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There was a bit of surprise and shock earlier this week when we sent a notice for four deaths in the parish at the same time, all of whom died within a one-week period. It is unusual to have so many deaths so close together, but it has happened before. Fortunately, it is rare. Two of those individuals were active, two were not. Two were unexpected, two were not. Two will have public services at Christ Church, two will not. Despite the similarities, each is unique in its own way. As familiar as death may be in our community, the losses are real, as is the grief of the families.
I’m glad that we do not have funerals at the pace we saw in my early years here. There was a season in 2013 and 2014 during which we had funerals almost weekly and more than a few weeks with as many as four funerals. There is an adage that old rectors share with new priests to explain such a season, perhaps tongue in cheek, but born out of anecdotal experience: “Sometimes it feels like people wait for a new rector to die.” That was certainly how it felt to me, although the pace did settle down. Nonetheless, Christ Church is usually at or near the top of the list for parishes hosting funerals when the annual parochial reports are submitted. And to be clear, those are parishioner funerals, not indicative of all the other funerals that take place in our cemetery.
Regardless of how many funerals we do now, and it’s still a regular part of our rhythm of life, four deaths in a week is a lot. I have colleagues who serve in smaller congregations for whom any funeral is disruptive to their ministry and their parish, but we just take it in stride. Despite the frequency, we work hard to ensure that none of our funerals feels formulaic, beyond the liturgy itself. We strive to listen to each family and work with them to craft the liturgy they want (and/or their loved one). Add in the parish support, such as the Altar Guild or the Martha’s Guild, and it is clear that we take these moments very seriously and respond compassionately.
Death is often more present in our lives than we may recognize. As individuals, most of us don’t regularly lose folks close to us, like family members, but we do lose people we know. As we age, the frequency increases a bit. One of the individuals we lost last week had spoken to me about this a couple of years ago, noting that they were the last in their close friend group and how hard that was. Indeed. As a parish, we have made our Alleluia song at the liturgies of hundreds of fellow parishioners and friends, and those are just numbers based on who has had their services at Christ Church. Some folks move away and don’t come back for burial. Others have had services in their hometowns, where family plots awaited their eternal rest. It has been bearable being spread out over time, more so if we had lost them all at once.
This all sounds morbid when you put it all together, but it’s not morbid from where I sit. Granted, I see more death and funerals up close than many, but I don’t see them in the same way that some others do, either. I’m not numb to death, or jaded about it, but informed by the resurrection. When you preach as many funerals as I have, or sit with dying persons, or comfort their families after they are gone, you spend a lot of time proclaiming resurrection. Despite my own doubts (the flip side of my faith), God has been at work in me for decades regarding the promise of the Easter gift we are still celebrating in this season. I don’t know how many times I’ve prayed “Give us faith to see in death the gate of everlasting life,” but that’s how I’ve come to see it, without a doubt (99% of the time!).
Despite my faith, which is usually quite strong, death does still get to me. Some deaths are shocking, some are tragic, some are more personal, and some affect me in ways I didn’t expect. Sometimes it’s sharing the grief of a family that moves me. All of that is ok. More than ok; it’s normal. Our faith doesn’t ever say we shouldn’t grieve, only that we shouldn’t grieve without hope. A week with four deaths is a lot of grief, but it is also a lot of proclamation. We give thanks for the lives of all those we love but see no longer, and we rejoice that they are enjoying the promises of our shared faith. Life is changed, not ended, as our prayer book also says, and these deaths change us and our parish, too. As it should be.
