At the funeral

Literally millions of fundamentalist Christians believe the Christian faith is greatly imperiled in America, more than it's ever, ever been. I don't share that terror, but if, this morning, they still believe that's true, then they didn't witness the funeral of President George Herbert Walker Bush. At some moments, that memorial was almost embarrassingly Christian.

From Michael W. Smith to a public recitation to the Apostle's Creed, to "Praise My Soul, the King of Heaven," to his son's wonderful spiritual tribute; from readings of scripture (Isaiah 60, Revelations 21), to "O God, Our Help in Ages Past" and "The King of Love My Shepherd Is," the length and breadth of that service, broadcast on every major network, resounded with the Word, and even the Word Made Flesh. 

And it's not over. In a yet-to-come celebration of his life back in Houston, the Oak Ridge Boys will be singing "Amazing Grace," just as America's 41st President himself asked. 

Conservatives may well claim that their heartfelt opposition to same-sex marriage, for instance, or legal abortion, means they suffer derision and worse in the pervasive secular humanism of the cultural and the times.  They may well believe all that confession and profession yesterday was a sham. 

For that matter, purists on the Christian left might well complain that the ceremony exuded that potent and frequently dangerous blend of faith and politics, or faith and patriotism. I get that too. But I couldn't help feeling the recitation of the Apostles Creed, heard from Washington to LA, was a national blessing.

"What does it tell you that the feel-good events in Washington these days are funerals?" Susan Glasser asks in an opening line to a sassy response to the memorial in the New Yorker, a mild critique of the proceedings she titled, expansively: "George H. W. Bush’s Funeral Was the Corny, Feel-Good Moment That Washington Craves." To me, his funeral wasn't just a "corny, feel-good moment." Not at all. 

And unlike the earlier McCain proceedings in the very same National Cathedral, yesterday's solemn affair carried no mention of President Donald Trump. The Bushes wouldn't have it. Nothing. His name was not spoken, no one drew comparisons, he was never cited, not once. Speakers flailed the Prince of Orange during the McCain funeral; nobody said a word yesterday.

Still, the man managed to dominate--by neglecting to shake hands with anyone other than his immediate neighbors, the greatly hated Obamas, by being the only one who didn't recite the Apostles Creed or sing the hymns, by sitting in that characteristic, stifled position, his beefy arms clasped tightly about his beefy self, in not responding to anything warmly. In his very first tweet after the service he told those on his feed that his poll numbers were up to fifty per cent approval. 

The man dominates so fully that it was impossible to listen to any of the preaching or eulogizing yesterday without thinking of the man who was and is and forever shall be the polar opposite of George H. W. Bush, who was cited by all who knew him as humbly devoted to his God, his family, and his people.

Way back at the beginning of the Republican primaries in 2016, we all watched an undeniable phenomenon grow from his every movement. There were 18 men and one woman running for the Republican nomination. They could all be on stage at once, a whole squadron, even a Bush, a "low-energy" former governor. Didn't matter who or how many stood there, Donald Trump sucked the oxygen out of the room, left nothing for anyone else to breathe.

You can only love him or hate him. You simply can't be so-so. Of the Presidents and First Ladies who shared his pew, the only one he hasn't pummeled or thrashed is Rosalyn Carter. 

Yesterday, in a wonderful Christian ceremony, a service that had nothing to do with him, a Presidential funeral at which he neither spoke nor was spoken of, his massive shadow still lay over every square inch of the cathedral.

But yesterday he wasn't the big story, and for that all of us can be thankful.