running reverently through a funeral

Most Fridays I go to a morning meeting with child care at a church. The child care room is on the main floor and the meeting is downstairs. Today as I pulled into the parking lot I noticed a hearse. "Oooooooo... funeral." I said softly to myself, hoping to avoid my 2 year old's inevitable: "What's a funeral?" I field many questions these days from my little man in the back seat. So we walk together through the doors of the church and to the right of us is a dead body in an open casket. Ooooooo... viewing. I think. A lady comes up to me and offers me a program. "I am actually just here for the meeting downstairs." I say to her and then add "I'm sorry for interrupting the..."and gesture toward the corpse. "Oh, it's ok." she says with a smile. My son and I quietly and unobstrusively make our way down the hall to the child care room. I drop him off and say to the babysitter, "So... dead body in the front hall eh?" She raises her eyebrows and nods. I head down to my meeting, making sure to keep my gaze appropriately downcast as I walk through the gathering mourners.
The meeting goes well, though more subdued than usual.

Afterwards, I go back to collect my son. I open the baby gate at the door and say hello and the babysitter tells me that O went potty. "In the toilet?!" I ask. "Yes." she confirms. I look down and O is gone. He is running down the hall toward the front door of the church which I remember is open. Then, as I am rushing after him with as much dignity as I can, I remember the casket is also open. Oh Lord.
I have been in this situation before and have not hesitated to yell "Stop that BABY!!" But I don't think it would be appropriate given the current circumstances. So I just run, my eyes cast downward, giving respect to the recently departed and his grieving group of family members and friends. I reach the end of the hall and see the door is open and empty. Then I catch a flash of O's yellow fireman raincoat as he flees through another door into the offices of the church. I race after him... quietly. He's down the hall and into another room: the private office of the pastor who is removing his formal vestments. He turns and I say, "Sorry... little kid..." as I grab O and retreat. "It's ok." the pastor replies with a smile. I am walking back down the hall and I see a picture of Jesus. And he's looking right at me. Beseechingly. "At a funeral?" he seems to be asking. "Really?" I don't know how to respond. I just give him a bewildered shrug and guide my little monster back out to our car.