Healing a Memory by Cherishing

I have a weird job, which possibly qualifies me a bit of weird person. On the one hand, if you know me, I’m pretty normal, albeit needy at times. But then there’s this part of what I do that throws me into these unique environments as a minister where you have to be freak to be proficient, let alone comfortable.

I remember one funeral service I hosted that came together well. Since he was a local area car club enthusiast president, we had his two mini coopers parked on each side of his casket. I enlisted my wife and friend to sing. And we were able to piece together a nice power point show chronicling the vibrancy of his relationship, efforts, and passions. But it was the benediction that I’ll remember most. We released around 100 helium balloons all with a note and $5 bill inside. The note read, “My name is Keith. Here’s $5. Have a beer on me and take a moment to stop & enjoy your life like I got to enjoy mine”.

Earlier, I met Anne because I was the pastor on call. Her husband was battling cancer and growing spiritually cold. We talked and prayed for their home and his heart. A year later, I got another call about a man in ICU dying of cancer wanting “last rights”. Coincidentally, I met Anne in the lobby. The husband was Keith. Despite his breathing apparatus, he was able to talk but now he seemed open and obviously vulnerable. We talked about pain, struggle, life, and home. We both agreed on how, if life we an end in itself, I want my money back. We prayed together. He surrendered. I think most of us struggle to rationalize God when we’re staring at our own mortality. I guess one way to look at it is how situations like cancer help us see how vulnerable we really are. Most of the time, we see our lives as our own, measuring our own control, and believing in our answers.

The day Keith died was, predictably, hard about a month after our time together in ICU. It wasn’t unexpected but it still stung. What was unusual was the home visit. I seemed to be the only one thinking it odd, yet pleasantly surprised, to be greeted by and sit with three women for the next few hours. I sat with his current wife now widow, his sister, and his ex-wife. All of whom were friends. I’m used to family drama and friction especially in moments like these. The house was like a boarding home bringing together an eclectic group from all over step children, girlfriends, cousins, aunts…but it soon felt normal. I sensed the support and the connections they shared.

In general, I tend to think most of us aren’t good at healing, specifically grieving. Instead, we’d rather move on and think “happy thoughts”. Meanwhile we have grown adults carrying themselves with delayed adolescence b/c of unresolved wounds.

The Israelites were great at grieving. When a family member died, they’d enlist wailers, or professional mourners, because if you’re supposed to be sad you gotta be loud. And if you’re gonna be loud, why not make it a chorus? They wore grieving clothes – sackcloth (aka goat hair, not exactly comfy) and ashes. We, on the other hand, put on the most plush, baggy threads and eat our way toward feeling better. They understood that discomfort – be it emotionally or physically – was assumed. Healing requires it. To know comfort is to know pain.

This whole episode reminded my of the story of Jesus being late to the funeral of Lazarus (Jn.11:1-3, 17-20). I love that he himself was moved by the circumstances. I love the support surrounding the extended family. I even love how they interact with Jesus suggesting that if would’ve arrived earlier he could’ve saved this from happening.

Family and friends gathered for a very intense period of mourning involving loud expressions of sorrow and lament. After the body was prepared, it was carried to the cemetery in a procession, which included professional mourners hired to express the appropriate public grief. Often someone playing the flute joined them. The period of mourning varied. Some believe that it lasted 7 days as it does today in Orthodox Jewish tradition. However, a rabbinical document refers to the mourning period lasting 3 days, possibly because after this amount of time it was certain that the person was actually dead. Following the sealing of the tomb, mourning continued for a total of 30 days.
(One side note worth mentioning, in Jewish culture the issue wasn’t how well they knew the dead individually. But they were a part of the larger community...and no one should suffer alone.)

A friend once said when asked why it hurts so much to remember. “Because it’s in remembering that we cherish. If we didn’t cherish we wouldn’t hurt”. Simple but true. I sat with these grieving women helping them cherish the man they loved as I asked them to help me know him better by drawing out fun memories. We looked at pictures, heard the skinny, even saw his tricked out cars.

Funerals are unique events. We describe them as places to “pay our respects”. While this is true, I think of them as places where we’re publicly allowed to grieve, emotionally bring closure by saying goodbyes, and initiate the healing process. I think people need room, if not permission, to cherish…whether that be crying or laughing out loud. I hear people describe that they “want to be strong…” for their family. I wonder if the ability to show healthy and appropriate emotions is the picture of strength we all need. I just know there’s healing in that when we take the time to cherish.