That's why I was rather startled
to hear the first speaker at the funeral service confidently announce to the
assembled mourners that we were in the best place to be on Family Day. He went
on to agree with the writer of Ecclesiastes that it is better to come to the
house of mourning than the house of feasting. His reasoning, along with
Solomon's, was that we learn more from the first event than the latter.
"Family should be
together," he said, "and there's no moment like this for being
together."
"Yeah, right," said one
side of my heart, while the other side listened to the minister explaining what
he meant. To him, family included those bound to each other with flesh and
blood ties as well as those knit together in Christ's love - family in the
faith. All of us present at the memorial service had been connected to Brian in
some way. Our togetherness - our familyness - at that moment
could aid in us building each other up and in comforting those who were
mourning the loss of Brian most.
Together - the best way to be on
Family Day. "Hmm," I thought at the time, "maybe..."
But now, as I reflect on the
funeral two weeks later, I more confidently affirm it: Together is a very
beneficial way to be on Family Day, even if it has to be at a funeral. In the
house of mourning, the “family” of Brian was drawn together in a number of
ways:
Together in learning...
…from the words of scripture. Listening
to familiar passages such as “they are like grass” and “it is soon cut off and
we fly away” with a loved one’s casket in view gives clearer perspective on the
brevity of life. Somehow, at a funeral, more heart goes into the words that
follow: “teach us to number our days” and “apply our hearts unto wisdom”.
…from stories told about Brian.
One thing that was pointed out numerous times was Brian's example of faithful
endurance. Did he think suffering from a rare lung disease for half his life
was unfair? Yes. Did he ever complain about it? No! As his body deteriorated to
the point of needing a double lung transplant (almost a decade ago), he
realized with more clarity his dependence on something, or Someone, outside
himself in order to live fully. Brian counted the ten “extra” of his 55 years
as a gift from his Creator and he lived them gratefully.
… from the funeral message. There
was much I learned from listening to the pastor’s thoughtful and clear presentation
of the Gospel. His notable way of explaining eternal life was “Brian lived the
preface, and is now beginning real life.” In Christ, he lived free from the punishment
of sin and from the power of sin, and now, in the presence of Christ, Brian
is free from the presence of sin.
Together in remembering...
…I felt like I got to know Brian
better through the things people shared about him at the funeral. His siblings,
children, and friends described his quirky habits, told funny incidents
involving him, and related stories that illustrated his character. His twin
brother Brent told one such story. He explained that in the weeks leading up to
Brian’s lung transplant, Brian’s condition was so serious that he needed to be
on oxygen 24/7. During that period of time, Brian was riding somewhere with Brent.
Some minutes into the car ride, Brent looked over and noticed that Brian had passed
out. Brent quickly pulled over, stopped the vehicle, and cranked Brian’s oxygen
as high as it would go. He was about to call 9-1-1 when Brian came to. After taking a few deep breaths, Brian's first words to
his brother were “You didn't have to stop!” Brent told us that that was so Brian – not
wanting to bother anyone or have his condition hinder anybody’s forward progress.
…these Brian stories invited a togetherness
in sharing a mixture of emotions. Tears of both joy and sadness mingled as we
shared our humanity in this way. Members of the human family we were, members
of Brian’s “family” in particular, gathered to offer memories of him to each
other. In a sense, this was a re-member-ing of Brian and our doing so brought a
healing balm.
Together in grieving...
…I’d guess the mourners gathered
at Brian’s funeral were experiencing various depths of grief, if grief can be
measured as such. Our acceptance into the gathering that day did not hinge on
our level of connection to Brian, nor on the ways in which we’ll miss him. Everyone
was welcome – his wife, who lived with him in marriage for 30-plus years, along
with his mother, who knew Brian the longest of anyone among us, his children,
losing a father way too soon and at the same time grieving the loss of dreams
they had for their children to know Grandpa Brian, his other relatives who could
tell you countless stories of their interactions with him over the years,
church family members, co-workers (like Ken) at Martin’s Family Fruit Farm, community
folks and neighbors (like me) and many other people whose lives Brian had touched
in some way with his friendliness and compassion.
…all of us that day had something
in common – we came to the funeral bearing loss. No wonder it was a teary
occasion. Besides our grief at Brian’s passing, we brought memories of other
losses. Someone once said that funerals are so sad because they are a
collection of all the griefs we've ever known. Is there any clearer, more
poignant picture of griefshare?
Together in comforting...
…togetherness is said to multiply
joys and divide sorrow. But the adding of sorrows can also multiply the
comfort. In a strange way, our gathering together as grievers had just as much
potential for the offering of comfort as the sharing of sorrow. To me, the
distinct lines of beginning and ending of either is inexplicable; it is a mystery
of mingling.
…I have known that grief is a
mystery. One can never be sure when it will show up, what its intensity level
will be, or when it will leave. Yes, grief brings surprises but so does
comfort. I had one such surprise when we went through the receiving line of
relatives at Brian’s viewing. I had come thinking we’d express our sympathy to
them; it had never dawned on me that we would leave comforted by them. As
we offered our condolences to Brian’s twin and his wife, they said to us, “You know
what this is all about – losing a brother”, referring to the sudden deaths of
Ken’s brother and his wife two decades ago. When we shook hands with Brian’s
children and their spouses, one of the daughters-in-law referred to Ken’s loss of
a close friend and co-worker in the passing of her father-in-law. It occurred
to me then that Ken has known Brian a lot longer than she has. How sweet of her
to mention another’s grief while processing her own. Brian’s widow, Ann, also
spoke to us through her tears about our experiences of the deaths of close
family members and I was touched by her thinking beyond her own loss to
acknowledge ours. I hope the family felt strengthened by being able to
reciprocate sympathy with those coming to the viewing and funeral; I know I was
truly blessed to receive their comfort.
Together in hoping...
…we mourners clustered in the
cemetery after the funeral, wishing to pay our last respects to Brian by attending
the burial of his body. I much prefer to think of the graveside service as us gathering
together to “plant Brian” – his body a shriveled dry seed lowered into the cold
earth and waiting. Waiting to blossom forth in glorious vibrant life and color
come Resurrection Spring. In the future, I hope when Brian’s loved ones think
back to his funeral, they also remember the togetherness of this act of
planting on Family Day.
…as the pastor reminded us in his
meaningful talk at the burial, faith is required at an open grave like it is needed
in few other places. There, it seems that all of Creation is sighing and
groaning (or is it screaming?) in its brokenness. Our present reality at the
grave of a loved one would have it that this is the end. It takes a trusting faith
in God, then, to keep living as though the reality is His Word on the matter.
…I like to think that we were “planting
Brian” in faith; that we were a family of believers collectively circling his burial
spot in solidarity of hope that death does not get the last word. Love does. And
at the end of time Love will bring us all together, never to be separated again.
That will be some Family Day!
