God cares

With a funeral service being held at 12 noon, it always fairly dominates the day.

The morning saw me finishing off the service sheets. Just a few final touches to what had already been done.

I'd taken a draft to the family home last night to see if it matched their wishes OK. Which by and large it did. But the touching up takes a bit of time and then there was the printing off as well. And the folding of the service sheets. And the 'family' sheets on slightly better paper.

Little things. But they all mount up. And though they're only little things, together they're important. So worth the time and effort. We like to make things just as right and sort of special as we can for folk on days like this. Well, on any day, I guess!

There was also some bits I had to finish off in terms of what I would say. Being round with the family and chatting with them last night, there were one or two changes I wanted to make. So that took a bit of time as well.

Then printing it off. And printing a sheet for the organist down at the crem. And figuring out just what I would say at that shorter and subsequent service, the committal along at Warriston.

Again, it all takes time. And the family were down at the halls good and early.

So although you might think that a service at 12 leaves the whole of the morning quite free, it doesn't work out quite like that. The service takes over and stretches its tentacles back and envelopes the whole of the morning.

Not that I mind at all. It isn't like the doctor's where the bell can 'ping' and you've got a quick ten minutes till the 'pinging' starts all over and it's time to say 'next please' .. and on it goes.

(Of course, I know the doctor's place is not like that at all!)

A day like this is always so special for all of the people involved. And I like to make it special in whatever way I can. I guess I get involved myself, effectively. And so the actual time of worship stretches out, embracing really quite a chunk of any given day.

It's kind of like God gives folk time and space. The time and space they need to grieve. And it's somehow quite important that they see and sense that God himself is not just pitching up for one brief act of worship as if it were some mechanised conveyor belt of ministry.

They need to know that God's own heart is broken in the grief that they have felt. That he, too, needs and takes the time and space their grief demands for them.

And so, for me as well, it isn't like I simply press a button which will switch me into funeral mode and later switch it off. It doesn't work like that. Not for me at any rate. And I don't believe it's meant to be like that at all.

The service was well attended. Even the organist turned up at last - which ten minutes before the service was due to start I was beginning to think might not happen!

I said what I wanted to say and I think that it reached the mark.

I don't try to preach at the people there. I think that's sort of abuse. That's not why they're there, to be got at like that. And I don't think it does that much good. I think they switch off or go into a hardened, defensive-type mode.

I try like an artist to paint them a portrait of the person all of them miss. A portrait they'll keep in the back of their hearts which will help them remember the memories they have and the feelings they had for her too.

And my prayer through it all is that what they will see is a portrait somehow of the Lord as well. I kind of paint him into the portrait of someone else, so that looking at his creture they can maybe catch a glimpse of him as well.

I think they sensed that he was there, at any rate.

'Funeral mode'. Well, I'm beginning to think I don't have any other mode these days! Already there are a couple of funeral services lined up for into next week.

I was down at the home of the lady whose husband died a couple of days ago. Her neices were there as well. And it was good as always to talk.

I feel for her. It must be really hard. Their lives so bound up with each other for so long. The pain of loss must really be like some horrific amputation.

But the Lord is one who binds up wounds. And though it's hard and sore, I look to him to exercise his gentle, tender care and help those wounds to heal.

It's humbling and quite challenging to know that my being round like that is one small, early part of God's own thorough 'after-care'. The God who comes to be with us and nurse our wounds and help us through the trials of this life.

He cares for us. It's simply said. And through my life I pray it may be seen.