One of the things I most miss, a little to my surprise, is taking funerals. For the busy parish priest, a funeral is inevitably an unplanned intervention, disrupting the smooth arranging and carrying-out of one's diary commitments, and, of course, requiring a much greater investment of time and energy than the hour or so of the service itself. Nevertheless, I still miss them, and I can think of some quite special times when God, I think, was able to use me to great effect within situations of bereavement and loss.
I still seem to attend quite a few, of course, being the age I now am. And from time to time - today being one occasion - I set up sound equipment for funerals in small country chapels where it's likely there'll be more attending than can be seated inside. When doing this, I'm on site for longer than anyone else - setting up, taking down, and attending to the equipment throughout the service itself - giving me the opportunity to observe the customs and interaction.
Today's was a well and sensitively taken service, I thought. And there was, as I saw it, a healthy balance of genuine grief tempered both by the comfort of a faith sincerely held and by the greetings, conversations and general good humour to be found when country folk get together for whatever reason. It was a sad occasion, but not a time to be washed away by sadness: a parting but also a celebration. This is what should happen; the dominant feeling was one of goodwill, within which those most affected by the loss can find themselves treasured, comforted and affirmed. I felt privileged to be in that place today.
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