My stepdad passed away last Saturday. He’d battled congestive heart failure for a long time and it finally got the best of him. To be honest, I’m surprised he made it as long as he did. After Mama died, I thought for sure he was going to grieve himself to death or die of a broken heart. He rallied though, and made it another thirteen years. We laid him to rest today. I preached his funeral.
That surprises many people when I mention anything to do with preaching, but I do, in fact, hold an ordination as a Minister of the Gospel from the church where I grew up. My great uncle and grandfather were the main two members of my ordination council. I’ve performed nine funerals and four weddings. It’s mostly for family, but a couple of the weddings were for former students.
Today’s was the probable last funeral I’ll do, unless something unexpected comes up. Budge has told me I am absolutely not to do her funeral, but I am to sit in the front row and cry like a baby. I don’t see that being much of a problem should something happen to her. She doesn’t really want a funeral anyway. Instead, she wants a party. I’ll do my best but I can’t make any promises. I’ll probably shrivel up and die if something happens to her anyway.
Funerals are hard. Trying to give comfort to a grieving family and tie up the end of a person’s life is a weighty thing. I’ve been extremely fortunate in that eight of the nine funerals I’ve done or helped with have been for believers. Now at this point, if you aren’t a believer, first, I’m surprised you’re still reading this blog and you must have been directed here by a search engine, and two, don’t fill up my comments section with how silly it is to have faith in anything. Everyone has faith in something. Even atheists have faith that nothing exists after death, so everybody’s got some kind of faith.
Anyway, I’ve had the majority of funerals be for Christians. Most of them, really strong Christians like my great-grandmother, Big Granny, or my great-aunt Elizabeth, who were both founding members of the church where I was ordained. Preaching the funeral of an unbeliever is the hardest and saddest thing I’ve ever had to do as a Christian. It’s disingenuous to give the family false hope.
That’s where trouble lies, especially in the South. Everybody thinks he or she is a Christian and, unless specifically told otherwise, so is everyone around them. That’s just not the case. Ultimately, of course, the Final Judgement will be conducted by God the Father and Jesus Christ, so I’m not saying I KNOW this person went to Heaven and this other person went to Hell, but let’s just say someone who dies screaming in his hospital bed that “they” are coming to get him and he can see the flames, probably doesn’t have a date with the Gates of Pearl. Again, though, God is merciful so I’m not going to tell a family their loved one is definitely going to Hell either. It’s not my place.
In cases like that, it’s best just to speak to the needs of the family for closure and avoid any judgement calls. That’s what I had to do for the first funeral I ever preached. It was terrible. She was my cousin and a teenager. She lead a wild and dissolute life and died in a horrible car crash within sight of her home. I was the second preacher for that funeral and I just spoke about God’s love and grace to the undeserving and let the older, more experienced pastor handle the thorny questions.
I’ve done the funeral of my great-grandmother, like I said, and two of my great-aunts. They were easy as pie. They were all Godly women who lived a good long life, except for Aunt Betty. She died in a car crash, but she was still older. I just turned to Proverbs 31 and read about the virtues of a Godly woman. It was the easiest thing ever. Mama always said the best funerals are preached while we live, then all that’s left for the preacher to do is tie everything up in a nice bow, say a prayer, and shake hands with the family.
My Papa John was a hard funeral for me. He was a strong believer. In fact, he’d been my pastor growing up. His death started the introspection into my faith, deciding just what I did and did not believe. His death wasn’t unexpected, but it came suddenly when it came. Watching Mama on the front row of chairs while an October rain beat down on the funeral home tent made it hard to concentrate on what I was saying. She was so bereft and forlorn. She never really was the same after that day.
Now HER funeral was THE hardest one I ever did. Losing Mama rocked me to my very core. I honestly didn’t know what I believed in any more and yet I had to stand in front of her casket and tell soothing stories about her life and how great she was, which wasn’t hard because she was great, but at the same time I was wrestling with doubts and wonderings of my own that would really affect me for over two years after she died. It was a beautiful day for her funeral though. Ten o’clock on a crisp, bright March morning just like she wanted. No visitation. No one looking at her when they didn’t have the common decency to come see her when she was sick.
Today’s funeral for Rob wasn’t awful. Rob was a believer, if a little rough around the edges. His only goal for the last thirteen years had been to die and go be with Mama. I might have mentioned that a time or two during my remarks. It was a motley crew of us at the graveside. Suits and ties mingled with ripped jeans and band t-shirts. I wore Crocs because that’s how Rob knew me. He would have been confused if I’d been standing up there in a black suit and tie.
I read a lot of Bible at his funeral. I went Old and New Testament, picking out some of my favorite verses along the way. I was terrified of screwing something up since today’s funeral was the last of my responsibility to Rob. The last thing Mama said to me before she lost consciousness was please watch after Rob. I’ve spent the last thirteen years making sure he had a roof over his head and car insurance so he could drive. I helped with bills. I loved Rob anyway because he was so good to Mama. The family was completely satisfied with how I conducted the service. My step-aunts’ pastor was at the graveside and he was very complementary of what all I said, so in all it was a success.
So that’s the story of my funeral ministry. I’ll always be available for family or anyone who needs me to preach their funeral, but it never gets “easy.” It’s always a big responsibility. Now y’all know that I love you, and make sure to keep your feet clean.
I would like to thank all the brave men and women throughout our country’s history who have served under arms waging war and keeping peace. It is because of the sacrifice in time, emotion, energy, and — all too often — blood, that the United States of America remains the envy of the rest of the world.
order to fight in the First Gulf War (the semi- justifiable one) when it looked like we were up against a real army and it might be a somewhat long war. I went to Fountain Inn one early fall afternoon and spoke to Papa Wham alone. Papa, with his eyes tearing up, asked me to please not enlist. He said, “Frankie being in Vietnam almost killed Mama (he always called Granny Wham, Mama) and me. I don’t believe either one of us could stand to see you go to war.” I didn’t enlist, but even though I am grateful to have honored Papa’s wishes, I still feel like a little part of me is missing and I’ll never be able to hold my head quite as high as Papa Wham and Daddy with no test of combat under my belt.
So, I support our troops whole-heartedly and will happily fight anyone anytime anywhere who think I do not. They are doing their jobs despite the government’s ability to tie their hands at every opportunity. They are fighting, not for “our freedom” because our freedom is not endangered by al-queda’s terrorists. Al-queda can kill Americans, but they cannot kill America and if we stayed out of their miserable God-forsaken countries, they wouldn’t be able to kill as many Americans. 9-11 was a lesson, but unfortunately, it has become the entire curriculum.
friends and family swapping stories, opening presents, eating, drinking, and generally making merry. It’s been a common custom for people to exchange lists of gifts they would like to get from their significant others while children practice their penmanship on those all important letters to Santa. I thought that, in the spirit of the season, I’d like to make out a list of what I want for Christmas this year. Just for fun and variety.
"Granny Beads and Grocery Store Feet" 