As many of you know already, this happens all the time. Like earlier this week. I’m called to a home where a death has occurred. A 96-year-old woman simply passed away after declining health. Her dear son was living with her and providing care which became increasingly difficult the past year as her health really took a dive. As you might expect, the son was deeply grieving. I could tell he was close to his mom. Losing a dear mother is maybe one of the hardest life events for sure. Our police officer was making his report to the coroner which is standard for every death to which the police are called. Of course, this was not going to be a “coroner’s case” and I was certain the body of the mother would be released to the son at which time calling a funeral home would be the next step.
I shared with the son that even though 96 is a long life and death at that age isn’t a surprise, the moment it actually happens you are never really prepared for the flood of emotions that wash upon you. For many, it is as though your life full of memories with the loved one passes in front of you in a flash and a deep, deep piercing of the soul takes place. A combination of wonderful memories and yet such sadness related to the finality of the end. What happens all the time, as I started off saying, is the moment when sometime after I help loved ones understand the process with the coroner and then a funeral home, I ask about their faith. I always ask, “Do you have a faith?” How could a chaplain not ask, right? If they respond positively, then we easily go down that road and tap into their faith. But as many of you know, and as was the case here, when I asked, “Do you have a faith?”, the answer of course and in this case was a pause and a shaking of the head while stating he used to go to church as child. But he did claim that his mother attended a church until her health prohibited her from attending.
The second thing I most always ask is, “Would you like me to say a prayer?” When I asked the son, he sort of paused with a look of uncertainty at which time I explained, “Only if you want, it’s not about me, only for you and/or for your mother.” He thought about it for a second and said, “Sure. That would be great.” That too is often the case. People who are not “practicing a faith” (non-religious) most often take me up on the opportunity to say a prayer. Here’s what I really wanted to get to in this short little blog. When the moment comes to pray over a deceased person and in the presence of family members whom I’ve only met minutes before but who are grieving and having one of the most difficult moments in their lives, how do you pray? What do you pray? Especially with people…. the living…who “used to go to church” or maybe never went to church but who are open to having a stranger engage God in their presence with words.
So, what do you say to God on behalf of the deceased for whom you hardly know anything about, or the loved ones left behind in your presence, most of whom aren’t “walking with the Lord,” like we Christians like to say in assessments about people we judge Christian-ly, even if lovingly? Over the years, I’ve found myself praying over those whom, no doubt, many Christians would have concluded, based on information gathered on scene, that the person was not “saved.” Or as in this episode, the loved one left was “not walking with Jesus” or “was saved.” Those are clichés that have never been a part of my vernacular all my life mainly because I’ve always believed that no matter what we think we know or no matter what has been revealed to us about God, far greater is the mystery of God and even more so, the complexity of the afterlife. We still live by faith, no matter what we know.
So how do I pray? What do I say to God? To be honest, I often have very little to say. I don’t have any pithy sermon all wrapped up in a prayer that really wouldn’t be a prayer at all,and if so it would really be just a ploy to preach a mini-sermon as a way to “evangelize the lost” in my presence. No. I’m standing on sacred ground and the deceased is, in a way, like standing at the burning bush of the presence of God. It is sacred ground to be present at the end of a human life, lives that were put in place on earth by this very God we are reaching out to. Right?
“God, we stand before you and thank you for the gift of life. Thank you for Jane’s (Doe) life. Thank you, God, for the gift of love. It is because of love our hearts are heavy with sadness. Somehow, someway God meet John (Doe) in his grief supernaturally as he contends with the loss of his dear mother. God, we stand at the precipice of great mystery and trust in you for what lies beyond, and we trust you are a God of unfathomable grace, mercy and love. We trust Jane is with you and by faith we have that hope. Amen.”
On a personal note, prayer, as I enter the fourth quarter of life on earth, has become more a two-step dance with God. Number one, “thank you God.” Number two, “help me.” Also, I find my thoughts when alone often become a prayer with God…. talking to, complaining to, asking for, crying to, disagreeing with and often simply wondering about. The Jesus model of prayer, real conversation with his heavenly father, was being off alone in solitude. I like that. My favorite prayer to God? “Hello”
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