Funereal #4

Ahem.

I'm lying in a donated coffin. There's hardly anyone else who is there in the small viewing gallery, again donated. The donors are the church that I have spent most of my adult life in since I was saved. Many know of me, but hardly anyone knows me, because I had never really tried to reach out---the pastor once told me how, and it was easy, but I never knew what to do after that because there was always a wall of intellectual nonsense that separated me from them. God knows I could care and love, but not in the way that any normal person would recognise---maybe it was better called service than love. I was always at church, serving quietly in a not-so-quiet way as a musician in the music ministry. But no one ever knew me, and perhaps even myself as well. The pastor is there, maybe out of obligation, maybe out of pity. He says a few unimportant words, and I get cremated. And that was all there was with my earthly body.