What’s different, and what’s the same, when death invades today

Coping with Covid-19 has been a challenge for almost everyone. Everyday life can be difficult. And when a new, unexpected crisis comes, the impact is compounded. In the last year, most of us have known or known about some family where death has intruded. And the grief has been made harder by Covid’s forced separations.

Local church pastors have seen this more than most of us. Every aspect of their ministries has been upended as they’ve struggled to keep the body of Christ connected when every regulation says, “Stay apart.” Nowhere is this more difficult than when it comes to the need for a funeral.

Chuck Sackett, longtime preacher at Madison Park Christian Church in Quincy, Illinois, wrote about this last week. He describes how the pain of grief stings deeper these days. But then he reminds us what hasn’t changed—even in a pandemic, even for those experiencing unexpected loss.

His piece, reprinted with permission, here:

By Chuck Sackett

Among the many consequences of Covid-19 protocols has been their impact on funerals. Instead of long lines of mourners making gracious comments to a grieving family, there have been close-knit family gatherings where stories are told and grief shared among only those who know the immediacy of the hurt.

People have become creative in their attempts to share grief. Services are held with only a handful of people present in the room, yet with hundreds present on Facebook Live. In one of the most moving moments of my ministry, we turned into the cemetery with a small group of family in a small number of cars only to find dozens of people lining the roadway to pay respect to this family’s loss. It was more moving than words can convey.

Seeking the normal

Some funerals and their accompanying visitations have been more “normal.” Socially distanced and masked people have attended, providing the most precious gift they could give—their presence. Some visitations have been done in a series of small groups and in socially distanced long lines. Some have allowed for physical interaction and some have involved a barrier preventing any physical touch. But they’ve occurred, providing their needed human interaction.

In every case where I’ve been honored to serve, we’ve gone to the graveside for that moment of final release. I always use a paraphrased version of the committal statement from the 1759 Book of Common Prayer:

“We return the body to the ground from which it came and the spirit to God who gave it, in the absolute confidence that He always judges justly.”

Those words (or something like them) are surrounded by comments about how God created man from dirt and to dirt he returns. However, the dirt was nothing until God breathed into it. Then, and only then, did it become the person we knew and loved. That part—that unexplained spirit—returns to God.

Departing with a prayer

I always depart the cemetery praying that those words have mattered, that grief has been shared, and that hope has been instilled or renewed. But I know, down in my inner being, that for some, nothing has helped. They grieve as those without hope. They believe a fitting tribute will help (and I’m sure it does), but it is insufficient. They desire that the emptiness in their hearts will be filled, but it often isn’t. They long to hold on to some semblance of presence with a picture, a flower, a memory . . . anything. And I ache for them.

Then . . . there are those who have had more than a brush with Jesus along the way. There are those whose hearts embraced the promise of Jesus to provide forgiveness and life; those who pledged their absolute allegiance to One who came as someone worthy of totally submission, total adherence. They are those for whom life revolved around a carpenter born some 2000 years ago. They are the ones who consistently speak of a peace that passes understanding.

Discovering hope

People desire hope. They want peace. They seek confidence. They just don’t always know where to find it. If you ask those who walk away from a graveside mourning, yet confident, they will tell you there is no explaining the peace that comes in walking faithfully with Jesus. Not from a passing acquaintance, but a meaningful, life-changing connection. They will say knowing him changes not merely your view of life, but your approach to death.

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Photo by Rhodi Lopez on Unsplash