A Funeral Sermon

Greetings,

It’s relatively easy to engage in theological speculation around topics of interest. But, healthy Liberal Christianity is not worth much if it is not useful and well grounded in a wide variety of pastoral situations. As you know, ministers perform funerals with some regularity. Many of them are for “good deaths”: people who have lived long enough and who have experienced some level of abundance. Others are more difficult because the level of suffering of the dying person can sometimes reach intolerable levels. There may be some sense of relief that “the strife is o’er”, as the words of the hymn express it. But, then there are those deaths that are so unexpected and seem so grossly unjust that we are hard pressed to address them at all.

Last week a twenty-five year old Elmira fireman died when the truck he was driving back from a call went off the road. My attempt to come up with words for family, church, and community members, and for the firefighters who gathered from miles around feels totally inadequate to me. Still, I offer those words from that funeral service for your consideration.

Wayne

Pastoral Reflections
A Service of Celebration for Ryan T. Barker
July 12, 2008

Several years ago, Rabbi Harold S. Kushner wrote the best selling book, “When Bad Things Happen to Good People.” The title seems appropriate for us to consider as we gather here. Millions of copies have been sold and I believe that millions of people have found some measure of comfort from Rabbi Kushner’s words.

I suspect, however, that many of those who bought the book actually misread the title. They hoped for the title to be “Why Bad Things Happen to Good People.” I can relate to that desire. But this is not a new question. It’s been around for as long as humans have dealt with tragic events. And many very bright and learned people have come up with countless attempts at answering it.

At times like these, when a whole community in concert with a family join in a desperate attempt to make sense of the senseless, all those other less than adequate answers tend to flood back into our consciousness and conversation. I know you’ve heard many of these. Perhaps you’ve even tried to make them work for you.

The first one is something about trying to fathom God’s Will – as if God had something to do with selecting someone like Ryan to die at this time. Sometimes it takes the form of “Maybe God needed him in heaven more than we need him here. (No, that doesn’t work for me either.) But, I suppose the purpose of such attempts is to comfort ourselves by believing that God knows more that we do, so maybe this makes sense from God’s perspective. (Nope – still not helpful.) When those approaches don’t work, sometimes we try to convince ourselves that “he’s in a better place” – whatever that means. But whether that’s true or not, it completely misses the point of our grief.

If you’ve ever been on the receiving end of such comments, you know that however well-meaning they might be, they really don’t help much. Those comments might even make you angry. You know that this is not the time to be cheered up or helped to feel better. Maybe later that will happen. Suffice it to say that all attempts to answer the “Why” question, probably just make things worse.

So what do we do? Is there another approach? How do we wrap our understanding around the death of this generous and loving friend, brother, son, husband, and father?

If I have learned anything in almost four decades as a minister, often struggling with this question, it’s that trying to understand does not lead us to healing; because…, there is no belief – nothing that we can manufacture in our heads – that will take away the pain, make the loss any less enormous, or give us a way to “get over it.”

No. There is no getting over this, or any other, significant loss. Our losses become permanent parts of our experience that are integrated into our being. The only healing – if you can call it that – is a very slowly developing notion that this or any other significant loss can never be the sum total of who we are or of what we have experienced. Throughout our lives, we will continue to accumulate significant experiences – some wonderful, some difficult. Over time, we gradually find a place within us where we can create memorials to those whom we have lost. Our challenge is to make those living memorials – not tombs of death that we carry around, only to haunt us.

Again we’re faced with the question, “So what do we do?”

First of all, we can remember that we’re not alone. Jane, you and the rest of Ryan’s family are surrounded by people who care about you. They’re not here to pity you, for pity always boils down to something like – “I feel bad that this has happened to you, but I’m secretly glad it didn’t happen to me.” No, I believe that everyone here knows the personal experience of loss and grief. They have gathered in a compassionate embrace, not to pity from a distance. Pity is no relationship at all, but compassion fosters a deep human bond that helps us all find barely enough courage to take our next small step.

Secondly, we remember that while this loss is very personal, we are also intimately connected to all who grieve. So, we, here, remember the families of soldiers who have died in war. We remember the families of the 30,000 people who die each year in traffic accidents in this country alone. We remember those who are permanently wounded and those throughout our world who struggle daily with poverty and hunger. Don’t misunderstand, I am not telling you to look around to see how much worse it is for others and to count your blessings. That would be a cruel thing to do to you.

I am simply reminding all of us about how much opportunity there is for human compassion. Jesus said, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” He didn’t mean that there was anything particularly noble about loss and grief, or that we should be happy no matter what we have lost. His statement was simply a reminder – a recognition – that in a community whose “glue” is compassion, people connect profoundly around the reality of their human losses.

In grief, social status is irrelevant, competition is silly, and fear and hatred are wasteful. Only compassion can keep us healthy – not just as individuals, but as a family, a fire department, a congregation, and as a community. Jesus had a term for compassionate community. He called it the Kingdom of God.

Let me say finally that while there is no good answer to the question, “Why did Ryan Barker die?” there is a very good answer to the question, “Why did Ryan Barker live?” You carry the answer to that question within you – in your memories – in all you learned from knowing him and relating to him. Your challenge now, is to transform all that he has been to you into that living memorial – passing on the goodness, keeping the memories alive. The celebration of his life is not confined to this funeral service – this is just the beginning. You will continue to celebrate his life through your relationships, your acts of loving service, and your dreams.

The grief will not go away, but you may find, in time, that there emerges in you a holy compatibility between your experiences of grief and your experiences of joy. In the midst of your future celebrations, you will ever be aware of the hole in your life that his absence has created. And in the midst of your tears you will find hints of treasured memories and new, joyful experiences that will bubble up to live in harmony with your sadness.

I encourage you to share both with one another in loving compassion. Blessed is the compassionate community that mourns and celebrates together. Amen.