My trip to the Billy Graham Library grounds on Monday was moving and memorable. Due to the immense media presence and massive tent erected on the grounds, public parking was directed to two auxiliary lots and buses waited to take visitors to the library grounds. Of the two available lots, I chose the one where Samaritan's Purse has its Operation Christmas Child headquarters.
As anyone would expect of all things Graham, the park-and-ride operation was a well-oiled machine. It was immediately obvious that there was no shortage of parking attendants to quickly process the flow of visitors. After parking, the short walk to the large charter bus was dotted with still more volunteers, offering the shelter of an umbrella, a plastic rain poncho, or an answer to a question. More than anything else, they thanked us over and over for coming. Each person smiled and exhibited grace and patience to every person passing by, even though they thoroughly searched my backpack-style purse! They found nothing, but they had to look because backpacks were prohibited.
There were about 20 people on my bus, but it could have held many more. That was my first indication that the overflow, wall-to-wall crowd I expected was not to be the case at all. The ride to the library was short, and people on the bus sat reverently. I saw men in suits as well as jeans. There was a pervasive feeling of calmness on the bus. It reminded me a lot of what life was like just after 9/11, when strangers mingled in a sort of unspoken camaraderie because the terrorists attacks united us and made us feel connected like never before, if only for a short time. So it was on the bus, and on the grounds of the library. I didn't know anyone, but I felt connected to them because of Rev. Graham. I suppose they felt the same.
The first thing I noticed upon approaching the library was the vast expanse of white canvas that I recognized as the tent under which Rev. Graham will have his funeral Friday. It's really big! The vantage point from the bus was to be the best one I would get, because the construction site around the tent was protected by fencing and dark material to keep people from wandering in or lingering to watch the work going on.
The second thing I noticed was the media. There were trucks, vans, buses, cars -- media vehicles and satellite dishes everywhere from everywhere. I even saw a parking spot reserved for CNN. But even though the place was crawling with reporters, cameras, and other media professionals, it was nothing short of orderly and respectful. It was in no way chaotic. The atmosphere of reverence was not disturbed at all by all the coverage. It seemed that nothing could touch the peace that had settled over that place, although security was stepped up quite a bit. I saw an "official-looking" dog that showed up on the evening news; he was used to walk throughout the Graham home right before former president George W. Bush arrived around 3:30. But again, nothing was overt or distracting.
Again, there were volunteers everywhere -- many more than I recall having seen on previous visits to the library. Security was of utmost importance; there was a prohibition against picture-taking beyond the table inside the library where people stopped to sign the registries. We were asked to silence phones out of respect.
There wasn't a line anywhere; we were able to file through steadily and without delay. Inside the library, several places were available to stop and sign the registries, and then we walked out to the childhood home where Rev. Graham's body lay in repose. Again, there was no "line," per se; we walked in at a rather comfortable pace, greeted and thanked at every turn by volunteers who were truly grateful for the outpouring of love for Rev. Graham's legacy and support for his family.
Soon, we were in the room where the casket was. Even though there are photos online of the casket, they don't show the stunning beauty of the workmanship that went into making it. I've never seen one more beautiful. It was the simple lines, the unassuming hardware, the rich color and sheen of the wood, and the cross attached to the lid that made it special. It wasn't fussy or very shiny. The lid was closed. White flowers arranged in the shape of a cross rested on a stand beside of it. At the door on the way out, Franklin Graham's son greeted us, shook our hands, and thanked us for coming.
Outside, people lingered and paused to take photos once they were in the "zone" where such things were permitted. A gentle mist fell on us, and the media were talking to visitors here and there, some on camera. On my walk back to the bus, I passed many more media vehicles. The whole visit from start to finish took about an hour, and the drive was a 3-hour round trip. I will never forget being there, and between the commentary and the photos, I hope that you have a better sense of what it was like to go.
[Editor's Comment: I know of no one who could have written a better account of the scene that took place at the Billy Graham Library and Sonja Beach's visit to the boyhood home of Billy Graham and the closed casket with flowers. I think it was significant that Franklin Graham's son were present in the home to greet and shake hands with the visitors. A job well-done. I give you my highest commendation in one word, "Copacetic."]
As anyone would expect of all things Graham, the park-and-ride operation was a well-oiled machine. It was immediately obvious that there was no shortage of parking attendants to quickly process the flow of visitors. After parking, the short walk to the large charter bus was dotted with still more volunteers, offering the shelter of an umbrella, a plastic rain poncho, or an answer to a question. More than anything else, they thanked us over and over for coming. Each person smiled and exhibited grace and patience to every person passing by, even though they thoroughly searched my backpack-style purse! They found nothing, but they had to look because backpacks were prohibited.
There were about 20 people on my bus, but it could have held many more. That was my first indication that the overflow, wall-to-wall crowd I expected was not to be the case at all. The ride to the library was short, and people on the bus sat reverently. I saw men in suits as well as jeans. There was a pervasive feeling of calmness on the bus. It reminded me a lot of what life was like just after 9/11, when strangers mingled in a sort of unspoken camaraderie because the terrorists attacks united us and made us feel connected like never before, if only for a short time. So it was on the bus, and on the grounds of the library. I didn't know anyone, but I felt connected to them because of Rev. Graham. I suppose they felt the same.
The first thing I noticed upon approaching the library was the vast expanse of white canvas that I recognized as the tent under which Rev. Graham will have his funeral Friday. It's really big! The vantage point from the bus was to be the best one I would get, because the construction site around the tent was protected by fencing and dark material to keep people from wandering in or lingering to watch the work going on.
The second thing I noticed was the media. There were trucks, vans, buses, cars -- media vehicles and satellite dishes everywhere from everywhere. I even saw a parking spot reserved for CNN. But even though the place was crawling with reporters, cameras, and other media professionals, it was nothing short of orderly and respectful. It was in no way chaotic. The atmosphere of reverence was not disturbed at all by all the coverage. It seemed that nothing could touch the peace that had settled over that place, although security was stepped up quite a bit. I saw an "official-looking" dog that showed up on the evening news; he was used to walk throughout the Graham home right before former president George W. Bush arrived around 3:30. But again, nothing was overt or distracting.
Again, there were volunteers everywhere -- many more than I recall having seen on previous visits to the library. Security was of utmost importance; there was a prohibition against picture-taking beyond the table inside the library where people stopped to sign the registries. We were asked to silence phones out of respect.
There wasn't a line anywhere; we were able to file through steadily and without delay. Inside the library, several places were available to stop and sign the registries, and then we walked out to the childhood home where Rev. Graham's body lay in repose. Again, there was no "line," per se; we walked in at a rather comfortable pace, greeted and thanked at every turn by volunteers who were truly grateful for the outpouring of love for Rev. Graham's legacy and support for his family.
Soon, we were in the room where the casket was. Even though there are photos online of the casket, they don't show the stunning beauty of the workmanship that went into making it. I've never seen one more beautiful. It was the simple lines, the unassuming hardware, the rich color and sheen of the wood, and the cross attached to the lid that made it special. It wasn't fussy or very shiny. The lid was closed. White flowers arranged in the shape of a cross rested on a stand beside of it. At the door on the way out, Franklin Graham's son greeted us, shook our hands, and thanked us for coming.
Outside, people lingered and paused to take photos once they were in the "zone" where such things were permitted. A gentle mist fell on us, and the media were talking to visitors here and there, some on camera. On my walk back to the bus, I passed many more media vehicles. The whole visit from start to finish took about an hour, and the drive was a 3-hour round trip. I will never forget being there, and between the commentary and the photos, I hope that you have a better sense of what it was like to go.
[Editor's Comment: I know of no one who could have written a better account of the scene that took place at the Billy Graham Library and Sonja Beach's visit to the boyhood home of Billy Graham and the closed casket with flowers. I think it was significant that Franklin Graham's son were present in the home to greet and shake hands with the visitors. A job well-done. I give you my highest commendation in one word, "Copacetic."]