I had a funeral this morning. I hate funerals. I know I am not supposed to say that. I am the one who is called on to comfort people and remind them of our faith. My job is to read the scriptures and connect people with God so that God can wrap his arms around them. My role is the mediator between God and his children at the time of their greatest vulnerability. I hate it because I never feel adequate enough. Can words really bring healing?
I think I do a good job at most funerals. I pull together a nice selection of scriptures, prayers and add a nice eulogy. I personalize the services and lift up the hope of our faith. People like that. But when all is said and done, when we leave the church or the grave, we leave with a hole in our hearts for the person who died. That is the part that gets me.
I weep for the families. I can appreciate what Jesus felt when he went to see Mary and Martha after Lazarus had died. The difference is that Jesus could resurrect him and I can't do that for my families. So I try my best. I cry with them and hold their hands. We walk through the scriptures and remind ourselves of God's promises. Then we simply trust God to be good to his word.
The good news is that God is as good as his Word. He does comfort those who mourn. In time we all heal with God's help. Think of the Brockway family tonight. Pray for God's comfort to come to them all.