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COFFEE THOUGHTS:
OLD MAN RUFUS
Sip.
Happy Monday!! Old man Rufus, I’ll name
him Rufus. I was just a youngster when I heard about this praying man, Rufus.
It left such an impact I still think of it often. I’ll try to tell it the
best I know how.
Known
in the community yet hardly known. He was hardly ever at community functions,
or seen around the community. Sometimes one would ask Rufus, come on down to
the ball field. To which he’d say, ”I can’t, Monday is the night for
mowing the grass down at the church.”
Another time on a Tuesday a friend asked him out for lunch. ”Oh, I'd love
to” he replied, ”but Tuesday evenings I do maintenance at the church.”
Even
the pastor mentioned to him, ”Saturday is the gospel bluegrass festival,
come on out, there’ll be lots of food.” But Rufus would say, ”I’ll
try, but Saturday is final cleanup and setup for Sunday.”
And so his life went, he was there, but he wasn’t there. Always the same
answers. Years went by, there were only a handful left at the little country
church. It was just another Sunday morning the pastor walks in. He wasn’t
surprised to see Rufus up at the altar praying. This was a normal Sunday
routine for Rufus.
The pastor did his thing, a few walked in and found their seats. The pastor
noticed Rufus hadn’t moved since he came. The pastor quickly shuffled over to
Rufus, tapped him on the shoulder, and immediately knew old Rufus was gone.
Cold and stiff, hunched over the altar, Rufus was dead.
If
you ask the funeral director, he will get all excited when you begin to talk
about the funeral of Rufus. He says he never saw anything like it. The
building was slam full, long line of people. Everyone was talking. Talking to
people they had never met.
He
said he never saw people walk by a casket, break down and weep as they did
for Rufus. The rich, the poor, suits and ties, tattoos and chewing
tobacco-stained faces, all huddled together as they walked by and talked
about Rufus. All were drawn together because of one man, Rufus.
The
stories were endless, Rufus had cared, Rufus had listened, and Rufus had
prayed. That was the life of Rufus.
Rufus
never preached a sermon. He never sang in the choir. He never led in Bible
studies. He was not gifted with words, he rarely spoke. He was here, he was
among us, hardly noticed, and then he was gone.
In
some ways he will hardly be missed, but deep in the hearts of the many he
touched he will be forever remembered. And these will always speak fondly of
Rufus, the man who quietly cared, who quietly prayed in private, and quietly
changed the world.
Gerald D Hochstetler Jr.
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Used
with Permission
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