My family and a few close friends gathered to bury the cremains of my sister who died over a year and a half ago. The minister said a few words about death and grief as we sat on folding lawn chairs at the edge of the cemetery. I didn’t hear the words; instead I felt the sorrow, the sun on my face, and my husband’s hand on mine. Others told me the minister’s words were wise and beautiful. One even commented that the words were real; there was nothing that seemed unbelievable.
I am grateful for the rituals around death. As a culture, we are in a state of flux around death. More and more people are forgoing public memorials or even private rituals. Fewer people are attending services. The church has too often failed to work with families to create sacred space that is comfortable for people from a variety of faith traditions or no faith tradition—a service which reflects the life and the culture of the deceased.
At their best, funerals and memorial services provide a way to offer and receive comfort, to recognize the beauty and frailty of life, and to pause to reflect and grieve.
I stood at the back of the Broad Bay Church as people slowly filed by the front pew to greet a grieving family. Time slowed and I sensed a holy power as one by one over 100 people touched, hugged, and spoke to a full row of family members. Tears were shed. Eye contact was made. Outside a people stood and talked with one another. I was standing in a holy place.
Memorial services and funerals are sacred interfaith events. Creating holy space for grieving people with many different understandings of God is among the most sacred work I am privileged to do.
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View a 2015 post on memorial services
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