I was working from home on Monday when I got a call from the office.
There was a member of my congregation was there. Now, I knew this member, and I had officiated her grandchild’s wedding, but I rarely saw her in worship and she is not someone who I would describe—and, to be fair, I don’t think she would describer herself—as ‘heavily engaged in the life of the church.’
That doesn’t really matter to the story. Except insofar as this story might be an example of the asymmetry of church relationships: surely the church will be there for me when I need it, even if I am rarely (or never) there when the rest of the church needs me.
Anyway, this member’s father had died. Now, the father was not a member of my congregation. He was a Methodist, and he had another church, and he had another pastor. But, for whatever reason, that pastor was not available to preside over the funeral. So the question before me was simple: Would I do it?
And the answer was equally simple: Of Course!
So let’s talk a little bit about funerals. And why I like them.
I have never said no to a funeral. Of course, there have been funerals that I could not do, and we’ve occasionally had to work out scheduling. But I always make sure that, if I am going to be gone, there is someone to cover emergencies, including funerals.
Funerals, after all, are important. As much as we might sometimes imagine that we are prepared for someone to die, we are rarely as prepared as we think we are, and taking some time to gather together in crisis and use ritual to say our goodbyes seems to be part of being human. I couldn’t imagine making that harder for someone to do.
Funerals are also one of the easiest and lowest-pressure things that I do.
Some of my colleagues might disagree with me on that. There are difficult funerals, of course. There are, for example, funerals where I am also grieving the loss of a loved one but where I also have to maintain my professionalism and lead a community in worship. And there are funerals where the family is unwilling or unable to share much about the person who has died. And, of course, almost no one has ideas about hymns or scripture readings (though more people have ideas about hymns than about scriptures).
But those are just little obstacles. There are traditional hymns and traditional readings. There is always enough to share about the person who has died and there is a gospel to preach. And I get some of my own comfort in leading a community in worship.
And besides, the most important things that happen at a funeral have nothing to do with what I say or what we sing. No. The most important things that happen at a funeral happen because a community is gathered, memories and stories are shared, and the spirits—both the Holy Spirit and, I think, the spirit of the deceased—moves among the community.
As I remind every family—as as I remind myself—whenever I preside over a funeral: don’t worry too much about the details; people will laugh, people will cry, the Spirit will move, and it will be exactly what it needs to be.
And, so far, at least, it always has been.
Among the things that every pastor has to find are those parts of the call that give them life. Pastoring, after all, is a big and complicated profession. We love to lead worship and teach confirmation and visit people in the hospital, but we also find ourselves fixing toilets and managing staff and fretting over budgets, and a lot more besides. While we each might enjoy different parts, we all have lists of the things that we want to do and the things that we have to do.
And sometimes, that things that we have to do outweigh the things that we want to do. Sometimes, that’s by a little. Sometimes, that’s by a lot. But because of the things that we have to do, it’s important—it’s critical—to be mindful of the things that we want to do.
I won’t go so far as to say that I want to do funerals. That sounds wrong. And it is true that, if a funeral is on my day, then it is my whole day; funerals don’t leave a lot of time or energy for other things. But funerals are one of those places where I find life, where the pressure is strangely low, and where I can simply watch God do their thing.
Which is all to say that anyone could have called on Monday—any one could call on any Monday—and asked about a funeral. And I’m sure that I wouldn’t be able to say of course! every single time, I am confident that I usually would.