My first public act, after a 10 week sabbatical, was to attend the graveside funeral of a friend’s brother. It was a slow and painful death, by all accounts, even though the family never let on. Theirs was a life of simplicity and dignity to the end.
Almost 11 years ago, my own brother died. It was a surreal period in my life. I have no recollection of how long it took for a new normal to finally seem genuine. I do remember a beautiful note composed with unsurpassed cursive penmanship, sound theology, and deep passion. It was from this same friend whose brother was laid to rest today.
The funeral service was brief and simple; a reading of (I believe) “The Order for the Burial of the Dead” from the 1928 Book of Common Prayer. Keeping the tradition of their forebears, the deceased had requested that this, and only this be read at his graveside. As the service began, and the surviving brother explained his brother’s wishes and his intentions, I was skeptical about this ancient rite’s ability to relate and offer sustenance to the multiple generations gathered.
I needn’t have been. Even though I was standing far back (seeking the shade of a friendly old cemetery tree) and am growing deafer with each passing year, I could hear enough. The scriptures and phrases emanating from beneath that canvas tent brought to my mind a comforting collection of hymn lyrics and scriptures, as well as time-tested prayers of promise and hope. It seemed synchronous with the family and resonated with the gathered congregation.
I hope that I and others, in the days, weeks, months, and years ahead, will be able to offer my friend the comfort and assurance he needs to see his way to a new normal. Isn’t that a big part of why we’re here?
© 2011 Todd Jenkins
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