No More Wiggle Room

A nurse called me to the hospital to comfort and encourage a family that had had a very long, hard vigil at the bedside, after months of caring for this seriously ill member. So I stayed a good while, read some Scripture, spoke of the family strength and unity I saw among them, stayed awhile longer, hugged the huggable, and left.

A few days later, the hospital called to find out if I was the chaplain there when he died. Nope. More calls, finally it comes clear, the family wants me to do the funeral. No other chaplain had been in to visit, even when he died, so it was me. And because the family was so insistent that they wanted me, I agreed. This, having no clue how to do a funeral, and all my Catholic bones screeching in protest. But this is what would comfort the family and I wouldn't say "no". But as a certified chaplain, I'm qualified, and if we lived in a churchless village, I'd be counted among the "elders", so I forged ahead.

After major battles with nerves and doubts, research and consulting with experts, I sat down and wrote out my own order of service, chose scriptures, adding in family requests, asked my favorite singer to sing his song about "I Am the Resurrection", and off we went.

The funeral went off very well, a half hour start to finish. Then we followed (directly behind the hearse!) to the cemetery, and I led a short (very) graveside service, accompanied by the birds singing in the sunny blue day. Hugs all around again, and it was over. Whew!