Funeral Lectionary: Luke 24:13-35

The account of the two disciples encountering the Lord on the road to Emmaus is rich and much loved. I tend to think of it more as a metaphor for the Eucharistic liturgy, an exploration by the early disciples of their encounter–their repeated encounters–with the Lord in the breaking open of the Word, and in the breaking of the bread.

Jesus walks along with two disciples. Cleopas and his companion (perhaps a wife) are incredulous that this stranger seems ignorant of the momentous events of the past few days:

  “The things that happened to Jesus the Nazarene,
  who was a prophet  mighty in deed and word
  before God and all the people,
  how our chief priests and rulers both
  handed him over to a sentence of death and crucified him.
 
But we were hoping that he would be the one to redeem Israel;
  and besides all this,
  it is now the third day since this took place.
Some women from our group, however, have astounded us:
  they were at the tomb early in the morning
  and did not find his body;
  they came back and reported
  that they had indeed seen a vision of angels
  who announced that he was alive.
Then some of those with us went to the tomb
  and found things just as the women had described,
  but him they did not see.”

Even among the Twelve, there were those who embraced the motto, “Seeing is believing.” And among those of us who profess faith, who among us would not be bolstered by the experience of seeing? When a person dies, have we said and done everything needful? Or do we wish for one last moment before letting go? Would we be helped by one glimpse of our beloved in heaven? Of course we would. But then we would replace faith with surety.

And yet, there is something mysterious, if not mystical about this encounter. Cleopas and his companion “see” the stranger. But perception of the truth of the stranger, of Christ, only occurs gradually. First comes the revelation through the Scriptures, and the final breakthrough–in the breaking of the bread. But Christ’s reassuring presence is fleeting. What is left is not so much an afterimage, but a burning in the heart, and a crazy urge to retrace the day’s steps and tell the good news.

Given all that, is the Emmaus account a worthy Gospel to preach at a funeral? Perhaps the deceased was known for her or his Eucharistic faith. Perhaps the mourners need that glimpse, that breaking open the Word, that sacramental encounter. Do we believe in the Communion of Saints? Are we open to the notion that someone has gone on ahead of us, and awaits us in the heavenly banquet? If so, perhaps this resurrection narrative is fitting.

Were not our hearts burning within us
  while he spoke to us on the way
  and opened the scriptures to us?

There is an option to omit verses 17-27, and just focus on the initial meet-greet and the experience of Jesus breaking the bread, followed by the nightfall dash to Jerusalem.

 

Funeral Lectionary: John 19:17-18, 25-29

A portion of the Passion from John’s Gospel is an option for funerals. Here’s the text:

Jesus carrying the cross himself
  went out to what is called the Place of the Skull,
  in Hebrew, Golgotha.
There they crucified him, and with him two others,
  one on either side, with Jesus in the middle.
Standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother
  and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas,
  and Mary of Magdala.
When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple there whom he loved,
  he said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your son.”
Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother.”
And from that hour the disciple took her into his home.
After this, aware that everything was now finished,
  in order that the scripture might be fulfilled,
  Jesus said, “I thirst.”
There was a vessel filled with common wine.
So they put a sponge soaked in wine on a sprig of hyssop
  and put it up to his mouth.
When Jesus had taken the wine, he said, “It is finished.”
And bowing his head, he handed over the spirit.

It never feels quite right to me to proclaim parts of Christ’s Passion at funerals. Three other such passages are given in the funeral Lectionary, one from Mark and two from Luke as options. My own sense is that I would not want to be identified with the Lord as someone who also died. It also seems that Holy Week is a more fitting time to recall the Passion, and not an ordinary weekday.

That said, we are given these options, so when might they be utilized? Perhaps when a funeral outside of Mass is celebrated during the Triduum. Perhaps on another day of Holy Week. Note that this passage above excludes the snark of Pontius Pilate when questioned about the inscription as well as the soldiers dividing the garments of Jesus. It does contain the tender scene of Jesus entrusting Mary and the Beloved Disciple to each other. So let’s focus a bit on that.

When it comes to John’s Gospel, I go to Raymond Brown. His commentary from the Anchor Bible:

His mother, the symbol of the New Israel, was denied a role at Cana because his hour had not yet come. Now that his hour has come, she is given a role as the mother of the Beloved Disciple, i.e., of the Christian. We are being told figuratively that Jesus was concerned for the community of believers who would be drawn to him now that he is lifted up from the earth on the cross (cf. John 12:32).

Professor Brown offers several pages of commentary on these few verses. Most important for the funeral setting would be to draw out the notion that Jesus’ last task on the cross was to provide for the well-being of his disciples. This provision extends to our death and beyond. Jesus, even in his moment of suffering, was concerned about us, about those he loved.

Perhaps a devout Catholic takes comfort in knowing Mary as mother. If so, this passage provides a moving reinforcement of that reality. It is a comfort along the lines of that expressed in John 14:1-6–the Lord’s promise that he prepares a place for us.

On second thought, this passage may well be an appropriate proclamation for the funeral. I don’t think I would choose it for my funeral. But perhaps you would. If so, why?

 

Funeral Lectionary: Psalm 116:5, 6, 10-11, 15-16ac

Since Psalm 116 appears in the Holy Thursday Lectionary, I thought it appropriate to offer a post on it today. With an Alleluia refrain or this one based on verse 9:

I will walk in the presence of the Lord in the land of the living.

Three stanzas are offered:

How gracious is the Lord, and just;
our God has compassion.
The Lord protects the simple hearts;
I was helpless so he saved me.

I trusted, even when I said:
“I am sorely afflicted,”
and when I said in my alarm:
“No one can be trusted.”

O precious in the eyes of the Lord
is the death of his faithful.
Your servant, Lord, your servant am I;
you have loosed my bonds.

It’s not total congruity with the Holy Week psalm. In fact, only the third stanza above is used tonight–the others focus on the “cup of salvation” and on the sacrifice of the psalmist–appropriate material for the institution of the Eucharist.

The Collegeville Bible Commentary notes the customary division between sections A and B (breaking between vss. 9-10). The Jesuit Richard Clifford describes the B section generously as a “loosely knit thanksgiving.” I find the whole psalm to be a bit scattered. In fact, the Vulgate numbering system considers it two separate psalms.

The strain of lament is strong here. We’ve seen that before in other psalms.

I do love the third stanza, verses 15-16, that we are precious to God, and that our death touches him in some way. I don’t think the psalmist was likely speaking of a Christian resurrection as much as possibly engaging in a little exaggeration. The positive conclusion of the lament of the first verses of this psalm is that as God’s servants, God does free us from the chains of death. Nothing wrong with attributing a Christian perspective, especially if it makes the narrative here a bit more coherent.

A good friend asked me to write a setting of this psalm months before she died. She wanted it played at her funeral. I moved away before she went into hospice and was never called back for the funeral, alas. It was a struggle to write the music. My friend had a very debilitating disease which affected her movement and speech. It took me months to be able to understand her in conversation. It was one of the most difficult experiences in ministry, knowing I was with an intelligent and vibrant person–but communicating was such a challenge to me.

The song has yet to be used in liturgy–I don’t even think my wife has heard it. But use this psalm–in another musical setting–if you are convinced that the deceased are indeed free from the bonds of suffering and death. My friend now is. And you loved one, hopefully also.

 

Funeral Lectionary: Psalm 42:2, 3, 5cdef; Psalm 43:3, 4, 5

Another Easter Vigil Scripture, though one you may not hear (or sing) unless your parish is bold enough to do all seven Old Testament readings. This merging of Psalms 42 and 43 followes the reading from Ezekiel 36. If it’s chosen infrequently for Holy Saturday night, it appears even less frequently at the funeral Mass. Too bad; it’s a quite lyrical and beautiful piece.

My soul is thirsting for the living God: when shall I see him face to face?

Like the deer that yearns
for running streams,
so my soul is yearning
for you, my God.

My soul is thirsting for God,
the God of my life;
when can I enter and see
the face of God.

O send forth your light and your truth;
let these be my guide.
Let them bring me to your holy mountain
to the place where you dwell.

And I will come to the altar of God,
the God of my joy.
My redeemer, I will thank you on the harp,
O God, my God.

Why are you cast down, my soul,
why groan within me?
Hope in God; I will praise him still,
my savior and my God.

Not all of these verses are sung at the Easter Vigil. The fifth stanza given is not–it’s a repeated refrain in the structure of Psalm 42-43, which suggests to Scripture scholars these two psalms were once a single unit. Whether true or not, these two psalms together suggest something of a pilgrimage, perhaps a journey in grief and sadness, yet tinged with hope. Good for Holy Week. Good for funerals and the confrontation with human death and grief.

The psalmist admits a deep neediness, a reliance on God, something as basic as the need for a living thing for water. We humans share thirst for water with plants and animals alike. If we are honest with ourselves, we have a need for God that is just as basic as the reality of biological chemistry.

Another basic need: light. Unless we live at an undersea hydrothermal vent, we need light to thrive. And for the believer, the feelings expressed in 42:7, the waves pouring over us in our time of darkness, we might as well be submerged deep in the ocean when God seems absent.

To the faithful psalmist, thirst will be quenched and darkness lifted in temple worship. And presumably, the spiritual grace and sustenance offered there, close to God and one’s sisters and brothers in belief. That fifth stanza above is the thrice-repeated refrain of this Psalm 42-43 unit. If it seems a little like a doubled personality, consider how conflicted our feelings may be at the time of a loved one’s death. Inside we urge ourselves as people of faith to show faith. And yet we are “cast down” and “groaning” within. We tell ourselves to have hope. Yet a big chunk of ourselves finds it hard to accept that advice.

Being able to bring our fractured and conflicted interior life to God is essential to a spiritual transcendence of grief. It also gives believers a profound reflection not only at the Easter Vigil, but for all of Holy Week. If Jesus can pray with abandonment on our lips, we should be bold enough to confess that, and even our anger before God.

Psalm 42-43 is a lament. Our culture encourages us to gloss over such feelings, or to drown them in anger and in lashing out at others. Singing this psalm may not be a popular choice. But for some mourners, it may offer sentiments fruitful for both the relationship with God and our own grief at the loss of a loved one.

 

Funeral Lectionary: Romans 6:3-9

A frequent choice for funerals is the Easter Vigil reading from Romans:

Are you unaware that we who were baptized into Christ Jesus
  were baptized into his death?
We were indeed buried with him through baptism into death,
  so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead
    by the glory of the Father,
  we too might live in newness of life.
 
For if we have grown into union with him
  through a death like his,
  we shall also be united with him in the resurrection.
We know that our old self was crucified with him,
  so that our sinful body might be done away with,
  that we might no longer be in slavery to sin.
For a dead person has been absolved from sin.*
 
If, then, we have died with Christ,
  we believe that we shall also live with him.
We know that Christ,
  raised from the dead, dies no more;
  death no longer has power over him.

The apostle is preaching to a living audience, of course, not about a dead one. ”Death with Christ” is the metaphor for baptism. This passage seems less about a human death than the believer’s death to sin. It’s one reason why the image of baptism by immersion (perhaps in a tomb-like font) is so much more powerful than the sprinkling baptism so many clergy and parents choose for adults and infants alike. A few drops of water dry up soon enough. But if you’ve ever been close to drowning, you never forget it.

The hopeful part of this passage is a reminder that Christ as suffered and died. We will follow. Christ, raised from the dead, reigns in triumph. Death cannot touch him. It is the Christian hope that we follow.

It’s a good reading for a stout believer, for a person known to have joined her or his life to Christ’s. And in choosing this reading, mourners and ministers will have a hard time with any preaching other than positive, and resurrection-focused. And for some people, that’s a very good thing of which to be reminded.

* This middle section, verses 5-7 may be omitted for a shorter reading.

 

Italian Catholics Get OCF 2

I’m surprised that the Italians have had to wait forty years for a second edition of the funeral rites. What are listed at the link as innovations: a home visit, closing the coffin, texts for different situations of the deceased, and an appendix on cremation–these were all part of ICEL’s funeral rites a generation ago. Msgr Angelo Lameri of the National Liturgical Office describes the visit to the mourning family for the priest as …

a moment to share in the suffering, to listen to the mourning relatives, to learn about certain aspects of the deceased’s life with a view to a correct and personalised presentation during the funeral.

Personalized presentation? Is that like a eulogy?

Msgr Lameri considers the practice of scattering ashes as …

rais(ing) considerable doubts as to their coherence to Christian faith, especially when they conceal pantheist or naturalistic beliefs.

Perhaps so. More likely though, it involves a connection of either the deceased or the mourners to some aspect of life. Previous generations would visit a cemetery. Parishes that maintain cemeteries enjoy a connection that few Catholics these days possess. Otherwise, burial grounds are rows of memorial stones, each of which receiving fewer and fewer visits as the years go by.

Mind you, I’m not advocating a scattering of ashes as an optimal farewell for the dead, but I’d be disinclined to attribute it to pantheism or paganism.

 

 

Funeral Lectionary: Romans 8:14-23

Toward the end of Saint Paul’s “Gospel of Hope” (Romans chapters 5 through 8) another very appropriate passage for the funeral liturgy:

Those who are led by the Spirit of God
  are children of God.
For you did not receive a spirit of slavery
  to fall back into fear,
  but you received a spirit of adoption,
  through which we cry, “Abba, Father!”
 
The Spirit itself bears witness with our spirit
  that we are children of God,
  and if children, then heirs,
  heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ,
  if only we suffer with him
  so that we may also be glorified with him.
 
I consider that the sufferings of this present time
  are as nothing compared with the glory to be revealed for us.
For creation awaits with eager expectation
  the revelation of the children of God;
for creation was made subject to futility,
  not of its own accord
  but because of the one who subjected it,
  in hope that creation itself would be set free
  from slavery to corruption
  and share in the glorious freedom of the children of God.
 
We know that all creation is groaning
  in labor pains even until now;
and not only that, but we ourselves,
  who have the firstfruits of the Spirit,
  we also groan within ourselves
  as we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies.

The Jesuit Scripture scholar Brendan Byrne sees this section of Romans 8 as a transition from the “ethical sequence” (Rom 6:1-8:13) into a new argument addressing the experience of the suffering believer. It is natural, it is human for us to utter the protest, “Why me?!” Bad things still happen to good people. At the time of a funeral, we might apply this wonder to the deceased, if the death is judged unjust. Or we might struggle with the loss ourselves as mourners.

At any rate, one strong foundation is Paul’s stress on the familial relationship between God and believers. As brothers and sisters of Christ, we are grafted into God’s divine family. This was certainly how the Israelites saw themselves, as children of God. Paul underscores our reason for hope: the grace of Christ, and the very witness of the Holy Spirit in our midst. The intimate “Abba” is a cry from within the believer–it is seen as a sign of the Spirit at work, and affirming the new nature of our relationship with God.

As Paul moves to address the nature of the suffering believer, he acknowledges the experience of evil. But he brings in a more graphic image of the family, that of childbirth. Our adoption into the Trinity is not just a legal thing: sign a document, conduct a ritual, and we’re in for life. The experience of Christian faith is much more. We are not passive spectators. We can expect painful tribulation. Just like Jesus experienced it. But Christ’s triumph over death gives us all the more reason to hope that as his sisters and brothers, we too shall be saved. God cannot, would not go back on his promise to his daughters and sons.

It seems to me that a funeral may find the preacher addressing one of the three virtues, faith, hope, or love. Faith is difficult, and a funeral homily on it is beset with difficulties, usually. Love is easy enough, I suppose. But the quality many of us need the most at the time of death–our own or someone else’s–is hope. Why not leap into that misunderstood virtue, and address the conrete needs of family and mourners?

What do you think?

 

Funeral Lectionary: Romans 5:17-21

Continuing with Saint Paul’s Gospel of Hope (Romans 5-8), the Church gives us the second half of a comparison of two traditions. It’s not explicit in just this pericope, but the “one person” is Adam (See Romans 5:12-16). Or the joint transgression of Adam and Eve, if you prefer. Or humanity’s universal captivity to sin and death, if you demur on the mythology.

If, by the transgression of one person,
  death came to reign through that one,
  how much more will those who receive the abundance of grace
  and of the gift of justification come to reign in life
  through the one person Jesus Christ.
 
In conclusion, just as through one transgression
    condemnation came upon all,
  so through one righteous act acquittal and life came to all.
For just as through the disobedience of one person
  the many were made sinners,
  so through the obedience of one the many will be made righteous.
 
The law entered in so that transgression might increase but,
  where sin increased,
  grace overflowed all the more,
  so that, as sin reigned in death,
  grace also might reign through justification for eternal life
  through Jesus Christ our Lord.

I’ve always found the connection of sin and death to be not quite a perfect one. Death is part of the existence of nearly all individual life on Earth. Cosmologically, things in the material world are born, live, and die. And not just life. Stars. Galaxies.  The very nature of energy in the universe we know. All will run down. Is the death of a star due to human sin and transgression?

At any rate, while I might pick nits on the details on the sin-death connection, I’m far from dismissing the notion of the supremacy of Christ’s eternal legacy here. The point is that the Lord will raise up his brothers and sisters. We need not worry about the lasting effects of sin in ther world. Christ is in control. And the hopeful message for mourners is that their loved one will be caught up in the grace of Christ. It’s far bigger than just one person, righteous, troubled, or outright sinful. It’s a universal covenant between all believers, all God’s people, and the Savior. And God’s reaction to the increase of sin? Not more punishment. More grace. There’s a great dollop of hope for those in doubt or in mourning.

 

Funeral Lectionary: Romans 5:5-11

Paul offers a stellar treatment of hope in chapters 5 through 8 of his letter to the Romans. Last week, we looked at the concluding message of this “Gospel of hope.” With today’s passage, this theme is set up for a lengthy exposition. This section of Romans offers no less than five passages for consideration at a Christian funeral.

Verses 1-4 complete a transition from the previous pages of justification and faith. Our reason for hope is not through following a law, or The Law, but in the Holy Spirit, the very action of God’s grace in our lives:

Hope does not disappoint,
  because the love of God
  has been poured out into our hearts
  through the holy Spirit that has been given to us.
 
For Christ, while we were still helpless,
  yet died at the appointed time for the ungodly.
Indeed, only with difficulty does one die for a just person,
  though perhaps for a good person
  one might even find courage to die.
 
But God proves his love for us
  in that while we were still sinners
  Christ died for us.
How much more then,
  since we are now justified by his blood,
  will we be saved through him from the wrath.
 
Indeed, if, while we were enemies,
  we were reconciled to God through the death of his Son,
  how much more, once reconciled,
  will we be saved by his life.
 
Not only that,
  but we also boast of God
  through our Lord Jesus Christ,
  through whom we have now received reconciliation.

When one thinks about it, it is truly audacious to consider that sinners–enemies of God as the apostle insists–are placed in a situation where the concluding sentiment is not fear, but boasting. Boasting! We boast in God–that is how deep is our quality of hope. And perhaps in the face of human death, we need that audacity.

This section of Romans is quite fine for a funeral, but perhaps will require careful homiletics. First, that hope emerges from suffering. Not something easy to communicate to mourners. Some loved ones are just not ready to listen. Second, the language of “sinners” and “enemies” can also be a barrier. People do not think of themselves in the terms given–at least not in the latter sense. On the other hand, some exposition here might be worth the effort. What do you think?

 

Funeral Lectionary: Romans 8:31b-35, 37-39

Of the Church’s many New Testament choices for funerals, six from from Saint Paul’s letter to the Romans. And of those, five are contained in four central chapters 5 through 8. Is this significant? The Scripture scholar Brendan Byrne SJ sees these chapters as a “broader argument for hope,” citing the apostle’s “boast” in suffering (cf. Rom 5:3). Further, that despite “sufferings in the present time,” (Rom 8:18) the believer latches on to the notion that God offers an ultimate and eternal freedom. That future glory that will dwarf any comparison to present trials.

That brings us to the conclusion of Paul’s “Gospel of Hope.” If the following reading seems familiar, we heard it at Sunday Mass just a few weeks ago:

If God is for us, who can be against us?
He who did not spare his own Son
  but handed him over for us all,
  how will he not also give us everything else along with him?
Who will bring a charge against God’s chosen ones?
It is God who acquits us.
 
Who will condemn?
It is Christ Jesus who died, rather, was raised,
  who also is at the right hand of God,
  who indeed intercedes for us.
What will separate us from the love of Christ?
Will anguish, or distress, or persecution,
  or famine, or nakedness,
  or peril, or the sword?
No, in all these things
  we conquer overwhelmingly through him who loved us.
 
For I am convinced that neither death, nor life,
  nor angels, nor principalities,
  nor present things, nor future things,
  nor powers,
  nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature
  will be able to separate us from the love of God
  in Christ Jesus our Lord.

This passage presents three clear expressions that give us cause for hope. First, the reality of the Paschal Mystery. Jesus has tread this path of tribulation, and even a sense of abandonment in the face of death. Yet Christ triumphs. That was not just a historical exercise of God’s power. It has meaning because of Christ’s redemption. It will be a reality for all believers.

Second, Paul lists earthly obstacles. Jesus suffered “all these things.” These are not badges of condemnation or the ill will of the Father. The badges of suffering become banners of victory.

And lastly, Paul gives a litany of supernatural forces. If modern women and men are unfamiliar with the hierarchy of indifferent angels and other powers, perhaps we can substitute our sense of bad luck, bad karma, bad vibes, etc.. An early death, an unjust fate, an incomplete life, gross and tragic unfairness to those left behind: truly, they are irrelevant to the love of God, and the ultimate expression of God’s love.

If mourners are prepared for the encounter with hope, this passage or one of the others from Romans may be a good selection for the funeral. What do you think?

 

Funeral Lectionary: Psalm 130:1-2, 3-4, 5-6ab, 6c-7, 8

This is one of the three common psalms for Lent. I think this text is quite fitting for a funeral, but in my midwestern Catholic experience, it is rarely requested. It appears in today’s Lectionary in most places, so I thought it a timely topic for a post. We have two choices for a given antiphon:

Out of the depths I cry to you, LORD.

or

I hope in the LORD, I trust in his word.

And the text, which isn’t exactly like today’s psalm–just a verse or two are switched around in the last two stanzas:

Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD;
LORD, hear my voice!
O let your ears be attentive
to my voice of my pleading.

If you, O LORD, mark our guilt,
LORD, who would survive?
But with you is found forgiveness,
for this we revere you.

My soul is waiting for the LORD
I count on his word.
My soul is longing for the LORD
more than the watchman for daybreak.

Because with the LORD there is mercy
and fullness of redemption;
Israel indeed he will redeem
from all its iniquity.

Psalm 130 is the sixth of Saint Augustine’s seven penitential psalms.* It is also the 11th of the Psalter’s fifteen “Songs of Ascents,” shorter musical pieces used by pilgrims on their way to the Temple in Jerusalem.

The first half of the 130th has the tone of a lament. But the character of all the Songs of Ascents (Pss 120-134) is hopefulness. The pilgrims may be aware of their sins and their trials, but ultimately, they hope in God. They hope in a God for whom they long (Ps 130:6, and also 63:2). And even when the difficulties of life and the uncertainties of faith keep one awake in bed (Ps 130:6bc and 63:7) late at night, the dawn still will come. On that latter image, what troubled person has not known the sleepless night. Early morning time seems to run with excruciating slowness. It seems as if the light will never come.

But the person of experience knows that indeed the day will dawn. It is the essence of pilgrimage, that each of us is not a static person. The nature of being mortal is that we change and grow. We also decay and die. The experience in which Christ urges each and all of us is to let go of what is unimportant, and to strive for the eternal.

It might be that in a time of intense grief, our ears are less open to the message of hope. Still, it is good to have the track playing, even if we sit unconvinced. Mourners certainly know the feeling of being buried in the depths, of calling out to God–and does he hear? We are concerned, perhaps, for our own sins and those of the deceased. For our departed loved one, we only have the mercy of God on which to count.

I think this is a great pairing with the Old Testament Scripture from Lamentations. Would you use this psalm, or both Scriptures at a funeral?

* numbers 6, 32, 38, 51, 91, 102, 130, and 143–worth knowing.

 

Funeral Lectionary: Lamentations 3:17-26

One great expression of hope gets set up by a strong lament. Are you willing to engage the feeling of lament and grief so directly at the funeral? If so, here might be your reading:

My soul is deprived of peace,
  I have forgotten what happiness is;
I tell myself my future is lost,
  all that I hoped for from the Lord.
The thought of my homeless poverty is wormwood and gall;
Remembering it over and over
  leaves my soul downcast within me.
 
But I will call this to mind,
  as my reason to have hope:
The favors of the Lord are not exhausted,
  his mercies are not spent;
They are renewed each morning,
  so great is his faithfulness.
My portion is the Lord, says my soul;
  therefore will I hope in him.
Good is the Lord to one who waits for him,
  to the soul that seeks him;
It is good to hope in silence for the saving help of the Lord.

Lamentations is one of the more poetic offerings in the Bible. The catastrophe of conquest and exile has shaken Judah’s survivors after Babylon’s 587BC obliteration of Jerusalem. At the time of a loved one’s death, perhaps a surprising death that turns life for the mourners on its ear, perhaps this whole book will resonate.

There is a very honest and healthy grief in Lamentations. The author does not propose any easy answers. No “things will be okay.” No “this too shall pass.” Just raw grief and lament. The first sixteen verses of this chapter get pretty intense. When you read that God has led the “everyman” into darkness not light, has turned his hand against, besieged and encircled with poverty, etc., one gets the idea that a twisted version of Psalm 23 is the inspiration here. The image of God is not pretty, and the believer is not afraid to utter it.

Fortunately by verse 17, the mood turns, and one last summary leads into verse 21ff, in which God’s lasting and eternal quality of hesed (lovingkindness) is recalled. We are not given any external evidence for God’s love. It’s as natural as another day coming. We can choose to acknowledge it, (vv 21-26) or we can continue to wallow in pain (vv 1-20)–it doesn’t affect God’s quality either way.

I have a recollection of this passage being proclaimed at one funeral I attended. Maybe. It would take a great deal of courage to confront this Scripture so soon after a death. For myself, I’m not sure I could muster it. What about you?

 

Funeral Lectionary: Wisdom 3:1-9

One of the more frequent Old Testament selections in the funeral Lectionary is this one:

But the souls of the just are in the hand of God,
  and no torment shall touch them.
They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead;
  and their passing away was thought an affliction
  and their going forth from us, utter destruction.
But they are in peace.

For if before people, indeed, they be punished,
  yet is their hope full of immortality;
Chastised a little, they shall be greatly blessed,
  because God tried them and found them worthy of himself.
As gold in the furnace, he proved them,
  and as sacrificial offerings he took them to himself.
[In the time of their visitation they shall shine,
  and shall dart about as sparks through stubble;
They shall judge nations and rule over peoples,
  and the Lord shall be their King forever.]
Those who trust in God shall understand truth,
  and the faithful shall abide with him in love:
Because grace and mercy are with his holy ones,
  and God’s care is with the elect.

Do you have a sense of déjà vu? If you follow this blog carefully, you may note that this reading concludes in the same way as the funeral selection from Wisdom 4. An interesting bit: some versions of the Bible omit Wisdom 4:15–it only appears here at 3:9b. A practical note: a shorter option may be proclaimed by omitting verses 7-8, the bracketed text above.

Some textual observations:

Wisdom 3:1-4:19 is a larger unit within the book that treats three situations that the ancient Israelites would have considered curses: suffering (in today’s passage), childlessness (not exactly an appropriate topic for a funeral), and an early death (Wisdom 4:7-15 is the greater part of that section.

Both this and the other Wisdom reading avoid the author’s discursion on the wicked. It may be that the deceased is generally acknowledged to have skirted the edges of this quality. If so, it may not need to be mentioned.

“Immortality” –get the pronunciation right!–makes its very first appearance in the Bible, at least as a reference to those mortals loyal to God.

Suffering is seen by the Wisdom author not as a sign of God’s displeasure, but as an experience of purification. This is an advance from early Judaism which would attribute the circumstances of life as either a divine endorsement or punishment, depending on good or bad for the person so judged.

A good case might be made for using the full reading, especially given the continuation of the theme of burning and fire in verse 7. “Sparks through stubble” suggests the annual burning of harvested fields. I imagine the contrast between floating bits of burned cellulose and the cut and trampled stalks is the visual image attempted here.

Verse 8 echoes the Psalmist, the notion that the wicked will (eventually) be displaced from their seats of honor, and the poor will be lifted up in glory.

With all these rich possibilities for preaching, it’s no wonder many mourners choose Wisdom 3. The messages align with our faith in God and hope that our deceased loved ones will be taken up into eternal life. Your thoughts?

 

Funeral Lectionary: Wisdom 4:7-14

The book of Wisdom is a late addition to the Hebrew Scriptures. In fact, it was later excised from traditional Judaism, then centuries later, removed during the Reformation.

Wisdom 4 suggests the human struggle with an early, and perhaps unjust death:

But the just man, though he die early, shall be at rest.
For the age that is honorable
  comes not with the passing of time,
  nor can it be measured in terms of years.
Rather, understanding is the hoary crown for men,
  and an unsullied life, the attainment of old age.
He who pleased God was loved;
  he who lived among sinners was transported–
Snatched away, lest wickedness pervert his mind
  or deceit beguile his soul;
For the witchery of paltry things obscures what is right
  and the whirl of desire transforms the innocent mind.
Having become perfect in a short while,
   he reached the fullness of a long career;
for his soul was pleasing to the Lord,
  therefore he sped him out of the midst of wickedness.
But the people saw and did not understand,
  nor did they take this into account.
Because grace and mercy are with God’s holy ones,
  and God’s care is with the elect.

Judaism struggled deeply with this notion. In the early days of Moses, Judges, and the Psalms, it was thought that one’s station in life reflected God’s approval or disapproval. The rich were blessed by God; the poor cursed. The healthy blessed; the sick cursed. And of course, the long-lived were in God’s favor, and those who died young were certainly not good (no matter what the future Billy Joel might sing).

By the time of the book of Wisdom, about the first or second centuries before Christ, the problem of an early death confronted those of faith and philosophy. In the passage above, quality of life is more important than the quantity of years. The writer pursues the thought that God has taken the just early as a reward, a relief from the sinful aspects of life. Not all of this will be understood, of course. Especially not the mourners. We who remain have only the virtue of hope: that God’s grace and love will lift up those who have died. And us too, someday.

The funeral of a young person is always difficult. It might take courage to confront that early death in a reading like this one. My own sense is that some people would prefer to avoid the thought. And as a pastoral minister I would respect that. And yet, there may be some gem of comfort in the proclamation of that age-old sense of unfairness–that someone has died before their proper time. Two millennia after Wisdom, we still struggle with it. And that is a good thing. As long as death shadows and corrupts us, we should struggle with, and even against it, always with God’s grace and mercy.

 

Funeral Lectionary: Psalm 63:2, 3-4, 5-6, 8-9

Psalm 63 is one of the nine common psalms for ordinary time. It is also one of the choices for a funeral Mass. This is probably one of my favorite psalms. It expresses an intimate desire for God. (Possibly too intimate; often verse 7 is excised. The psalmist refers to lying in bed and longing for God. My own sense it is somewhat reminiscent of Eli and young Samuel in the temple as told in 1 Samuel 3:1-10.)

This psalm is also a prominent on for Morning Prayer, and is featured in Sunday Lauds, week I, as well as many cathedral office celebrations as a “common” psalm of sorts.

The refrain is, “My soul is thirsting for you, O Lord my God.”

O God, you are my God, for you I long;
for you my soul is thirsting.
My body pines for you
like a dry, weary land without water.

So I gaze on you in the sanctuary
to see your strength and your glory.
For your love is better than life;
my lips shall speak your praise.

So I will bless you all my life,
in your name I will lift up my hands.
My soul shall be filled as with a banquet,
my mouth shall praise you with joy.

You have been my help;
in the shadow of your wings I rejoice
My soul clings to you;
your right hand holds me fast.

Psalm 63 in its entirety offers something of a mixture of styles. The first stanza seems like a lament. In stanza two, the lament shades to an expression of thanksgiving, and continues in stanza three (vv. 5-6). By the last stanza, the psalmist has settled into an attitude of trust in God. It seems like the entire experience of grieving encapsulated into just a few Bible verses. Perhaps the 63rd is better as an expression of the pilgrimage of the deceased, if indeed that person has experienced the journey from longing to thanksgiving to confident trust.

Overall, a lovely piece, but very rarely chosen for funerals. Most people get hung up on 23, 25, or 27, and don’t look beyond. Speaking for myself, I hope they use this psalm at my funeral. And if that’s not enough to scare you off, you might consider it too.

As for musical settings of this psalm, I leave it to our commentariat to make suggestions and give links, if you can or wish.