The Preacher Remembers Earl the Grave Digger
When I was in seminary I worked as a security guard at a local retirement community. This was light security – no guns and lots of cookies. Those darlings were charmed by the young, idealistic seminarian, giving his life to the ministry. (moment of silence please) They responded with cookies. The soon-to-be preacher gained a pound every time he made his rounds.
A few months before graduation a new security guard was hired. Earl looked so much like Lurch from “The Adams Family” that people stopped and stared. I was speechless when I met him. 6’ 9”, gaunt, deep voice. Real scary. Earl had an absolutely flat affect. Never joked. Never smiled. Extremely nice but no fooling around.
The first night we were sitting at our desk in the security office. I asked Earl what he had done before coming to the retirement home. “Grave digger” he said, in his flat tone. He saw nothing funny in that.
There was this wonderful moment where we were looking at each other across the table. I chewed my tongue to keep from laughing. Of course Earl had been a grave digger. Why had I bothered to ask?
Late night security at a retirement home leaves plenty of time for conversation. Incidents are rare and usually rather tame. Once I was called to Mrs. Reynold’s apartment to fetch a strange child she said was crouching under her night table. I arrived and was escorted to the table in question. Under it was a book. The tiny picture of the author on the back of the book jacket was visible. “See”, she said. “There he is. He’s the strangest child. Never answers. Just sits there looking at me.”
Okay.
I removed the book jacket and told Mrs. Reynolds I would see the child safely home. She gave me cookies. I tell ya, I was hero in those days.
Most nights Earl and I sat around talking. He had the vocabulary of an Oxford Don, and I was stunned by his security reports. “The estimable [my name] successfully completed his rounds and proffered his assistance with mine.”
It’s the only time in my life I ever proffered anything. I rather liked it. I really liked Earl.
Eventually the conversation turned to God. Earl was a thoroughgoing atheist. Not angry. Not defensive. No need to convince anyone to join him. Very rational. He celebrated my calling to the ministry and was genuinely interested in the classes I was taking.
One night we were sitting at our desk and a bookmarker fell out of whatever the hell Earl was reading. It was a construction paper cross with “Jesus loves you Daddy” written on it in crayon.
I picked it up and looked at him. “Earl?”
It was given to him by his daughter who went to church with her mother. Like lots of little kids, she really, really loved Jesus.
I asked Earl if he minded his daughter going to church.
“Absolutely not,” he said. “Whatever gets you through the night.” He punctuated this with a thumbs-up. “Plus, she gave it to me because she loves me.”
At that time the preacher was newly married. Later I would discover how your child can pull your heart out of your chest with a little gesture like that.
He cradled the small cross in his large hands. For a moment our heads were bowed across the desk in adoration of this little icon of love.
The seminarian giving his life to the service of that cross and the atheist who understood the love of his child shared a moment of worship.
Dear friends, I celebrate our common ground. I marvel at the impulse of love which is clearly present in all of us.
Now I lay me down my need to save or evangelize you. That’s not an easy move for a preacher. We’ve been taught that all souls are our responsibility. That’s a terrible burden to bear, and it feels good to let it go.
Thank you for making me welcome. Thank you for letting me tell my stories. I didn’t realize how desperately I needed to share them.
The preacher.
8:51:18 AM 
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