I never met Robert Adolph Boehm. In fact I didn’t even know he had lived or that he had died until nearly a week after his funeral. I’ve never been to Clarendon, Texas. I’ve never met the people of Robertson Funeral Directors. I don’t know any of the members of Robert Boehm’s family, not his son, nor this grandchildren, nor his great-grandchildren. But I have read his obituary. It is posted on the Funeral Home website. Click here to take a look for yourself.

Robert Adolph Boehm was just a little bit older than me and from what I can gather he died of an accident, suddenly and unexpectedly. It is likely that he was still in the depths of grief following the death of his wife of nearly sixty years. His son, Charles had his life turned upside down by having both of his parents die within a few months. Like others of us who have experienced the death of parents, he was faced with some inescapable tasks that come to adult children and he rose to the task. Specifically, he had to write his father’s obituary and the one he wrote has gone viral.

According to the interview on CBC radio which prompted me to look up and read the obituary, Charles was inspired by reading another obituary posted online. That of Joe Heller, who died in Centerbrook Connecticut in 2019. I’m not sure what inspired him to read that particular obituary. Maybe it has its own Internet fame as well.

It is easy to see the style comparisons in both. It is also easy to see how the love of children inspired them to use humor as a companion on the road of grief.

Heller’s daughters wrote, “When doctors confronted his daughters with the news last week that “your father is a very sick man,’ in unison they replied, ‘you have no idea.’” They also noted, “Joe was also a consummate napper. There wasn’t a road, restaurant or friend’s house in Essex that he didn’t fall asleep on or in. There wasn’t an occasion too formal or an event too dour that Joe didn’t interrupt with his apnea and voluminous snoring.” Toward the end of his obituary they added, “No flowers, please. The family is seeking donations to offset the expense of publishing an exceedingly long obituary which would have really pissed Joe off. Seriously, what would have mad him the happiest is for you to go have a cup of coffee with a friend and bullsh*t about his antics or play a harmless prank on some unsuspecting sap.”

I feel like I know Joe from reading his obituary. And I have read a lot of obituaries over the years that didn’t tell me much at all about the person who died. One of the things that I learned early in my career as a minister was to always read the obituary of the deceased, but to avoid having it read out loud at the funeral. Those who care have already read it. Those who don’t won’t be at the funeral. Obituaries give the bare bones facts: date of birth, names of relatives, military service and jobs held. They rarely tell the story of the life of the person. Whenever possible, I paid visits to grieving family members and tried to inspire them to tell stories about their loved one. It was from those informal stories, told in a living room or the church parlor that I crafted funeral services. It is remarkable how often those storytelling sessions were punctuated not only with tears, but also with laughter. I have been present for enough of the first tellings of beloved stories in the face of loss to be a firm believer in resurrection. Through those stories I have come to know people that I never met face to face. Their presence is real.

And now I’ve met Joe. But I’ve also met Robert A. Boehm, with whom I began today’s journal entry. “Robert also kept a wide selection of harmonicas on hand—not to play personally, but to prompt his beloved dogs to howl continuously at odd hours of the night to entertain his many neighbors, and occasionally to give to his many, many, many grandchildren and great-grandchildren to play loudly during long road trips with their parents.” Another person that I never met face to face but wish I had has come alive for me in the telling of his story.

The stories of these two men have been shared over and over again. Robert’s story made it to the national radio station of the country on the border of the opposite side of his country. It is likely that both of those stories have been read by hundreds of thousands of people giving them fame that they did not know during the time of their earthly lives.

Our people have some stories like that. When Moses led the people of Israel out of slavery in Egypt, he was inspired by God to ask them to always tell the story of their exodus to their children. They did and so did their children and grandchildren and great grandchildren and every generation. At some point the stories got written down and collected into scripture. Those stories are not only treasured and told by Jews, but by Christians and Muslims as well. Along with the stories of Moses and Ruth and Esther and the kings and the prophets, Christians have been telling stories of Jesus for more than two thousand years.

Every time the story is told, Christ is present in the telling. Every time the bread is broken and the cup is passed, Christ is present in the sacrament. Through all of the tellings land retellings we come to know not only the sadness of grief that was present at his dying, but also the pure joy that came at his resurrection. Humor is shaped by language and culture and sometimes gets lost in the seriousness of ritual and tradition, but it is present in the scriptures. And sometimes, when a smile crosses our face or a giggle escapes our lips, we become alive with the life of Christ.