FUNERAL FOLLIES: Tales from the Trenches

I have been at this pastor thing for almost 5 years now.  Not long enough to be considered experienced by a long shot, but long enough that certain aspects of parish ministry have taken on a natural rhythm of their own.   Funerals are one of those aspects.  In my first 8 weeks of ministry I officiated at 10 funerals.  Last summer, there were 5 in a three week period.  Times like that solidify a sense of ease and professionalism that makes one able to be present and available to the family in the midst of grief and a little bit of momentary choas in their lives.  It also allows one to develop a sense of personal rhythm in officiating.  Most of the time ...

Last week I was privileged to officiate at the funeral of a member of the congregation who was also a well-loved and respected community figure - the former chief of police and mayor.  The sanctuary was filled with many of our community's public servants most of whom were unknown to me.  As usual with a funeral, I was honored to be the one who would be proclaiming the good news of the promise of the risen Christ to this gathering. 

I said my prayers before worship and walked through the kitchen and fellowship hall on my way to the sanctuary.  I made my regular check of the supply of deviled eggs for the luncheon - it has become an amusing inside joke between the women who prepare the lunch and me.  Then I went upstairs to wait at the rear of the sanctuary for the last few minutes before the worship service would start. 

As the funeral director began to close the coffin and prepare for the processional, I realized that the funeral pall was not in its usual spot.  Realizing that it was hanging in the secretary's office, I started discreetly down a side aisle to retrieve it - only to find the aisle blocked.  Undeterred and unrattled, I headed for the opposite side aisle - blocked. With all the poise I had, I walked down the center aisle and out of the sanctuary, only to return a few minutes later with the pall.  Just as I arrived at the rear of the sanctuary, the carillon struck the hour.  We would start right on time.

The rest of the worship service went without a hitch, until the recessional.  Right before the recessional song, I nod to the funeral director who comes forward to accompany the casket back to the rear of the sancturay.  I looked to the rear of the sanctuary - no one was there.  I nodded to the organist to begin playing, assuming that he would hear the music and show up.  By the time the second verse started, I knew that it was time for an alternate plan.  I moved to the end of the casket and began to move it down the aisle.  A couple members of the local law-enforcement stood up and helped me.  The recessional was on its way.  Not exactly according to Hoyle, but it worked.

Committal at the cemetery had its share of glitches - all beyond my control, but still adding to the completely unconventional nature of the funeral.  When the the Honor Guard went to play taps and the recording in the bugle failed to function - 3 times - I was torn between maintaining appropriate reverence and bursting out laughing.  Remarkably, I was appropriately reverent.

The laughter came when I got back to the church and hit the kitchen.  Everyone was chuckling and as the full stories came out, we had tears running down our faces.  The crowning moment was when our council president relayed that a former pastor's wife was in attendance and came down and chewed him out.  The pall wasn't where it should have been, and it was wrinkled, and apparently it was his job to babysit the missing funeral director.  

I started to laugh and said that I really do not think the God cared one bit.  I am a firm believer that we give God our very best when it comes to worship.  I like things in good order and my Irish can get up if I find myself left high and dry in worship because someone else dropped the ball.  But that week - what we got was our very best.  Our person in charge of altar care is on leave as her husband battles cancer.  Our secretary was on leave after surgery and a cancer diagnosis.  The folks filling in the gaps did the best they could.  

And I believe that whether the pall on the coffin was missing or wrinkled did not change the reality that the deceased had been CLOTHED IN CHRIST IN HIS BAPTISM.  It is a God-thing. 

Our best - in worship, in ministry, in daily life - is always going to be short of the grand gift that our Lord deserves.  Sometimes - as in this particular funeral worship - our best is going to be one folly after another.  The beauty of all of it is that God takes our best, our worst, and everything in between and uses it all to show love and grace.

I sometimes think that if the institution of the church would be just a little less full of itself, there would be much more room for the grace of God to be visible.

I am thankful for the funeral follies of that day.  It was a good - and comical - reminder of what is truly important.  And it isn't flawless timing, well-pressed linens, or even a well-preached sermon.  It is the grace of God breaking into our flawed lives and bringing its own life.

I believe grace happened that day - not in spite of, but in the midst of every flawed folly that happened.  And I believe that will more fully and truthfully proclaim the love of God than the most flawless of worship services.

Here's to farce and folly!  The reminders that it is never about us.

PK(+)