Am Morgen der Trauerfeier und Beerdigung

Jetzt brechen wir auf und machen uns auf die Reise dieses Tages.

Wir bitten um die Gegenwart Christi,

der diesen Weg vor uns gegangen ist.

 

Herr Jesus, Du hast uns den Weg zum Vater gezeigt:

Herr, erbarme dich.

Herr, erbarme dich.

 

Herr Jesus, Dein Wort ist ein Licht auf unserem Weg:

Christus, erbarme dich.

Christus, erbarme dich.

 

Herr Jesus, Du bist der gute Hirte, leite uns zum ewigen Leben:

Herr, erbarme dich.

Herr, erbarme dich.

 

Die Liebestreue des Herrn hört niemals auf,

seine Barmherzigkeit kommt nie zu Ende.

Neu ist sie an jedem Morgen;

groß ist deine Treue.

Der HERR ist mein Teil, spricht meine Seele;

darum will ich auf ihn hoffen.

Denn der HERR ist freundlich dem, der auf ihn harrt,

und dem Menschen, der nach ihm fragt.

Gut ist es, schweigend zu harren auf die Hilfe des Herrn...

Denn der HERR verstößt nicht ewig;

sondern er betrübt wohl und erbarmt sich wieder nach seiner großen Güte.

Denn nicht von Herzen plagt und betrübt er die Menschen.

 

Himmlischer Vater,

Du hast uns nicht für Dunkelheit und Tod erschaffen,

sondern zum ewigen Leben mit Dir.

Ohne Dich haben wir nichts, auf das wir hoffen können;

mit Dir haben wir nichts zu fürchten.

Sprich zu uns jetzt Deine Worte des ewigen Lebens.

Hebe uns aus Sorge und Schuld

zum Licht und Frieden Deiner Gegenwart,

und halte uns die Herrlichkeit Deiner Liebe vor Augen,

durch Jesus Christus unseren Herrn.

Amen.

 

On the Morning of the Funeral, aus Common Worship: Pastoral Services (2011)

 

 

 

Please Don't Say These Things at my Funeral

I am with Chad Bird. So, please don’t say at my funeral…

1. He was a good man. I don't believe that humanity divides into good and bad people. Good and bad run right through each one of us. In fact, given the good upbringing and many privileges I have enjoyed, you'd be appalled how much bad there still is, if only you knew.

2. Thomas this...Thomas that..."If anyone’s name comes up over and over, let it be the name that is above every name—Jesus. He is the one who has conquered death. He is the one in whose arms I will have died. He is the one, the only one, who gives hope to the bereaved. Let me decrease that Christ may increase."

3. God now has another angel. My death and resurrection are not going to make me less human. "In fact, once I am resurrected on the last day, I will be more human than ever before," free from the sin that has distorted my humanity.

4. We are not here to mourn Thomas' death, but to celebrate his life. If you think celebrating my life will do you good, go ahead, but not at the expense of a proper funeral. I am in agreement with Chad's earlier post on the tragic death of the funeral.

5. Thomas would not want us to weep. "There is a time for giving life and a time for dying...a time for weeping and a time for laughing..." (Ecclesiastes 3). That's all right. "Jesus wept" (John 11:35). If you don't feel like weeping, that's all right too.

6. What’s in that coffin is just the shell of Thomas. "What’s in that coffin is the body that was fearfully and wonderfully made ... in my mother’s womb (Psalm 139:13-14). What’s in that coffin is the body that Jesus baptized into His own body ... What’s in that coffin is the body that ate the saving body of Jesus, and drank His forgiving blood in the Supper, that I might consume the medicine of immortality." I don't know how this body will relate to my new embodied self but I trust the promise that the physical body has a future. Don't diss it.

"I want the beginning of my funeral to be focused on Jesus, as well as the middle, as well as the end, as well as every point in between. I care about those who will attend. Let them hear the good news, especially in the context of this sobering reminder of mortality, that neither death, nor life, nor anything else in all creation, can separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ, our Lord, for He is the resurrection and the life."

Scattering Ashes

Every now and again I get asked about the scattering of ashes. My answer is that the scattering of ashes within a Church of England churchyard is not permitted and that I cannot officiate at a scattering of ashes elsewhere, e.g., on the Common. The following explains this in a little more detail.

The Church of England practice of disposing of the ashes of a cremated body is governed by Canon B 38.4(b) which states: “The ashes of a cremated body should be reverently disposed of by a minister in a churchyard or other burial ground in accordance with section 3 of the Church ofEngland (Miscellaneous Provisions) Measure 1992 or on an area of land designated by the bishop for the purpose of this sub-paragraph or at sea.”

In practice this means that except for rare occasions (“at sea”) the Church of England only gets involved in the burial, not the scattering of ashes. The section from Church law which I cited can be read as indicating that the opposition to the scattering of ashes within the Church of England is qualified rather than total as in other Churches. But scattering is only envisaged “at sea”. Consecrated ground is not available for scattering and a phone call to our Diocesan Registrar’s office confirmed that any non-consecrated land designated for the purpose of the reverent disposal of ashes is designated for the burial of ashes, not their scattering.

Why? One reason that may spring to mind for not allowing ashes being scattered in the churchyard is piety, simple reverence for the dead. It is one thing to add someone’s ashes to the burial place of their husband or wife; it would be quite another thing to scatter them over the grave of someone with no connection to the person whose ashes are scattered. Few people would deliberately do that and yet if you scatter ashes in a churchyard they will cover someone’s else grave, nearly inevitably so.

Maybe a more important reason is a concern for corporeal integrity. The ashes of a deceased person are still human remains; keeping them together respects the integrity of the body. After a plane or train crash which leaves several people dead we would not collect the various body parts in one random heap; we’d try to keep together what once belonged together. It is a sign of respect. Maybe that same respect should be extended to ashes. For Christians, keeping ashes together in one place also offers a better witness to the belief in the resurrection of the body.

The belief in the redemption of our physical bodies has been a central hope of the Christian faith from the beginning. Scattering ashes is an action that fits better with a concept of “becoming one with the universe” or some belief in a non-physical future for human beings. It does not offer a good picture of the Christian belief in the bodily resurrection.

Scattering ashes seems to say that what remained of this person’s body has no longer anything to do with that person. It does not reflect an expectation that one day God will take our mortal remains and reconstitute and transform them into a glorified body.

But, someone may ask, “Why would God bother restoring what has been laid to rest? Can’t He just create a completely new body out of nothing? Of course! However, by opening the graves and tombs and transforming our dead and decomposed bodies into glorious, incorruptible bodies, God declares once and for all: O death, where is your victory (1 Cor. 15:55). As Paul explained, When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written: ‘Death is swallowed up in victory’ (1 Cor. 15:54). By snatching our mortal dust and ashes from the grave and transforming them into something eternal and glorious, God will demonstrate that Satan’s attempt at destroying humanity failed.” (Michael J. Svigel)

Our God will not be at a loss in dealing with scattered ashes. We need have no fear here. But what Christians want to affirm about death and resurrection cannot easily be said at a scattering of ashes. There is therefore no liturgy for it in the Church of England.

But should not those who do not hold the Christian faith in the resurrection of the body be free to scatter ashes, especially the ashes of people who did not believe in the resurrection either? I do not object to that. I only ask that they respect the beliefs (and burial places) of others by not doing so on the churchyard.

What we all believe about death?

Any pastor taking funerals in England is likely to encounter a wide range of beliefs about death and the afterlife, sometimes expressed even within the funeral service itself, in a tribute or a poem. There are poems that claim “I did not die” (Mary Elizabeth Frye) and poems that proclaim “I fall asleep in the full and certain hope / That my slumber shall not be broken” (Samuel Butler).

Given this diversity of beliefs, it has not yet ceased to amaze me to discover that there is one conviction on which everyone seems to unite – a belief that is regularly expressed at our around funerals and never, it seems, contradicted. It is a notion that is not readily compatible with the Christian tradition and yet put forward by Christians as well as non-Christians, religious people as well as agnostics and atheists.

It is the affirmation that a person’s death brings an end to that person’s suffering. (Death does of course usually increase suffering for others but it is widely believed that at least the dead no longer suffer.)

What are the grounds for such a belief? Obviously, if a person suffers from a severe illness, this suffering comes to an end in the absence of a functioning body with which to experience the suffering. In this sense, the suffering has come to an end – like the suffering of the woman abused by her partner once she has left him. But we know of course that such a woman, now protected from the physical blows of her abuser, might still suffer and especially so if she loves her abuser or her children are still with her partner.

We know about mental anguish, depression and all sorts of suffering that has a physical manifestation and even often a physical cause among others but cannot be reduced to physical pain. Why do we believe that such suffering always comes to an end with death?

Is it because you need a body to experience the pain? This would be a good argument. Materialists who believe that when our bodies cease to function, we are gone, extinguished for ever, can affirm that someone’s death does indeed bring an end to that person’s suffering (as well as their joy and everything else).

Indeed, something similar (although ultimately quite different) could be said from within the Christian tradition by those who believe in “soul sleep” (e.g., Martin Luther, as far as I know) or affirm “non-reductive physicalism” (e.g., Joel B. Green).

What puzzles me is that the belief that there is no suffering beyond death is so firmly anchored also among those who assume that the dead still exist and live somewhere. What is the basis for this firm conviction?

Is it that we believe the dead to be “in the hands of God” (or some benevolent force) in a way they were not while they still inhabited mortal bodies?

It never seemed to me wise to query such beliefs in the context of bereavement and funeral. But when we reflect on our mortality in other contexts, e.g. on Ash Wednesday, we may do well to ponder these things. Are our bodies to be blamed for suffering? Is death to be praised for bringing release?

Life is gift. Life is not an entitlement. Life is not an achievement. Life is gift. Sometimes we cannot receive this gift without suffering. Sometimes suffering can be a gift because there are things worse than suffering. Arguably death is one of them. Our hope of freedom from suffering, certainly all unnecessary suffering, should rest in God, the giver of life, not in death, the destroyer of bodies.

Life and Death

It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting; 

for this is the end of everyone, and the living will lay it to heart. (Ecclesiastes 7:2)

Funerals invite us to reflect on the meaning of life and death. They do so in different ways, depending on, e.g., whether the death was tragic or brought relief from suffering. Some funerals give us little reason to complain.

Abraham breathed his last and died in good old age, an old man and full of years, and was gathered to his people.

And Job died, an old man and full of days.

Some people, struck down by a stroke, live for a few more years beyond the time we might have allotted to them, years in which they are no longer truly "with us". What might be the meaning of such extra years?

Those who are no longer able to communicate with us, who seem to be already "dead to the world", cannot tell us what is going on for them. Do those who seem to be inattentive to the present moment, showing us no sign of recognition, live in memory and hope? Are they in the past and the future more than the present? We do not know but it would be hasty to conclude that there is no attentiveness at all based on the observation that they do not attend to us or that there is no communication at all based on the observation that they do not communicate with us.

What might be the meaning of such extra years to God? Why does he continue to give breath, functioning lungs and a beating heart to someone even though we, who sit at their bedside, no longer get anything much out of this life and cannot be confident that the sick person does?

Is it maybe a sign that human life is precious in God’s sight? He does not discard us, once we are no longer useful to him.(In truth, God does not need our words and actions, even if he makes gracious use of them.)

Sustaining the life of someone who no longer speaks, no longer accomplishes anything, seems wasteful.

And yet we see such "wastefulness" everywhere in creation and take it as a sign of God’s lavish generosity. His giving is not circumscribed by our ideas of what we want and need.

What might such years of silence mean to us who are looking in from the outside? They may remind us of our limits, our helplessness; we feel useless, wondering whether our presence with someone who shows no sign of recognition makes any difference. We may be challenged to show love even when there is no hope of getting anything back for ourselves and not even a sign that the love is appreciated. The bedside can become a place of desolation and with it a place to practice selflessness.

For those of us who live a much fuller life - and by and large enjoy it - surely it is also a safeguard against taking for granted what is ours only by gift and so a stimulus for gratitude. To paraphrase the Selkirk grace:

Some have life but no appetite for it.

Some still hungry for life die.

We have life and appetite for it,

so let us praise God on high.

We have reason to praise God for the breath he gives us every day, for zest for life, for being able to relate to others. But as Christians we have reason to praise God also when our mortal life ebbs away because our life in Christ does not, and when our human relationships fade because God's relationship with us does not.

I am convinced that neither death, nor life … 

will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Life is a Fatal Disease

The title is nicked from Life is a fatal disease: collected poems 1962-1995 by Paula Gunn Allen. 

The idea is much older. Manilius wrote in his Astronomicon IV.16

nascentes morimur, finisque ab origine pendet 

“We are born but to die (lit, die in being born), and our end hangs on to our beginning.” An early English gravestone paraphrased Manilius perfectly: 

As soon, as wee to bee, begunne; we did beginne, to be undone.”[1]

To live is to die. For us to live is to enter the realm of mortality. Like candles; when alive –giving light– they burn down. It is appropriate that Candlemas, the day on which traditionally all the Church's candles for the year were blessed, is celebrated on the Feast Day of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple. 

The Gospel reading on this Feast Day,  Luke 2:22-40, hints at the truths we should acknowledge for a good life and a good death:

• we are mortal but are given access to the realm of immortality (the purification motif)
• the mortal must serve the immortal (5x “according to the law” or similar; first-born; cf. Psalm 24:1)
• the mortal is in the hands of the immortal (Simeon: no fear of death; peace)
• the mortal is redeemed in Jesus who brought immortality to light (2 Timothy 1:10)

Simeon, the one who trusts God for his commandments (“righteous and devout”) is the one who trusts God also for his promises (“looking forward”), the one rooted in the revelation is oriented towards God’s work of the future). Simeon can face death in peace because he has seen the conqueror of death.

Life is a fatal disease but in Christ death has been swallowed up in victory because the Immortal took on mortality: "Since the children share flesh and blood, Jesus himself likewise shared the same things, so that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, the devil, and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by the fear of death."  (Hebrews 2:14-15). Cf. Living Corpses.

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[1] This version from George Wither’s Collection of Emblemes, Ancient and Moderne (1635, see here).

Born that we no more may die

I have been reading some of Albert Vanhoye, A Different Priest: The Epistle to the Hebrews (transl. Leo Arnold; Miami: Convivium Press, 2011), in preparation for today's sermon. Here is a crucial passage:

Death, being a consequence of, and punishment for, sin (Gen 3,3.19; Rom 5,12), placed mankind in a fearsome state of separation from God (Ps 88,4; Isa 38,11) and oppressed them under the power of the devil (Wis 2,24). With his death, Christ broke the power of the devil, for he turned an event of terrible separation into a covenant event (9,15); he used his death to introduce his human nature into the heavenly intimacy of God (9,24) and to open up that same way to all mankind (10,19), doing so by accepting in his death the positive action of God who was «making him perfect» by inspiring him with perfect filial docility and full brotherly solidarity. (111-112)

Note: Vanhoye cites the Psalter in the numbering of the old Greek and Latin versions, so his reference to Ps 88:4 should be translated to Ps 89:3 in most English versions but the reference may be to Ps 89:49.

In Christ God became one of us.
In Christ God is with us in our suffering.
In Christ we have been freed from the fear of death.