Honor to whom honor is due

A member of our congregation was buried yesterday. He was both a fireman and had served as a Marine. He also rode a motorcycle, a road hog. He died in an accident while riding his hog. An impressive man, he was one of the few men that could wear a kilt and draw absolutely no depreciating remarks. We shall all miss him.

As a priest, I have seen many funerals, and have seen military honors, etc. rendered, but the honors rendered yesterday were impressive. Many fire fighters and police officers turned up in full dress uniform. Two fire engines were present from different companies. An honor guard of firemen bore his casket. But that was not what truly impressed me. It was the ride to the cementery.

The cementery was a good twenty miles away. As a priest, I rode in one of the front cars with the deacon. The parish priest rode in another car, then a fire engine with lights flashing, the hearse, and the family in a limosine. It took nearly an hour to do those twenty miles and we did not take the Interstate. At first I was not sure why we did not take the Interstate, as it would have been quicker. Then I found out. As we went through the regular streets, we would pass from the jurisdiction of one fire company to another. At every change of jurisdictions there was a fire engine from that company waiting. The firemen and firewomen were on duty, so they were in their work uniform. But, as the procession passed, they would snap to salute as the hearse approached. And, as the lead fire engine reached the waiting fire engine, it would sound a long toot of its horn in salute and the other engine would sound back. Sometimes there was a fire engine on one block, the ambulance from the company on the next block, and a police car from that patrol area on the third block. Each time the men and women were waiting, then the coming to attention, then the salute.

And so it went, mile after mile, company after company, patrol district after patrol district. By the time we arrived at the cementery I understood much better what it means to give honor to whom honor is due. The Marine honor guard’s folding of the flag after Taps was sounded and the ringing of the fire bell, three times three, as part of the final salute were but the logical finish to honoring those to whom honor is due. And then a police helicopter, lonely and by itself, flew over the gathering, turned in a long slow curve and winged off to not be seen again. And, our friend and member of the congregation had been properly honored, properly prayed for, and it was time for us to go, sadder but with the quiet sense that we had rendered all due honor.

Memory Eternal! Semper Fi!