What I Miss (Part 2)

This is part of a series that tries to answer the question: “What would I do differently as a parish pastor if I went back?”
Introduction
Part 1
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In part 1 I began to talk about the things that I miss now that I am doing secular ministry beyond the walls of the church. I said there were three things:

• Serving Communion
• Doing Baptisms
• Community.

I then talked about the first two, the sacraments, and why I miss them.

As I was writing about the role of “sacrament server” it brought to mind one other aspect of parish ministry that I miss, perhaps even more so than the sacraments. I miss the opportunity to perform funerals. The opportunity to be with families, leading them through their time of grief when they have little idea where to go next, standing in the cemetery saying final words.

There has always been something deeply spiritual about those moments for me. Perhaps because I was faced with death in my life at a very young age with my parents dying before I was 16 years old, there continued to be something about funerals that were uniquely special and important. I didn’t always feel natural at doing it. In fact it was often awkward as I tried not to place my personal experiences onto others. But as I got older and was seen as more “mature” people became more willing to let me talk or just be there.

It all came into a vision of clarity on a blustery, late winter’s morning in a rural cemetery. It was a simple graveside service for a man who was the brother of a couple members of the church. There were maybe five of us there as the snow showers moved through and the wind moved over the frozen ground. None of us truly knew what to say. He had died after a number of years living on the streets, homeless, in a distant state. After a few moments of greeting each other I took my place at the head of the casket.

Out of the silence, or perhaps into the silence, I began the words of the liturgy.

Lord, our God, in whom we live, and move, and have our being,

Have mercy upon us.

Lord, our God, you do not willingly bring affliction or grief to your children.

Leave your peace with us.

Ancient words, originally in other languages, brought down to us over the ages through countless versions and places merging into even more timeless words…

I am the resurrection and the life, says the Lord. Those who believe in me will live, even though they die; and those who live and believe in me will never die

Then, joining together we prayed, said, pondered, the Lord’s Prayer.

…for thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.

Simple words. Oh, but what better place to go when you have nothing else to say. There are no new words that can do that. Even many un-churched find themselves moved when they least expect it by such ancient echoes, simply and imperfectly moving against the cold and snow. They were the movement of the Spirit across the barren ground into waiting souls saying there is more here than meets the eye.

It was a moment of change and reversal and rebirth. I realized that I was standing in a long, long spiritual line. It went far beyond the religious- deeper than that- to the places where the religious rituals and actions seek to connect. It was a line of priests and ministers, Imams and Rabbis, shamans and who knows who. It was a line of those who had been chosen and called for various reasons in all places and cultures to use the words and rites of their unique traditions to help at such a moment of transition when the whole issue of the purpose of life is called into question.

We stand at those moments comforting each other, reminding each other that this life is not all there is, while sending the soul of the departed off to a better and eternal place.

You cannot top those moments.

Which will lead me next to- community.