could not find a pastor that was available (???) to conduct the service. Someone had referred them to me. They didn't have any money, they said, so they would not be able to pay much. Out of my spirit the command was, "Go." I hung up the telephone, looked up to the ceiling and said, "Lord, it is 11 p.m. and I have to be at that gravesite at 11 a.m. tomorrow morning... HELP!" Within thirty minutes I had gone through my minister's manual, looked over every potential funeral message and nothing jelled. "Oh, Lord," I moaned from somewhere deep within my being, "What can I say to these people?" I had officiated at funerals previously and it seemed that always it came out as a salvation message. The manual will tell you that this is a no-no, totally improper, but then I rarely listen to the opinions of mere man, I try to be led by the voice of the Spirit. In Centralia, Washington a funeral home was so packed the people were standing in the aisles. My word to them was one of the Mercy of a loving Father and the gift of a giving Christ. About ten people gave their hearts to Jesus Christ that day. At a funeral in West Virginia I spoke briefly at the graveside services of my 101-year-old grandmother, a Godly woman, but many of the 60 or more people there were not saved. No altar call was given, no alter call should ever be given at a funeral, but people came to me afterward as they had in Centralia, with confessions of conviction and a decision for Christ. This was a different scenerio. Only five people would be there and only one, a sister, was saved. And, the deceased was not saved...(so they said). I took my place at the head of the casket, prayed ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Then I looked up, closed my manual and said, "I am not going to read to you from the scriptures and I am not going to speak a lot of pretty words to you. I am going to tell you a story." I could not believe those words had come out of my mouth, but the Spirit of the Lord was all over me and away I went... I looked up at the glaring sky and began... "It was a day much like this one, a bright hot morning, just off a dusty road, like this one, and there too, a crowd had gathered. It was a motley crowd, a handful of believers, a lot of mockers and curiosity seekers and an adequate group of Roman soldiers who were there to execute three men. It would not be a quick and humane execution, but a cruel, barbaric, tortuous and shameful one. "Untold pain and untold sorrow would intensify for hours before they surrendered to the arms of death. But, on this occasion, it was the day before Passover so these three would not be allowed to linger for days as it was often the case. On this day their legs would be broken in the sixth hour to hasten their deaths... They were not only very real men suffering very real agony, they were entertainment for the skeptics. In the hearts of the few faithful family members of one of the condemned, there was the hope of a miracle. You see, execution would be by crucifixion, the most heartless form of execution ever inflicted on one man by another... On the center cross was the Son of God, spikes having been driven through His hands and feet. An insulting crown, having been woven of long sharp thorns by the Roman guards, bore down heavily over His bloody brow. Two thieves hung beside Him, one on His left who would come to represent those in the coming generations that would reject Him. The thief on the right would forever represent those that would believe Him and receive Him as their Lord. The thief on the left said to Him, "If you are the Christ, save yourself and us." The thief on the right rebuked him sharply, "Have you no fear of God? We deserve to die for our deeds but this man has done nothing wrong." Then looking unto Jesus, he said, "Lord, remember me when you come into your kingdom." Immediately Jesus responded, "This day you shalt be with me in Paradise." There was no occasion for baptism, no time to learn about the things of God, no time for sharing with others, just time to suffer and to die, and perhaps, at least for the one thief, to enter eternity with Jesus. I was painting a cruel scene with a soft but leading voice and it had their attention. My Spirit was calm and quiet as if something or someone had sprayed it with gentleness. It was much like telling a fireside story to strangers that had joined the camp... I moved deeper into the story of God's love and Christ's gift of life, paid in full, His blood and His grace perfuming the graves of every saint. I shared that often, in His mercy, God would allow a last-minute manifestation of the risen Christ to the spirit of the one dying and give him or her a final opportunity to acknowledge Him or to reject Him. Though the body may sleep, the soul and spirit never sleep and it is to the spirit that Christ manifests Himself. No one knows what takes place at this final confrontation unless the dying one is awake, oriented and speaks it forth. I have been present with both saved and unsaved at their deaths and I have witnessed such visitations taking place. These are called death-bed conversions and they do happen. The Bible is clear that we will be surprised when we get to Heaven to see some there we never expected to see, and will be surprised to find missing some we expected to be there. Only God is the righteous judge of a person's heart. I went on to explain that man uses a short measuring stick when measuring the life of another person, and it is marked with accusation, criticism, condemnation and judgment. By comparison, God uses a long measuring stick that is marked with His Word, His love, forgiveness, long-suffering, patience and redemption. Only the stubborn repeated rejections of His Son will cause God to harden a heart past the desire to repent. So, what happens in those final moments is between God and the dying. We cannot judge what we do not know... I repeated the words, "Lord, remember me... Lord, remember me..." A change of heart with a mere smidgeon of understanding turned a thief into a saint in one brief moment, and the testimony of his last-minute conversion will live forever in the pages of God's Holy Word. "Lord, rmember me..." was all it took for one man to be saved for eternity. I reminded them that if Jesus tarries, we will all come to a day like this, and when that time comes, "What words will they speak over you?" I gave them opportunity to speak words of their own over the deceased, then gave an invitation for them to accept Christ. No one moved. They just looked at me, then down to the ground. I closed with prayer and stepped back, closing the service. A sister of the decreased came up to me, thanked me and handed me an envelope. Before I could speak, she raised a rebuking hand and said, "Don't! I was saved once, but I'm a backslider. I'm not a nice person, in fact, I'm really not a very good person. I hear this stuff all the time from my sister and I don't want to deal with this right now." Then she walked away, the thief on the left... Then a young man in his thirties walked up to me and asked, "What church do you pastor? I want to come." I explained that I do not pastor a church for I am an evangelist. He looked at me through dark sunglasses and hesitated. I asked, "Do you know Jesus?" He responded, "I know about Him, but...no...I don't." "But you want to?" "Yes..." He had heard through his convictions the calling of the Spirit to "Come." I ministered to him for a few minutes, then led him in the prayer of repentance as He received his Lord right there at an open grave. He pulled his sunglasses out from his nose just enough to wipe his eyes, then pushed them back again. I waited for him to speak, then realized he was too choked up to speak. He simply grabbed me in a bear hug that took my breath away, and we just stood there holding each other as he wept quietly. His conversion had been real, like the thief on the right... I then had a chance to speak with the one sister who was saved. Having been told she had widespread and terminal cancer, I wanted to pray with her and she said, "Whether God heals me or not, either way, I win!" I wanted to shout, "Father, listen to this faith..." On the way home I thanked my Father for sending me there. The small paymnt gift they had given me was not important - a soul had been claimed for Jesus and that was more priceless than silver or gold. It was a work that would last. Heaven was rejoicing for one more had escaped the gates of Hell. I was at peace. Perhaps this one would be the instrument God would use to bring in others, or multitudes! Damp and sticky from the sweltering sun and high humidity of the Baltimore summer, striving to achieve the maximum from my car's air-conditioning, I smiled all the way home. I was wondering if that woman in the casket had met the rich man of Luke 17. In that story, told by Jesus, the rich king had died and opened his eyes in the torments of hell, asking that the beggar Lazarus whom he had ignored in this life, be allowed to return to the land of the living and warn his brothers so they would not come to this place. I was thinking, Lazarus was not allowed to rise from the dead and go forth - and this poor woman would not be allowed to rise and warn her family either. But I had warned them for her. The greatest gift one person can give to another who is being lowered in the grave is to warn their family... If God sends you to a dusty potters field some hot and humid morning, GO! He will go with you and just maybe, as in this case, He will tap you on the shoulder, tell you to close your book, and share a fireside story of a love that never dies... Joan Krempel
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