I went to a funeral today. The deceased was a relative of my wife - the son of a cousin of my father-in-law. I didn't know the man, and in fact I could not place him beyond his name when my wife told me of his death. We had to the best of my knowledge never conversed. One attends such funerals for the sake of family obligation. Even so, a funeral is always an opportunity to confront the reality of death, and the awful velocity of life's passage. It is common to see a slide show of pictures that displays the events of a man's life. Decades are compressed into five minutes, and thus make manifest the speed at which the grains of golden sand slip through our fingers.
This funeral was unique for me in that my life intersected with his at only two occasions - his wedding and his funeral. It's odd to see bookends to a story with no connection between the two. He married after me. He died before me. In between he lived a shortened life that was totally invisible. I clearly remember the wedding, and so my last image before the funeral is of the promise of beginning. You turn away, and look back again. The beginning has become the end in the blink of an eye. The wedding dress is exchanged for a widow's veil, and there is nothing to mediate the difference.
The funeral itself was empty. There was a random collection of Bible verses tied together by no particular theme. There was a little talk by a minister that consisted mostly of memories laced here and there with religious happy-speak. There was the unfortunate invitation for people to get up and 'say a few words' about the dead. Two songs of a religious nature, and a recessional to a rock song I had never heard before. That was it. There was no mention of sin. There was no mention of redemption. There was no mention of the Cross. No mention of the Gospel at all. The assembly was not confronted with the reality of death. The funeral wasn't about God at all. It was about us - or rather those who knew the dead man.
There was one particular moment however that will remain in my memory. The body was displayed in an open casket in front of the chapel prior to the funeral. Perhaps 15 minutes before the start of the funeral, the family went to view the body before the casket was closed. And I saw this man's 14 year-old daughter stand before his open casket to behold the face of her father for the very last time. I have daughters, you see. A man with daughters will notice daughters. I wondered what she was thinking in those minutes. I wondered what my daughters would think. A few minutes, and it was time. The family departed the front of the chapel. Two members of the funeral home came forward, and closed the casket. He would never be seen again in this world.
Mike died of a rare infection. No one quite understands how he contracted it. Two days before his death, he thought he was past the point of danger. So he didn't get to say good bye. He was 45. He leaves behind a daughter soon to start High School. He leaves behind a wife of not even 20 years. He leaves behind bitter tears of hopes and expectations unfulfilled. Man who is born of woman is short-lived and full of turmoil. Job 14.1
Powerful stuff. Thank you.
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