As a pianist, I have been to my share of funerals. Some of the deceased I have known well, some all of my life. Some have been just mere acquaintances. And others I have never even heard of until receiving the call from the church or funeral home. From Olympic champions to men who plow the earth, turning down any kind of offer to play is a rare occurrence for me. It’s a sacred opportunity that few are given.
Of course, each funeral service has its own flavor. Some are incredibly sad. Others filled with gut wrenching laughter. But often times, both emotions are present … especially when family members speak.
But one of the things I love about funerals is the way I get to know a person. First of all, by the music that is requested. And it has been a gamut. From Chopin’s Etude in Eb to “How Great Thou Art.” Whereas the old hymns remain the most requested, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” “Go Rest High On That Mountain,” and even “Send in the Clowns” as the casket was being rolled out are just a few of the more noteworthy.
And secondly, I get to know the person by the stories told. I’ve always heard that funerals are for the living but if you know the deceased well, you might wonder whose funeral you are attending by all the wonderful things being said. [I know a preacher who “buried” the wrong person in his congregation. The guy who actually died was a scoundrel. The guy he “buried” and eulogized was a saint. No doubt, there was some confusion in the chapel that day.] But, yes, I love the stories. I love to hear of the deceased’s life and how he or she made a difference in the lives of others. I am also very often challenged by the stories. For example, Some 11 years ago, I learned how one woman gifted her preacher, the one speaking, with a set of commentaries when he was a young pastor and just how much it meant to him. Just recently, I learned of a quiet farmer who lived his life with great integrity. The packed sanctuary and his workers filling the first two rows would have been evidence enough.
There can also be a lot preaching that goes on during a service, but my take and experience through the years is that it’s the life lived that preaches. It is the kindnesses and love extended that speaks of God. It’s the one who has endured hardship with patience and grace that says God was with me. John Wesley said, “Preach the gospel. And when necessary, use words.” So many of the stories I hear during these sacred moments is nothing short of the gospel being preached. Which always beckons me to ask the question, “What does my life preach?” Does it preach kindness? Grace? Forgiveness? Humility? What stories can my children tell that will make people laugh [and I have given them permission to make fun of me, too] and that will call others to emulate?
Henry Drummond, a 19 Century Scottish evangelist, wrote:
It is the man who is the missionary, it is not his words. His character is his message. In the heart of Africa among the great Lakes, I have come across black men and women who remembered the only white man they ever saw before — David Livingston’s; and as you cross his footsteps in that dark continent, men’s faces light up as they speak of the kind doctor who passed there years ago. They could not understand him; but they felt the love that beat in his heart. They knew that it was love, although he spoke no word.
What will people remember about me? What will they remember about you? What will our lives speak about Christ?
Preach the gospel. And when necessary, use words.
Just an ordinary moment…
