The 'Hit and Miss' of Funeral Ministry

What I am about to describe is common but by no means universal, and before I do write, would like to comment that as a priest, I am considerably blessed by the reciprocal and open relationships I share with many of the Funeral Directors with whom I work.

The simple fact is that I have done lots of funerals services and value its ministry considerably (as do the families I have served). It has also given me a significant insight to the world of Funeral Directors and pressures that they face in meeting the acute needs of their clients. 

In an ideal world, a client would seek out a FD, and as part of the transaction of arranging the funeral, may disclose a need in faith. That is, more often than not, a denominational identity ("mum is/we are Catholics/CofE/Methodist, and so on). Once known, the understanding is that the FD would contact the nearest minister of that denomination within whose pastoral boundaries the deceased lived and commission their services to lead the funeral. That means that if mum was a Catholic she will be given her send-off by the RC priest in the area; by the local Vicar is she was Church of England (also the default if their faith is known but not the denomination); or by a anti-faith activist if mum claimed humanism among her character traits. 

I have sympathy for the FDs here. Before them sits a grieving family and they are keen to meet their needs for their sake and indeed for the sake of the business for whom they work. They may fail to reach the Catholic priest or the local Vicar in the moment that they sit with the family, so what do they do? Do they wait? Do they inconvenience the family by delaying a service date for their dear departed mum?

Very often, and for quite understandable reasons, they ring the friendly ash-cash collar-for-hire who is their pet minister and often has no "parish" so is easily and immediately contactable. The date is booked, their pet minister will look after the the family, job done. 

If your job is within the realm of "getting the job done" by the tick-list - then this would be fine. Then imagine that dear departed mum was the pillar of local parish church. In that situation, often the family will know and will be specific about the priest, not the denomination, and the job is arranged. More and more often though, people's faith habits become eclipsed and so they may know that mum was a CofE person but not a lot more. The FD tries to ring the Vicar who is, for sake of argument, running his parish and not able to take the call at that moment, and so it is that the ash-cash-collar is commissioned, the date booked and everyone is happy. Mum gets a 'vicar' of some sort, the family leave happy. 

Except that the ash-cash-collar is a, for sake of illustration, a Methodist or other. You may imagine that it makes no difference, but to a lifelong Anglican who had a chance throughout their life to change denomination, it does make a difference. A big difference. The service is done, it's nice, boxes are ticked. But there may be another factor. In many cases, the deceased wasn't a current congregant often through infirmity and may have moved into a care-home many years before the present Vicar arrived. The direct connection can be, and often is, fractured so that the death itself isn't known at parish level. 

What happens to the rightful pastoral needs of the family in this instance? Where is the follow-up? The amount of times I have visited the Crem to see a Church of England person being given their once-only send-off by, for example, a Methodist minister - you'd be astounded. And I doubt that the pastoral needs of the family are met because to ash-cash-collars, this is big business (a figure of 40k per annum was mentioned in a chat I had with someone yesterday). The funeral is not the end of the process - it is often the beginning. The follow-up is of the highest importance and is quite often therefore non-existent for a significant number of families who took the minister who answered their mobile first. As I have sympathies for the FD who have a job to do, so I have greater sympathy for a family whose mother simply got the wrong funeral, perhaps in a theological language that they would never have understood or subscribed to, in the presence of a man or woman who wouldn't have ministered to them in the first place. 

I can't pretend to know what the answer is, but it is a big issue certainly in the minds of many Anglicans (whose opinions I hear most) who have simply given up trying to minister to their dispersed flock because they barely get a look in through the friendly arrangements put in place before they themselves moved into the parish. 

I sat with all the Christians ministers in my area yesterday for lunch. I mentioned a name to them of a chap who does much in the town in this ministry - and not one of us knew his name or who he was, including the person who shared his denomination. She hasn't done many funerals at all - and now I think she knows why. I doubt, too, that those who claim her denomination in the area are immortal, either. 

The Sermon Given by Bp Richard at the Funeral of Lady Thatcher

The text can be found here

A Winning Tip for All Vicars

If it true that fortune favours the brave, then I am here to offer some proof positive. 

A little while ago, I wrote a little something about the fact that we had done something very risky here at our church. No - nothing quite so risky as unfettered incense and Palestrina (and let's face it, even God has given up favouring incense - He finds that the Choirs Invisible cough too much and are, oddly, all allergic to the smoke). 

And no, I haven't uttered in a Tongue either. There is risk and then there is downright folly (largely because I'd not know that in my Glossolalia whether my syntax and sentence structure were right, and I couldn't live with the not knowing - is it Le Le Le or Lu Lu Lu, for example). 

No, I am talking measured risk, much like getting up in the morning or turning over the starter motor on a petrol combustion engine that seeks only to set fire to petrol somewhere near your kneecaps.

The thing is, we opened our church doors. To our church. We didn't create a rota of helpful welcomers who may, upon the arrival of a newcomer, scowl around behind them. No, we suggested that the church locals might want to pop in on an ad hoc basis and check that the place was alright - and do that other deeply risky thing and go into a church on a day that doesn't start with an S and rhyme with Monday. Heaven forfend that we might suggest a mid-week booster! However, the church was opened, the valuable stuff (like Sacristans and former Wardens) were locked away for safe-keeping, and it happened. 

People

Came

In

You heard it here. People came in. And not just tourists (although there are some those too), but people who wanted to engage with a sacred space and the presence of God that they sought within. 

Of all the things that have changed here since the new Vicar pitched up - it is this that has proven to be the most successful. The Vicar has now booked three weddings purely because the couples in question found the doors open when they were looking around for places that could host their special day. We have also had a funeral here on the same basis for a lovely lady who simply wanted her local church to be open the day her beloved man died - and found it open. She told me that she had never been in before - but when the time came, we were ready and open and accommodating. 

I know that there are some of my brothers and sisters in Christ who have yet to take this risk (and yes, it is a risk). However, I absolutely and categorically believe that it is as much a contributory factor in the growth in numbers here as any other thing. Frankly, if I lose a couple of candle-sticks a year I will still be in spiritual credit and the insurance company are right behind the endeavour too. 

If you have any say in any church, do one thing ...

Open your Doors. 

There will be a dozen excuses and many reasons why it would be too great a risk. However, looking at it the other way - would you risk a seeker passing by because they couldn't come in? Baubles or Disciples - the choice is that simple. 

Equal Blessings, Differently Distributed

This post is, for me, some of my own medicine - and one that I have wanted to write for some time. I have written some grumpy posts recently, mostly compelling people to stop being grumpy. 

From time to time, in among so many people with whom I have a fairly close contact, I become party to the lives of those who may be regarded as having specific difficulties; those people we who regard ourselves as able-bodied and 'normal' feel inclined to feel sympathy for. I am often touching a life lived as I collate memories and meanings so that a meagre token of esteem at a funeral can be compiled. 

It seems to me, having made this small collation so often that we are all equally blessed in this life. The simple fact is that for some, that blessing is differently distributed. 

I have two examples that emerge first in my mind - two people who suffered with Down's Syndrome. In each case they lived beyond their expected years, although they left this world far too soon. I compare them with some who lives I reflected upon who were otherwise unfettered by such a condition and wound on well beyond the four-score years and ten. Both the people to whom I refer, each with a condition that today would be cause to question the progression of a pregnancy, lived a life that I can only dream of and envy. 

Both these wonderful people were loved, and gave more love in return. Both visited the four corners of the world and enjoyed experiences which I can only aspire to. Both knew joy, felt happiness more often than not, and knew the real meaning of living well. No, their blessing was not raise families of their own. In one case, their blessing was not to be able to do some of the mundane things I take for granted like using a tin-opener or drive a car. Their blessing wasn't in high grade qualification or a career offering such status and wealth as would be the joy of many. None of those things was their blessing. Their blessing was in living a life so richly, joyfully, open-mindedly and unreservedly, that the Testimony to their years would need to be as long as the years lived to cover all the experiences. 

I saw the picture I have used here somewhere else. Her face and her smile lights me up. I am guessing she is about 18 months old, possibly 2 years. Yes, she will need help with many things and many others will be beyond her. But I am sure that when the chips are down, the world that mourns her eventual passing will feel more pain than any who will mourn mine or the Chief Executives of some of our greatest corporations because this face seems to me a brighter light. The smile you see at the top of this page is her blessing. It will mirror her heart and she will (and already will be) radiating such light and warmth that we have to question whether some people are sent directly from Heaven. 

Passed Unnoticed

Anyone familiar with prayers that I lead will attest to the fact that I invariably pray for those "who have died alone and unnoticed, un-mourned or whose faith is known to [God] alone". They are not my words, and I can't remember how I came by them, but it is an important sentiment to me, at least.

Throughout our lives we ponder our demise and wonder not so much what will happen but what our dispatch might be like. What will people say at my funeral? Will there be many there? What music should I have? 

...those sorts of things. 

I doubt that anyone ever thinks that when they die that they will lay undiscovered for weeks, and that when finally sent off from this world will be accompanied solely by a well-meaning priest and the funeral director. Sadly, one such person will leave this life in that way this week, with my role being the well-meaning priest. 

The person concerned lived a long life, will have done many things - some good and some bad. They may have had children and therefore breathed life into a new family that might yet be growing and thriving. They may have given pleasure through kindness to many people, by simple acts of goodness perhaps. They may have given all that they had to charity. They will have made human mistakes, some lesser and some greater. They will have had loves, favoured things. They will have thought myriad thoughts about many things. 

And I do not know about a single bit of any of it. I know his name, that's it. 

It is not un uncommon thing either. There is a lady who works for this Council (and there is one who will work for all other Councils) whose job is to arrange for someone to give a fitting funeral to people who apparently have no-one. My former neighbour was one such recipient of that service. Her family came forward far too late (just in time for the Will, it seems), and all we 'had' was our memories as next-door-neighbours. She died and lay undiscovered for far too long and died in the worst of circumstances - in pain and alone. 

So, this man who I never knew will have a simple funeral without music, without the lyrics of my normal eulogising.  In the end, it will be as if he was never there, and it seems to me such a tragedy. For this if nothing else I give thanks for my belief that God knows him and welcomes him home. For my part, he will get the best that I can possibly offer. 

Come Back!

I have just returned from officiating at the funeral of one of those rare diamonds - a man who caused no-one to utter an untruth at the service, someone who will be missed because he represented goodness, warmth and light for so many people.

Officiating at funerals, as a Christian, is an odd thing. In our own humanity, we feel the pain of the mourning friends and relatives. We have probably all lost a close family member too, but rightly, we have a job to do and we must do it.

There is a danger however in how we do our work. We can either underplay our part or overplay it - and either is wrong. As a Christian, I have a belief in the defeat of death by the life of Christ. I belief that death is not an ending, just a changing, a movement from one place to another. To many others, death is the end - irretrievably. Then there are the large numbers, the considerable majority, who exist in the middle of that continuum who just want their loved-one to simply come back!

If we underplay our hand, we commemorate the death, the one moment at the end of many countless moments. If we overplay our hand we forget it almost altogether. Somehow, we must celebrate the life, acknowledge its end, and give comfort in the hope of heaven. It's hard. It's hard because the people sat before me don't really want to be told that the person who has passed from their sight is at peace on a distant shore. It's hard because no-one wants to be there doing that thing at that time (except in some notable and tragic cases). It's hard because I bring hope, and wonderful as that is for me, it is not welcome, not today, not really - because none of it should have happened. It's hard because when I stand up before a gathering of bereaved people, I am the confirmation that the most terrible thing really did happen. Hope is a funny thing. It is great to think we all have hope, but hope seems such a hard thing to accept when your loved-one is gone and isn't coming back. Hope is hard when this is not a dream from which they will emerge. Hope is hard when the screaming agonised voice inside the widow stood before me is 'Come back!'

Now That's a Send-Off

I have just returned home from a most remarkable experience. I don't normally like to talk of the specific cases of my ministry, but this was something very special.

It was my honour to officiate over a West-Indian funeral, that the family arranged to the smallest detail. For a start, it has been a six-hour affair for me which already makes it unique in my modest experience.

Caribbean funerals are very different to 'standard' white English ceremony, partly because of what goes into the service but also the way that community recieves death.

The body was recieved tby the family this morning at their home, where they paid their final respects. The coffin was without its lid as that community seem at pains not to contain and shroud death. They seek to focus on the deceased, not their coffin. We processed the near mile to the church with a jazz band leading us and accompanying us along the way (similar to the image above); we will have crippled the traffic flow of Aylesbury for nearly 25 minutes, but no-one seemed to mind. The service itself was long by my own standards, lasting well over an hour and a half. The main difference is that the coffin is opened once again and that all the mourners (over three-hundred in this case) undertake the Viewing where they file past the deceased and pay respects to him and to his family who are close at hand. At the graveside, the usual words gave way to the family  filling the grave in themselves while the gathered throng sing Negro spirituals without pausing for breath. In short, the family do just about everything that can be done beyond the minister. Sons carried the coffin, daughters led the tributes, and so on.

This all took approaching six hours. It was six hours of time with a remarkable family who, within the context of their grief, celebrated a life lived well. Such was the outpouring of love for a self-styled simple man that for me it was overwhelming. We white English people tend to be so reserved at our funerals, wanting to be on our best behaviour for who knows who. I learned how to grieve today. I learned how readily hope can be snatched from the jaws of death. 

...Death, where is you sting? Death, where is your victory?

Not in Aylesbury, not this day! Rest in peace, Ken.