Abstract
However, what I did not realize at the time was how many funerals I would attend as a pastor. In love and support for members of the church family, each year I attend more funerals than I conduct. I have been present for some beautiful and moving services. However, I have also attended funerals where the pastor merely read the obituary and sat down. I have sat through emotionally manipulative altar calls. I spent one excruciating hour listening to a pastor repeatedly quote from a nonexistent chapter in the Bible and then dub the deceased equestrian an “honorary fifth horseman” of the apocalypse. I have even processed out of a chapel to Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Freebird.” I would not describe any of those particular funerals as “good.” Certainly not as “good” as the funerals I myself conduct. Such is typically the case when we compare our ministry to others. Yet, are there any criteria for making such a determination beyond personal preference?
In The Good Funeral: Death, Grief, and the Community of Care, Presbyterian minister Thomas G. Long and funeral director, poet, and author Thomas Lynch suggest that there is such a thing as a “good funeral.” In alternating chapters, they speak to the causes of its demise and argue for its recovery. The two have spent decades exploring, researching, writing, and speaking on this topic. They bring this depth of experience to their writing and present the case that recovering the sacred drama of the “good funeral” is essential not just to the church’s life, but to our very understanding of what it means to be human.
After introductory chapters that address their own humanity and explain how each ended up in his particular vocation, Long and Lynch speak to the importance of the physical presence of the deceased’s body at the funeral. Whether due to the increased popularity of “celebration of life” services, the desire to make funerals less depressing, the rise in acceptance of cremation, or an attempt to deny death itself, over the last 50 years in North America, the corpse has been increasingly and noticeably absent at the funeral. The authors fear that this absence indicates an abdication of an essential undertaking and the fundamental need to lovingly and faithfully accompany this human being until the very end. Thus, when a body is cremated, Long and Lynch suggest that family and clergy should be present at the crematorium. Similarly, graveside services should be held at the actual grave and not some distance away. All such acts of accompaniment entail a sacred movement and transition from life to death to final rest. Even more importantly, as we complete this journey with the dead, we become more attuned to the needs of the living.
I find this argument largely persuasive. God implanted the importance of caring for the dead with love and respect in our very DNA. This is part of what it means to be human. We would not stand for the body of a loved one to be dropped off a cliff or left beside the road. It is an act of devotion and love to accompany the body to its final resting place. Being physically present with the deceased at the service and graveside is the completion of our walk with this individual, a chance to be as close to the end as life allows, and a final act of compassion and care. As we accompany our loved one, we also bear witness to the eternal truth that in life and in death, we belong body and soul to our faithful Savior Jesus Christ.
On our best days, this sacred journey unites us with our fellow human beings in new ways of care and concern. However, I would argue that the presence of a corpse at a funeral or accompanying a deceased person to the crematorium does not necessarily enhance our humanity or build more loving and faithful communities. For example, after accompanying the aforementioned “fifth horseman” of the apocalypse to his final resting place, I did not find myself compelled to give alms to the poor. That may be a deficit in my own character. In addition, if mere presence alongside the deceased would in and of itself create individuals dedicated to building communities of care, then every clergyperson and funeral director would be a model of this essential human task. But Lynch spends an entire chapter detailing how funeral directors are their own worst enemies with their emphasis on merchandise, pre-selling, and personalized accessories. Long begins his introductory chapter detailing how after years of scandals, embezzlement, and perceived intolerance, pastors’ approval ratings now barely top those of members of Congress.
I would contend that more important than the presence of the deceased’s body at the funeral is the interpretation and narrative that accompanies this sacred moment. Telling the story of an individual’s life in the context of what God has done, is doing, and intends to complete for all of creation provides meaning to both life and death, for both the living and the dead. Long and Lynch both affirm this as the essence of the “good” funeral when they talk about “getting the living to where they need to be” (p. 54) and the movement of a funeral as one that speaks “the promise of transformation” (p. 217). However, they seem to suggest that this meaning-making work can only be done in the presence of the deceased’s body. The presence of the body can aid funeral directors, clergy, and loved ones as they fulfill this sacred and essential task, but I humbly submit that this can also happen in the presence of ashes after cremation and even in a memorial service if a community’s tradition entails burial before worship.
However it happens, this interpretive undertaking is essential to our humanity. In her best-selling book The Hunger Games (Scholastic Press, New York, 2008), Suzanne Collins tells the story of a dystopian world in which both meaning and hope have been lost. Those in the Capital exert domination and control by various means, including the organization of yearly Hunger Games in which two children, termed “tributes,” from each of the 12 districts are drafted by lottery to compete in a televised fight to the death in a meticulously constructed outdoor arena. The heroine, Katniss Everdeen, is an unusual participant in the Hunger Games in that she volunteers to take the place of her drafted younger sister. Once inside the arena, Katniss forms an unlikely alliance with a 12-year-old girl named Rue from a neighboring district. As they help each other in the Games, a friendship grows and they pledge to each other mutual aid. However, their alliance comes to an end when another tribute kills Rue. Moved by grief and loss, Katniss remains with Rue’s body, for the Game Makers will not remove a body from the arena while someone is present with it. As she weeps, Katniss sings a song she learned as a small child and adorns Rue’s body with flowers. When she finally takes her leave, Katniss turns to the ever-present television cameras, puts three fingers to her lips and lifts them into the air. It is an ancient sign of thanks, admiration, and respect. In that sacred moment of care for a loved one’s body and witness to a larger story of hope and solidarity, Katniss begins truly to live. Unbeknownst to her, her meaning-making work in the midst of despair and injustice inspires the residents of the outlying districts to begin a rebellion against death and oppression in hopes of joining together in a new world.
Such is the power of a good funeral, the sacred drama by which we care for the dead and witness to life in the midst of death. Long and Lynch have inspired me to re-examine my leadership of funerals to ensure that I conduct good funerals. Clergy and funeral directors should read this book to fulfill their vocation more faithfully. Students preparing for ministry, especially those with only a two-hour session on funerals in their worship courses, should be required to read, ponder, and practice the wisdom contained in these pages. In fact, everyone should read this book, for we all share the task of caring for the living and for the dead as we wait for God to create all things new.