Two Funerals

Last Saturday, in Arlington, Virginia, the “Lion of the Senate”, Edward Kennedy was laid to rest. In a life filled with tragedy, some of it of his own making, fame and fortune, Kennedy affected his country in many ways. Over the last four decades, Kennedy was probably the most recognizable person in politics who wasn’t a president. And while presidents came and went, Kennedy remained, the face and voice of liberalism in the Senate and, by extension, within the country.

Few would deny that Kennedy was the most influential legislator of this last half-century. No one since Lyndon Johnson possessed the power or influence in the halls of Congress that Kennedy possessed. While a deeply flawed human, he was said to have a generous spirit and charming personality. Like him or not, Ted Kennedy was a giant in American politics.

Also last Saturday, half a country away, in Greenfield, Indiana, a small elderly woman named Julia Arnold was laid to rest. Julia was the mother of my best friend throughout high school, Rich.

Rich and I practically lived at each other’s houses during our high school years, so I was around Julia a lot. She was probably the quietest person I’ve ever met. Not only was she a woman of few words, she was very soft-spoken. I never heard her raise her voice. Ever. And in a house with six kids (seven, if you count her husband, Dale) that’s an amazing thing.

Julia raised three girls, and dealt with all the attendant heartaches, bad hair days, and mood swings that entails. Her three boys were definitely all boy and their wrestling matches, which frequently included their father, would not infrequently end up in broken furniture or a bloody nose.

You might think that with a bustling, boisterous family in a small parsonage, such a quiet woman might have trouble keeping control. Yet, Julia could quell an outburst with a look and a word. Her children loved and respected her and her word was final.

Julia was the rock of the family. She was the type of mother that would drive a school bus to earn some extra money, needed to feed and clothe six kids on a pastor’s salary, then come home and make dinner, clean house, bandage knees, listen to boyfriend problems, and provide an atmosphere of love and warmth. She taught all six kids to drive. Her son, my friend Rich, said the only bad thing he ever heard her say about anyone was when she was driving with him and he almost smashed into a parked car. She said, “Are you stupid?” She felt so bad about that that she profusely apologized afterward. Nevertheless, it gave Rich ammunition with which to tease her for years.

Julia also transmitted her faith and her love of Christ to her family. She not only taught her children about Christ, she lived it.

All six children are now grown with families of their own. They are all active in the church and in the community. Their children seem to be on the same path – delightful kids, many of whom I met for the very first time at Julia’s funeral. I believe that this is a legacy left by this small, quiet woman.

It is proper that we remember a giant of our political scene. But let us not forget that the backbone of our country is those quiet people, working hard and raising families, bequeathing their faith and values to the generations that follow. These people, the Julia Arnolds of the world, while never seeking fame or fortune, deserve our admiration and respect, as well.