Funerals are a bit of a bizarre phenomenon to me.

I honestly never really paid attention during them until the past year or so. (We'll just leave the reasoning at this: Dead bodies. And, I will be cremated.)

I got the opportunity to pay close attention to a funeral yesterday as I shadowed my Field Education supervisor while he led a funeral service. Not to mention, he was doing this was for a family he had never met. He's friends with a funereal director up the road from our Field Ed. site, and the director calls him when families come in that are in need of a pastor to lead the service because they don't have one otherwise--don't have connections with a local church, haven't been to their home churches in many years, etc.

Our pastor had a lengthy discussion with one of the daughters of the deceased prior to the day of the funeral, and it was clear he had done his homework as he transitioned through each piece of the service. He talked with them while he led the service like he had always known them and their loved one, all while being incredibly respectful of the fact that he didn't.

As he moved from the goal of their time together to the hope we have in the Gospel to discussing special memories about which he had been informed prior to the service to the necessary "Where do we go from here?" piece, an overall sincerity seemed to be the glue that held everything together.

The family was sincere in their grief, in their love for a mother, grandmother, sister, friend.

Our pastor was sincere with his intentions in leading the service--to look back and be thankful, to look ahead and be hopeful.

I'm still piecing together what it will even look like for me to lead families through grief when the time comes, but I feel like I got a pretty good starting view yesterday into how I hope to lead, how I hope to provide comfort. 

I think most of all it has to do with loving the grieving family authentically, speaking sincerely (when it's appropriate to speak), and being a vessel of God's presence and care for that family so that the grieving process continues and doesn't stop at the, "Life will always stay right here, in this moment" phase.

Life does go on after death as hard as that is to fathom in the moment of immediate grief. And while the service was not led in such a way that pushed the family to hurry and get to that mindset, it seemed as though the Spirit was inviting that understanding. Most everyone gathered seemed so open--open to celebrating and remembering their loved one's life as well as open to the idea that their loved one would want them to keep going, keep making each other laugh, and keep loving one another even though the loved one was no longer there to lead the charge. 

It was beautiful, really. Watching and sensing a hurting family s l  o w l y begin the initial stages of moving through their grief together. All right there in that very room. Gathered close to one another as beautiful words and stories were shared from a place of sadness, love, and hopefulness on the loved one's behalf. 

Funerals really are bizarre phenomenons. In the span of the 30 minutes to an hour they take place, they manage to acknowledge both the very real feelings of the sting/pain/grief/torment/bereavement that comes with death, but also glimpses into the refreshment/deep breath/calm/peace/rejuvenation that only eternal life in Christ can bring.

Jesus' promise to always be with us was almost tangible as I sat at the back of a room that held a grieving family yesterday--from the comfort of the pastor, to the detailed care of the funeral director, to the love and compassion the various friends and families showed one another and showed their loved one. 

Who could have ever known I'd be blessed by attending the funeral of a person I didn't know from Eve? I didn't, but I'm very thankful I got the opportunity to experience such an incredibly ... bizarre phenomenon.