FUNERAL HOMILIES

FUNERAL HOMILIES

Unlike weddings, funerals present a totally different reality. Each family is unique, and the complex relationships which have survived many years have been ripped apart.  Deep feelings, resentments, etc. which have been papered over are brought into the open. Even if the death has been expected, no one can anticipate the devastation caused. And each person experiences the event in a unique way.

Funeral directors work with people at the most fragile and volatile times of their lives.  It is an awesome ministry.  You could not pay me enough money to work as a funeral director.  It seems to me like all the tough sides of being a priest without any of the fun times.

Funerals normally are rooted in a point of excessive solemnity and formality; everyone is trying to keep their emotions shut down. So my usual friendly, joking, informal way of relaxing people does not work. I spent the early years of my priestly ministry feeling very dissatisfied with my inability to change the dynamic, trying to break through the shell which people have put on to keep their feelings in check. (Of course there are exceptions, but this chapter concerns the general principles I tried to develop for preaching at funerals).  I was reading the words of the service (which are excellent!) but with little hope that anyone was hearing anything.

I worked for ten years at Our Lady of Guadalupe in Houston, which was the church of last resort for the funerals of people who were Mexican-American, Spanish-speaking, and presumably Catholic, but had no formal parish affiliation. Every year the local funeral homes would send us a hundred or so funerals, in which I did not know the person or a single member of their family.

In my middle years of ministry, I would approach a funeral service by checking to see everything was in place, making sure to place a post-it note in the missal so I  do not forget the name of the deceased, reading the prayers and giving a standard homily, and then consider my options about whether to  attend the reception meal after the burial.   As I stated, my low tolerance for boredom and meaningless ritual made that a very unattractive option.

Other priests would take on the task, which for me seemed heroic, of going to the funeral home for the wake service, meeting with the family, getting their responses and preferences, and doing what they can to make the ceremony meaningful. I call that heroic because it would be far too stressful for me. As comfortable as I am in the pulpit, I am still an introverted person, and unless I knew members of the family quite well,  having that kind of contact with people in an unfamiliar situation would be too stressful for me to do on a regular basis. (Yes, I’m not a saint. Probably my time in purgatory will be spent doing exactly those kinds of things I passed up in this life.)

After many years of such frustration, I realized I could use some of the question-and-answer methods I use in my Sunday homilies to break the ice in a funeral service. So, after checking with the funeral director to ensure that the family relationships are fairly warm and respectful (no alcoholism, abuse, abandonment, etc.),  I would stroll down from the pulpit and begin a casual chat with the family –

 what was your grandmother /mother/father/brother etc. like?  What were your best memories? What would you like to say to him/her? People were almost always eager to reminisce.

Hopefully, this will put together a picture of a loving, beloved person who will “leave a hole” behind in the family.  I ask them to visualize where that person is now – is Grandma up in heaven, baking cookies, and getting things ready for the rest of you?

Then, I  ask – so who will take her/his place? Who will step up and keep the family together? What will you do to not just stay in mourning and preserve a memory of a loved one, but to continue to call the family together, and carry on the legacy which this person began?

Then I step back up to the pulpit, and remembering the advice Fr. Willard Jabusch gave us forty years ago, in homiletics class:  Remember who is there. There are many persons in church today for the first time, maybe the only time, this year. This may be the only homily they will year all year.  What will they– churched and unchurched, of whatever denomination – whatever their reasons are for being present --take away from what I say today?

I say, “Irene is gone. She has finished the work God placed her on this earth to do, and God has called her back. We pray that God look mercifully on her, forgive whatever faults she had, and welcome her into the eternal kingdom of light and peace.”

   (PAUSE)   

So why are we here?     (PAUSE) 

Why are YOU here?  (SCAN THE CONGREGATION SLOWLY)

 We are here for a reason. God  has left us here on earth for a reason.  We’re not here because God  has forgotten and left us here by accident. We are NOT done. There is still something left for each one of us to do.

LONGER PAUSE.

Look around the church. There are  probably  people here  you haven’t seen for a while – maybe a long time. Look around.     (PAUSE)   

Maybe there are people you have unfinished business with.  Maybe there’s a quarrel, a misunderstanding. A grudge. Maybe someone is waiting for an apology. Maybe someone won’t forgive. Maybe you both are. Who’s going to go first?  Who will take the first step?

PAUSE.

Or maybe there is someone here you wish to thank for what they have done –

someone here whom you would like to say I love you.

Maybe there is some advice you would like to give, or to ask. Or just to say I’m thinking about you, and praying for you.

Wouldn’t it be sad if at the next funeral, you’ll be saying “I wish I had told him how much he meant to me.”     (PAUSE)   

We always think we have tomorrow. We can put it off for another time.

Well, we DON’T. Nobody has tomorrow; all we have is today.

PAUSE.

Who will be next? One of us here will be next, in that coffin in the front of the church. Is it you? Who will it be?

PAUSE.

And then it will be too late. And then people will moan and say, “If only I had taken the chance to say how much I loved her!  If only he had made up with his brother before he died!”  But then it’s too late.

But it’s not too late.  We have today.  That person is standing right in front of you, or on the other side of church. Or maybe you will see them this week. Take the moment. Take the opportunity.

 This is one last act of Irene’s life,  her continuing presence among us, her eternal gift, to bring us together so that good things can happen, so that life can be better, so we can love each other. She’s looking down on us… let’s do the right thing. She’s in God’s glory… may she show each of us the way.