Funeral Singin'

The funeral program said, "How Great Thou Art" - solo. When she stood and went to the podium, I thought to myself, "Uh oh, this is gonna be BAD."

I was attending my uncle's funeral, packed into the funeral parlor chapel with 14 cousins, their spouses and offspring, and 200 other fine citizens of my hometown. There was standing room only even with the folding chairs down the aisles. It was shaping up to be the funeral of the year.

Miz Ima Jean Witherspoon rose to sing her solo. Miz Ima Jean looks to be about 109 1/2. Everybody knows a Miz Ima Jean, there's one in every church in Arkansas. She is the Queen Mother of the first soprano section of the church choir, never misses church or a Wednesday night choir practice. She should have been demoted to alto decades ago since she hasn't been able to hit a high C since 1967, but she is oblivious to the fact and no one has the courage to tell her. Her lipstick is applied just beyond the edges of the lips God gave her and she smells like flowerdy old lady perfume with overtones of mothballs. Yes, you know who I'm talkin' about.

Miz Ima Jean was decked out in her best Sunday-Go-To-Meetin' dress and a "bad lid", a matching royal blue hat bought especially for the occasion. She teetered to the podium and the pianist started. The audience drew its collective breath because they, like me, knew, "This is gonna be bad."

She started in on the first verse and we were not disappointed. I was trying not to giggle but it was a struggle. As she crackled along I studied my fingernails, the toe of my shoe, the fibers of the carpet. I dared not make eye contact with any of my cousins because that would be the end of us.

Miz Ima Jean sang with all her heart, pouring forth her praise to God as His humble servant and in memory of my recently departed uncle. Even though her voice was not quite up to the task, her heart and soul were giving it all she had. After a minute or two I decided it wasn't as bad as I had anticipated, but then realized she had sung the first and second verses back to back without the chorus. As she finished the second verse and started in on the chorus the audience rustled uneasily. Here it comes....



"How Great Thou Arrrrrrt (crack!)... How Greaaat (crack!) Thou Arrrrrt."

Cousin Tommy was poking Cousin Brandi. Brandi's shoulders were quivering as she intently studied the hem of her jacket. She didn't dare look up at him. Over in the pallbearer section Cousin Tommy Darrell was making big google eyes at no one in particular. Beside me my sister was doing a little mouth breathing trying to maintain some composure. I was squinching up my toes, clenching my teeth and giving my fingernails a microscopic examination. We were all on the edge of mutiny. One look cut across the room, one instant of eye contact, one snicker and the whole place would have exploded.

By the second chorus little beads of sweat were forming on my brow. Cousin Ashley, sitting in front of me on the front row, was beginning to squirm. She was the only adult in the front row and was riding herd on a gaggle of nieces and nephews. I could see the kids giving Ashley puzzled looks. I can only imagine the look on Ashley's face as she tried to be a good role model right there under Miz Ima Jean's nose. I was busy in silent prayer, "Please God, do not let there be another verse; Please God, do NOT let there be another verse."

God must have been listening because the piano player was banging out the big finale, "How Great Thou Art (crack!)...How Greaaaat (crack!) Thou Arrrrrrt (crack!)" The amens from the amen pew were especially fervent, not only because of Miz Ima Jean's anthem, but because it was finally over. The audience breathed a sigh of relief.

Two hundred people gathered in attendance had managed to maintain their composure with nary a snicker and Miz Ima Jean's grace and dignity were preserved. For that, let us all give Thanks.

Note to self: No soloist at my funeral doings.