Life-Giving Funerals

How we bury the dead goes a long way in determining our acceptance in a community and the depth of our spiritual impact on a congregation.
—Calvin Ratz

I love funerals. Not that I enjoy death, it’s just that I agree with Solomon, who said, “It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting” (Eccles. 7:2 niv). After talking and praying with the bereaved, I go home feeling I’ve made a difference; I’ve touched people at the point of their deepest need.

Burying the dead is part of pastoral turf. How we handle it goes a long way in determining our acceptance in a community and the depth of our spiritual impact on a congregation. Any strengths I muster can lose their power if I can’t help people who are bereaved.

A well-handled funeral can be the best opportunity for genuine public relations a church and its pastor can have. It doesn’t lead to instant church growth, but it breaks down barriers and builds an attitude of respect and appreciation. It’s a positive point of contact with people who have drifted away from the church.

Whenever I’ve gone to a new congregation, I realize my first funeral is a chance to let the people see a side of me not obvious from the pulpit. Parishioners are initially skeptical about a new leader. They’re wondering what the new pastor will be like and how much they can trust him or her. When they see me conduct a funeral service, people notice whether I care about them as individuals, even in their darkest moments.

The pastor’s role

I was surprised to find that nowhere in the Bible does it tell pastors to bury the dead. Yet when I was ordained to the Christian ministry, part of the charge given was to “bury the dead.” The church and its leaders have quite properly accepted this responsibility and privilege.

Why don’t we let professional funeral directors care for the dead? Why do we not only get involved but take a leading part in the events surrounding death? When someone dies, what can we do that no one else can do?

As a pastor, I have a unique perspective. I’m a friend, but I’m also in a position of authority. I’m close enough to “weep with those who weep” but removed enough to bring objective truth.

Schooled in the details of death, a funeral director is helpful because he knows the right ways to embalm, arrange flowers, and approach the grave. A pastor’s job goes beyond getting the dead body into the ground with decorum. I offer both faith and friendship to the living—those grieving people looking for help. They need someone calm to hold their hands; someone who can offer them hope, not sentiment; someone close enough to feel some of the pain. As a pastor, I have this role.

For this role, I need a realistic view of life and death. I’ve learned to accept the inevitability of death. I am going to die; it’s only a question of when. Further, I accept the temporary nature of all present relationships. I can’t try to hang on to what God says won’t last.

In addition, because I am a Christian, death is not something to be feared but rather to be anticipated. Paul made this very clear. He told the Corinthians, “Therefore we are always confident and know that as long as we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord.… We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord” (2 Cor. 5:6-8 niv). He also said, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain” (Phil. 1:21 niv).

Death is an opportunity to share the gospel with the living, teaching the brevity of life, the importance of preparing for our own inevitable deaths, and the good news that God will comfort those who sorrow.

What do I want to accomplish when there’s a death? I approach funerals with three basic objectives. First, I want to get the surviving family through the days surrounding the funeral. Second, I want to get the dead person appropriately buried (or cremated). Third, I want to get the gathered family and friends to think about life, death, and meeting God.

Pulling the family through

My involvement usually starts with the phone call that brings the announcement of death. I visit the family as soon as I can. At death, more than a person dies; a network of relationships ceases. So there are shock, disbelief, guilt, resentment, and a whole range of other emotional responses of those close by. My first priority is to hold their hands, let them cry, and give them support in a variety of ways.

Seldom do I start any funeral arrangements during this initial visit. If the deceased has just passed away, there’s too much shock. It’s too harsh to talk of caskets and burial plots in those first few minutes. I let them know that tomorrow is soon enough for those decisions, and I’ll be back to help them then.

On my second visit, I try to build a consensus of what should take place at the funeral service. I prefer to have as many of the family members present for this as possible. I determine who is in charge and who is going to make the major decisions. Sometimes that isn’t clear. I want to establish not only who has the right, but who, emotionally or through force of personality, is going to make the arrangements. At times conflict or disagreement within the family places me in a crossfire.

On one occasion, the widow, who had the right to make the decisions, was out of town, and I had to finalize arrangements for the service. By telephone she specifically told me what she wanted, but the sister of the man who had died came into my office and told me the widow’s arrangements were inappropriate. I was caught between the strong feelings of the wife and those of the sister. It was impossible to come out a winner.

If there’s a question about the decisions, I’ll sometimes say to those gathered, “Now I know we are all involved and want to do what’s right, but I understand Peter is in charge of making the arrangements. Peter, what do you think we should do?”

During this time, I observe how the family is coping with death. I try to distinguish between hysteria and grief, between legitimate sorrow and hopeless despair, trying to anticipate those who’ll have emotional difficulty during the funeral. I watch nonverbal communication. Who’s afraid to look at my face? Who walks out of the room when we talk about the service? This helps me avoid problems later on.

I pay particular attention to family photos and artifacts in the home. Asking questions about family photos is an indirect way of gathering useful information from families that aren’t well known. These clues help me personalize the service and counsel the family afterward. I jot them on a card either in the home or as soon as I get to my car.

For the service, I try to honor personal requests—a favorite hymn or passage of Scripture. I gather the obituary information or have one of the family write it up for me. Prior to the service, I verify the accuracy of my information and the pronunciation of names with someone in the family.

Primarily, however, I want to explain to the family the sequence of events and how they will likely feel during the service. I talk about the value of tears. Walking the family through the service in advance sets them at ease and enables me to accomplish more when the service actually happens. I let the family know that I will meet them before the service for a final word of prayer prior to entering the sanctuary.

I realize that at this moment, I’m in a position of great power and tremendous trust. I carry a spiritual authority that normally I am not given. The family is looking for help. They hang on to my words. I also realize I’m told things in the time of bereavement that are strictly confidential. People say things out of guilt or grief that should never be repeated. I’m careful to observe confidentiality.

I conclude this second visit with a strong but brief statement about the biblical perspective of death. I’m careful not to minimize grief and may even point out how some Bible characters want to give a message of assurance and confidence. I sometimes read a portion of Scripture. I then pray with the family, thanking God for the memory of one who was loved, and asking God to sustain and comfort the family.

Burying the dead

The dominant theme of a funeral service has to be that Jesus Christ is alive. Christ’s death and resurrection supply meaning to our deaths. His resurrection provides a stream of grace that enables us to cope with grief. This message must be heard above all the emotion and tradition surrounding a funeral service.

I want the funeral service to help people get their eyes off themselves and their circumstances and onto God, who in his great wisdom and love has everything under control. Due respect and tribute need to be given to the deceased, but I want the service to witness to God’s provision of life through Jesus Christ, who brings a whole new dimension to living.

I want people to feel I’ve prepared this service just for them. I’ve attended some services where the name of the deceased was not even mentioned. It’s obvious the words had all been said before for someone else. I definitely want those grieving to know I share their sorrow and genuinely want to help.

At some time during the service, I speak directly to the key members of the grieving family by name: “Mary, you’ve been through a lot. This has been a great shock. You had a wonderful husband. I want you to know God will help you in the days ahead. My prayers are with you.” Of course, this is what we’re trying to do with the whole service, but I find the person’s name gives the message impact.

At times I ask someone capable of public speaking to make remarks about the life of the deceased. This is particularly helpful for those situations where I haven’t known the person. When I know the person well, I try to go beyond giving the essential facts by recalling positive experiences. For example: “I remember visiting Dorothy both at her home and in the hospital. Though she knew she had cancer, she never seemed to doubt her faith or feel regret. She had strong courage even though she was aware of what was happening. She spoke only of her concern for her children.”

There’s even a place for humor, although not jokes. Death is serious, but brief, tasteful remembrances of humorous events can break the tension and bring a sense of release. At one service an eldest son brought tribute to his father. He mentioned several serious qualities and then concluded by relating how his father had always chided him for leaving the bathroom messy. This middle-aged son ended his remarks by looking up toward heaven and saying, “Dad, I just want you to know I cleaned up the bathroom before I came to your service.” In some services, such a comment might have been out of place, but that day it fit. It helped the family get through the day.

Obviously, I’m as positive about the deceased as possible. There’s something good to say about everyone. But several years ago, I learned I had to be honest. I was preparing for the funeral of a man I didn’t know, gathering some biographical information from his grown daughter. She simply said, “Please don’t say a lot of nice things about my father. I loved him, but he was not a good man. If you say he was good, people won’t believe anything else you say.”

The cause of death and the person’s character or “credentials” determine the type and tone of the funeral service. Services for prominent church officials, well-known pastors, and former missionaries tend to involve more speeches of tribute and are more structured. During such services, I fight to control time by giving specific time limitations.

A service for a known unbeliever or someone who has lived an unwholesome life is much briefer. The emphasis of the service shifts from giving thanks for the deceased to providing comfort and encouragement to the bereaved. This is particularly the case in the death of a non-Christian spouse. I say little about the deceased. Rather I focus on how God will help the believing partner who remains.

In services for elderly, well-known church members, I’ll often make the emphasis one of thanksgiving for a life well lived. For one man who had been active in the ministries of the church until the time of his death, I used Hebrews 11:13 as a text: “All these people were still living by faith when they died” (niv). It was an opportunity to speak of his involvement, his acts of kindness, and his faith in God that remained strong for a lifetime.

I vary the sequence, but somewhere there’s a hymn, usually a solo, and, depending on the circumstances, a few comments on the life of the deceased. I always include a message based on Scripture. I pray at least twice during the service, once asking for the Lord’s presence and help during the service, and once asking for the Lord’s counsel, comfort, and wisdom for the grieving family. I don’t allow the prayers to become either minisermons or counseling sessions. I make them short and conversational; flowery language and theological jargon don’t make sense to the sorrowing family.

I base my encouragement in Scripture. I shy away from sentimental poetry. I’m a preacher, not a poet. The underlying thought I want to leave is that the Bible provides solid answers about life and death, and Jesus Christ provides meaningful support to those who grieve.

The logistics of funerals and burials vary greatly. There’s certainly no right or wrong way, only what’s appropriate to the situation and community. My job is to provide the necessary outlet for legitimate grief.

The graveside service

The traditional burial following the funeral service can destroy the positive tone established during the service. Many people have told me the burial service was the hardest part of their grief experience. The big struggle was to walk away from the grave. So I suggest having the burial before the service to relieve the family of some of this pressure and to free them to hear the comforting words of the service.

If the burial service is for just the immediate family, the time at the graveside becomes more personal and family oriented. The service in the church or funeral chapel can then conclude on a positive note of hope and encouragement. In addition, relatives and friends are available immediately following the service to support the family; they don’t have to wait till after the burial.

I tell the family the graveside part of the service is short, so they’re not surprised by its brevity. Depending on the mix and number of people present at the graveside, I may have them sing a chorus or verse of a familiar hymn to involve them in the burial, helping them express their grief and affirm their faith. The overriding word at the graveside is resurrection. Since the grave is but a temporary resting place for the body, I don’t dwell on the end of life but the hope of the resurrection.

Following my benediction, I greet each member of the immediate family individually by name. I don’t say much; it’s just a final personal touch. I then quickly withdraw and leave the family alone. They need private time to say things they might feel uncomfortable saying in my presence.

Speaking of life and death

The heart of the funeral has to be the sermon. A funeral message isn’t lengthy, but it should be long enough to provide substance for faith to grasp. I aim for a ten- to twelve-minute message. I try to make my style conversational. There’s no place for the bombastic, the flamboyant, or the spectacular.

Regardless of my text, I include a brief statement of what happens when a person dies, how God helps those who sorrow, and how we can prepare for our own eventual deaths. I have a congregation at a funeral that I don’t have any other time. I don’t abuse the privilege, but I’ve concluded that outsiders feel cheated if, as a man of God, I don’t tell it like it is and say something of substance.

I recently went through an unusually hectic three weeks. In addition to a number of other pressing situations in the church, I had five funerals. Yet I preached a new and different sermon at each service.

How did I find time to prepare five new funeral messages? Several years ago I accepted the fact that death is going to happen, and I will be called upon to conduct the services. Further, I’ve learned that since funerals don’t happen at convenient times, I have to be ready before I’m asked to perform them. So I keep a file of potential funeral texts. Perhaps calling it a file is a little strong. It’s really just a folder with scraps of paper on which I’ve scribbled a potential text and a seed thought or two. When I’m called about a death, I go to my folder with possible texts, and usually there’s an appropriate one to give me a place to start.

I tend to stay away from the most obvious texts. On the other hand, I try to stay away from obscure texts. A funeral message is too short to give background information and explanation. People want something familiar. They need to fasten their faith onto what they know.

The underlying message of every funeral service is hope. Believers can have assurance and confidence in facing the grave. As a pastor, I bring divine help to enable the family to cope with change, loss, and the process of rebuilding.

Following the service

After the service is when ministry is often most needed. Immediately following the service, the women of our church provide a luncheon. This relaxed time gives family and friends an opportunity to express their concern and love to each other. It’s the start of the healing process.

Sometimes during these informal gatherings we’ve had a time when folk were encouraged to make some personal comments about the deceased or family members. This was particularly moving following the death of a young lady, Elfrieda, who died in her thirties. Many people told how she had blessed their lives. One girl spoke of how Elfrieda had brought her to the Lord. This was not only a fitting tribute to Elfrieda but brought healing and release to those who participated.

I let the family know I’m available to help. There’s a follow-up visit to assess the situation and determine ongoing ministry. I make sure there is public prayer for the family during the first Sunday service bereaved family members are back in church.

In addition, I seek to connect each bereaved person with someone in the church who can befriend and encourage in an ongoing way. Pearl was widowed several years ago. Today she is reaching out to another widow who is struggling. Pearl phones her each morning, meets her often for coffee, and sees to it that she gets to church. This continuing ministry of comfort is too great for me to handle, and not my sole territory anyway. Godly women like Pearl minister in ways I can’t.

Three women approached me recently following a funeral service for a friend. They paid me the compliment that I’m sure has been given to many other pastors: “Pastor, we hope you stay in this church a long time, because we don’t plan to die for several years. But when we do, we want you to preach our funerals.”

I had passed their test.