>dearly beloved…

>When I was training to be a Minister I dreaded the idea of taking funerals. I could not imagine myself doing so. It all seemed so morbid and dark. But in my first church I had the privilege of serving alongside a brilliant Minister, David Richardson. He taught me so much about being a Minister, and with such grace and humility. One of the things I learnt from him was that taking funeral and thanksgiving services is a blessing and a privilege. And he was right.


Over the next few weeks I am participating in several funeral services. What I have discovered is that it is a considerable privilege to accompany people at a time of deep sorrow and grief, to articulate some of their thoughts at a time when they feel unable to say themselves, the blessing of creating a service that is an opportunity to give thanks for the life of the individual who has died, remember them fondly and appropriately, offer comfort, solace and hope and say goodbye. Of course I do not take funerals for my own benefit, but my attitude to them is diametrically opposed to when I was training.


Sometimes people say to me that they could never take a funeral. What I find is that God gives me the words to say, he gives the strength to say them and he gives the grace to those who are listening to find comfort and strength through the service.


That’s the case whatever circumstances we face. If we trust him he will provide what we need. He will be there with us by his Spirit, he will use us – sometimes despite our deficiencies, sometimes because of them. Miraculously God will use us to be a blessing to others if we are willing to allow him to. But sometimes we have to step beyond what we feel we can manage on our own to experience this.


Take a risk. Be a blessing.




Funeral joke – if you can face it:
There was an elderly man at home, upstairs, dying in bed. He smelled the aroma of his favourite chocolate chip cookies baking. He wanted one last cookie before he died. He struggled down the stairs and crawled into the kitchen where his wife was busily baking cookies.
      
With his last remaining strength he crawled to the table and was just barely able to lift his withered arm to the rack on which the cookies were cooling. As he grasped a warm, moist chocolate chip cookie, his favourite kind, his wife suddenly whacked his hand with a spatula.
       
Gasping for breath, he asked her, “Why did you do that?”
      
“Those are for the funeral.”