Last July I performed the funeral service for Greg Shire, a 22 year old young man who died in the prime of his life from a fire in Downtown Owosso on July 4th. Over the past 14 years I have performed well over a hundred funerals. Greg was the youngest person I ever had the unfortunate duty of performing a funeral for. His was by far been the hardest I have done. What do you say to parents who have unexpectedly lost their son? What do you say to a young man who has just lost his older brother—his hero? I ask myself what could we as a church or me personally have done better or different to have increased the odds that Greg would have continued attending church? I looked out over hundreds of people who were devastated. Many of them, I am sure, were not Christians. Young people and older folks who probably had nothing else in common except for their shared loss and hurt and pain . . . and questions. The crowd of mourners over which I looked was a sea of tattoos, piercings, black clothing, tears, and shattered lives.
And then there were the two young ladies who had survived the fire yet were obviously scarred and scared. One of them was in a wheelchair on short leave from the hospital where she would have to return to continue to mend. As she got in line to file past the casket I took her hand and told her that I was praying for her. I’ll never forget the look in her eyes as quietly, through her tears, she whispered “Thank You.” It was the look of fear. The look of someone who has bumped up against the edge of something too horrible for words.
At the risk of being misunderstood, let me share a secret with you. A deep, dark secret that we pastors rarely divulge. For when we do, people look at us like we are ghouls. It is simply this: most pastors would rather do a funeral than a wedding. I shared this with my mom a while ago and she recoiled in horror at the thought of her youngest being so deranged. I say this not because we ministers (though weird and twisted in other ways) glory in death. Rather, it’s because at weddings no one listens to what we have to say. We often feel like a necessary but unimportant piece of furniture. Yet, at funerals people listen and often hang on every word we have to say. We have the opportunity to speak life and hope and healing and God’s grace into people who are listening and open and receptive. Folks who are fertile soil. So what did I say to nearly 300 people, many of whom were grieving like “People who have no hope” as Paul would say?
I was tempted to take the obvious and easy route: life is uncertain and we don’t know when we will die so you better get straight with God right now. Hit them with a straight up hellfire and brimstone sermon about repenting before it’s too late. I wrestled with what to say into the early morning hours on Sunday. I believe God didn’t want me to do that.
I believe I heard Him tell me to do two things:
1. Assure them (Greg’s family first and foremost) of God’s love and care for Greg and each of them in spite of the horrific nature of his death.
2. Open a door or plant a seed of hope. I believe that funerals are rarely opportunities to exploit the raw pain felt by those present. But they are opportunities to talk about God’s love and His presence even in the valley of the shadow of death. They are times to plant seeds and open doors because people are listening. Yet, to be honest, I think that God spoke to me on Sunday more than anyone else.
It’s easy for pastors (and Christians in general I guess) to get kind of insulated from those who most need to hear the gospel. We spend more time talking about outreach and evangelism than actually doing it ourselves. We can lament the waywardness of our culture and the antichristian bias in the media and the sinfulness of people. We can get real adept at finger pointing and clucking our tongues in disapproval all the while forgetting that “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners” of whom we are often the worst. The Apostle Paul got this through his head, but often we have a harder time remembering that. And while Jesus and Paul often lamented the lostness of people and had compassion on them, they never pointed fingers and condemned them. This they did to the religious folks—the Sadducees and Pharisees and pastors.
All this is to say that what I saw last Sunday should be repeated on a more regular basis in our church. Hurting people, many of whom have no clue that God loves them and longs for a relationship with them, filling our pews and feeling comfortable coming to a church which accepts and expects sinners. Before and after the service the family wanted some of Greg’s favorite music played. Greg and I shared one thing in common: our love of playing the guitar and classic rock. But I’ll admit it was somewhat strange to hear strains of Ted Nugent, Zeppelin, the Doors, and Tom Petty filling the air in our church. I’m sure some might object that I allowed that music to be played in our church. I saw it as trying to meet the world at their point of need so that a door might be opened. Trying to build bridges so that we might have a chance to further witness to them.
This is evangelism today: building bridges, opening doors, planting seeds so that people will actually care what we have to say them about Jesus. Actually, that’s really how it’s always been done.