Free World Made by Hand by James Howard Kunstler Page B

By the time he came of age, the days of miracles were over. He assumed a role in our little society, and he went manfully into a life of hard work making the ground yield our bread and caring for his family. He was a generous member of our music circle and will be sorely missed there. There is no telling where another destiny might have led Shawn if this tragedy had not intervened. We'll never know now, because his life was snatched away in a moment of reckless confusion."
    A wave of low murmur flowed through the congregants. More than one person coughed.
    "We don't know where this land and its people are tending. But we hope for an end to our losses, and we pray to be worthy of this beauty-filled, God-made world that we are still grateful to live in, for all our startling difficulties. Would that the Almighty might stop plucking our young away and reap us instead, the long-lived, who disgraced his world and led it down into weeds and ashes. But his design is not revealed to us and his will only known through our acts. Dear God, death reminds us of our true nature. While in your world we are in you. We are your servants. We thank you for your lessons and your mercy. We ask for your blessings upon the spirit of our friend and kinsman, Shawn Watling, as he enters into the light of your grace."
    Loren paused a long moment, then said, "We will continue at the cemetery. All are invited to follow along."
    Much bustling and bumping in the pews concealed the sound of Shawn's child crying for her father as everybody moved for the doors. We pallbearers carried the coffin back out to the wagon. The people of Union Grove made a long procession behind the wagon to what had been the edge of town until the 1950s. By a strange irony, several of the houses built afterward, which had encroached on the cemetery for years and dishonored it with their graceless vinyl split-level facades, had been among the first disassembled by Wayne Karp and his crew for salvage, so the cemetery had regained some its original character as the place where the town met the rural landscape. And of course no cars were disturbing the peace of the late morning. Loren had gotten a crew together earlier in the morning to dig out the grave and set the straps for lowering the coffin. When we'd gotten the coffin off the wagon, Tom Allison drove the rig off and left the horses tied to the iron fence in the shade.
    We in the choir took up our places behind Loren at the head of the grave. The New Faith people ended up in a crowd on one side and the Union Grove people on the other. Loren began the burial with a Psalm, number 100:

    When Loren had concluded, Brother Jobe took a step forward from his people, cleared his throat in a demonstrative way, and began reciting another Psalm, number 1:

    There was more than a little coughing and chuffing among our townspeople as he concluded.
    "Thank you, Brother Jobe," Loren said, "for that interesting choice."
    "The hundredth there that you spoke. That's on the cheerful side, given the circumstances. Wouldn't you think?"
    "I thought it might reflect the gratitude of we the living."
    "The Lord is busy judging, and by death do we know it."
    "I suppose so. Now, if you'll permit us."
    Brother Jobe appeared to think better of saying more and stepped back among his people.
    "Lord our God," Loren said, "you are the source of life. In you we live and move. Keep us in life and death, in your love, and, by you grace, lead us to your kingdom through your Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord."
    "Amen," the crowd said.
    "Almighty God, look on this your servant, lying in great weakness, and comfort him with the promise of life everlasting, given in the resurrection of your Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord."
    "Amen."
    Loren turned and nodded to those of us in the choir behind him. We began the hymn named "Africa" by William Billings. It was not about the continent of Africa per se, or any of the doings within it, but it was a very beautiful hymn of the American