The Joy Of Ministry

I have been involved with funeral ministry now for about 7 or 8 years, and have recently (since my ordination in July) been conducting services solo.

And it has been a very different experience, not least because I now do the family visit on my own rather than with my supervising colleague. The responsibility of liaising with the family about what they want in the service, what music to have etc falls to me, and – crucially – the timing is my responsibility too.

The service slots at our Crematorium are 20 minutes, which is not very long to pay tribute to loved ones, say prayers, listen to some music and say goodbye. If we run over the 20 minutes we risk earning the family a fine, and so timing is a big factor when I plan my services.

I did a service recently where I was very worried about timing more than usual, and though the family understood my concerns, they wanted quite a lot of elements included in the service. And because they were so lovely to me, the pressure was on even more to not earn them a fine. I don’t like hurrying through services because for me, it is an important step in the grieving process, and if I rush things, or gloss over things, I’m not being fair to the family and I risk causing them more pain if it looks like I’m being too quick and not giving full respect to them or their loved one.

I did my best, and I felt it went OK in the end. We overran by a few minutes but it was the last service of the day and so the staff turned a bit of a blind eye – thank you boys! And on the way out, lots of people were very polite, thanking me for my words etc, and I felt I’d ministered to the bereaved and trusted that God’s word was heard through me.

The family were very appreciative on the day, which at the time I just put down to politeness. But I received a phonecall on Sunday to tell me that they had a card and some flowers for me to thank me for my ministry. I met with one of them today to receive the gifts and I felt very humbled by it.

It’s the first time a family has given me a thank you card, and I’m touched and thrilled in equal measure. They said it was as if I’d known their mum myself because I’d spoken so well, and they said I’ve helped give them hope that death is not the end.

To be told that – especially the second bit – is one of the deepest joys of ministry I can think of. To share the good news is ministry in a nutshell, but to hear that people have drawn hope from my words, well… praise the Lord!

Blessings

Pam

Supermarket Flowers

** Trigger warning: contains themes of death and bereavement **

Do you know how some songs kind of grow on you? The ones that when you see the title your first reaction is one of distaste, or you think it’s a bit twee or something but then, when you are forced to listen to them, they take on a different meaning? Well, this song by Ed Sheeran is one of those songs for me.

I first heard it a couple of years ago and I thought it was just tacky and horrible. I mean, come on, who entitles a song “Supermarket Flowers”?? I have to admit that the title alone put me off, and I just couldn’t listen to the song at all.

But then, a few days ago one of my funeral families requested it as a reflection piece during a service and, because I had to stand and listen to it, I actually got to appreciate the words in the song. It has been requested for another funeral I’m taking in the coming days, and so I thought I’d have a proper listen to it tonight, and do you know dear reader, it’s probably got more theology in it than some of our modern worship songs! (Don’t shoot me…)

It tells the story of when a son loses his mum, and what happens to him in the aftermath of her death. Sounds pretty morbid, but its poignancy is beautiful because it draws on the everyday details that people who have lost loved ones have to face – stacking chairs, tidying away teacups and soft drinks, throwing away flowers that people had given in sympathy, etc. But the chorus contains the words “And when God takes you back we’ll say Halleluiah, you are home”, which is the bit that is so important for us as Christians to know and to share with others. There is hope after death, both for the ones who are left behind to mourn, and for the person whose earthly journey has ended. Because, to put it simply, Jesus Christ came to live, to die, to rise and ascend so that we can live, die, rise and ascend to heaven too. If we believe in Jesus, then yes, Halleluiah, we are going home.

I wonder if you draw the same thing from this song as I do? Here’s a video of it. Please let me know what you think.

Grace and peace,

Pam x

Bryan

I learned today that one of the stalwarts of brass banding has died, and it has made me really sad to hear the news. Bryan Warrington, euphonium player, youth band trainer, musical director and conductor died suddenly today, leaving a legacy of music and friendship behind him.

Bryan absolutely lived for banding, and had found the lockdown particularly difficult because it meant that he couldn’t pursue this life giving activity. We are starting to open up again now, with many bands restarting rehearsals and even booking gigs for the summer, so it is particularly heartbreaking that he is now not going to return to his beloved bandroom again.

I could turn this into a reflection about how God is with us even though we suffer loss and grief, or how Bryan was not alone through the lockdown because God had hold of him throughout, but I won’t. Because the loss of Bryan has caused a huge outpouring of emotion from the hundreds, nay, thousands of people who he befriended, influenced, taught, humoured, supported and created music with, and the North West corner of the brass band world is grieving together tonight.

I pray that all who grieve tonight find comfort in knowing that we grieve together, and though we do walk through the valley of the shadow of death, there is always hope, because there is always love.

Rest in peace, Bryan, and rise in glory.

Grace and peace,

Pam x

Bearing With Grief

I’ve been on a training weekend this weekend with my theological college (All Saints Centre for Mission and Ministry) and the focus has been Funeral Ministry. We have looked at different aspects of death and dying, and we have talked about the legal stuff, the theological stuff and the ministerial stuff. As you can imagine, it has been very intense and emotional for many reasons.

Funeral ministry is one of the areas of ministry that I feel most strongly called to, and as I’ve been processing things this weekend I’ve come to realise that it’s not just the actions and words leading up to the funeral that matter to me but the ministry to the bereaved afterwards too. There is so much more to be offered after the funeral to those who are grieving and suffering the pain of loss and it’s something that I look forward to developing and engaging with more and more as my ministry grows here in Blackley.

It won’t be long now, God willing, that I’ll be in that position of journeying with people through their experiences of loss and grief more, and to have the privilege of taking the funerals of their loved ones. If it is in your gift to do so, I would ask for your prayers for me, and for all who minister to the dying and the bereaved in whatever way they are called to do. It is a ministry that is often done privately, is often unspoken of by the public and is most often at an emotional cost to the minister. However, it is also the source of much fulfilment and even joy, because it is a chance to share the hope of life in God after this life has ended with those who have lost a loved one, and it is an honour to be standing on the holy ground of grief in the midst of so much love.

Grace and peace,

Pam x

His Late Royal Highness The Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh

Today was Prince Philip’s funeral, held at St George’s Chapel at Windsor Castle. The whole world is commenting on it, and there’s not much I can say that hasn’t been said by the professional broadcasters, but I don’t feel I can let the day go by without me recording my response to it here on the Mushy Cloud.

I watched the funeral on TV at home and was moved to tears at several points through it. I began watching at around 2pm, an hour before the church service was due to start, and I watched the servicemen and bands assemble inside Windsor Castle. Two of my friends were there today in the band, both representing their respective services, and I am immensely proud of both of them, which brought the first set of tears. The music was beautiful as the family began to gather, and the massed band playing Nimrod was absolutely stunning.

The sight of the Queen hesitating in the entrance to the chapel was a shock, and I my heart went out to her in her grief and her loss. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to experience the loss of my lifelong companion and friend like she has done, and I can’t imagine what she must have been feeling as she walked into the chapel today.

It was upsetting to witness the usually staid and steadfast Royal Family so visibly grieving today. Philip was obviously a well-loved and well-respected head of their family, and Anne and Charles in particular looked utterly bereft. I think it was the right decision not to wear military dress today, because the family looked united and as one in their mourning clothes. I don’t think it’s right for me to comment on the reasons why that decision was made, but to see them all in “normal” clothing was more poignant to me as a bystander, and I think that it added to the intimate feeling of the funeral itself. Once the procession began and the bands were left behind, the family were just that – a family who were grieving, albeit in sight of the whole world, but it was a very personal, private service that paid homage to Philip in the way that he had asked for.

I was particularly moved by the choral singing in the Chapel. Covid rules dictate that there is a restriction on the number of people who could be present in the Chapel, and so the usual choir was reduced to four. And wow. What quality! I have played in small ensembles all my life and I understand how closely you have to concentrate in order to be in sync with your fellow musicians, and even professionals can slip up now and again. But these four today were sublime. Perfectly in tune with one another, perfectly phrased together, perfectly balanced… I could go on, but suffice to say, I thought they were stunning and yes, they moved me to tears.

The service itself was designed by Prince Philip and he had chosen unusual readings for a funeral. He had also asked for no sermon or eulogy, so there was just music, prayers and readings for the world to say goodbye to him with. And to me, it was judged to perfection. Not too mawkish, not too saccharine, not too long, not too frivolous, not too deep, and not too remote.

And before too long, it was all over. The family departed the Chapel after the coffin was lowered through the floor into the vault below, and the cameras followed them as they made their way back up the hill towards the private quarters of Windsor Castle. It was lovely to see them walking in the Spring sunshine together, just as any other regular family would do.

Philip’s funeral farewell was marked by a little bit of pomp and ceremony, with the presence of the bands and the troops and the guns and the tolling bells, but it was more of a private family funeral that was witnessed by millions, and I think it was all the better for it. Not just because of the pandemic, but because Philip himself was a private man who had asked for it to be that way.

My prayer tonight is that the Queen gains strength from her faith, which offers that certain hope of resurrection to new life in the name of Jesus Christ, and that she and her family find comfort and solace in each other as they mourn Philip’s passing. And I pray too for all those who mourn, that they too find comfort in their grief.

I leave you with the BBC’s compilation of moments from today’s event at Windsor.

Love and light,

Pam x

Expressions of Grief

** Trigger warning: this blog post contains themes of bereavement and grief, death and children & baby loss **

I have been involved in funeral ministry for a number of years now and I am privileged to be alongside families in their raw grief when they mourn the loss of loved ones. I’ve witnessed the depths of pain that parents have been in at the loss of neo-natal or stillborn babies, and I’ve been with elderly people in their grief at the loss of their husband or wife, and in some cases their parents. I cannot help be moved by people in their grief, and I consider it part of my calling to be with them in those moments, as a visible sign of God’s love that surrounds them and offers them eternal hope.

I have seen so many ways that people express their grief either at funerals, or in the weeks and months afterwards. Some people like to be very subdued and private about the way they grieve their loved ones, while others prefer lots of colour and involve lots of people to share their grief. It is different with every family and every situation, and there is no single “correct” way to express or share grief.

However, there are rules and regulations about what is permitted in cemeteries, churchyards and other burial grounds about how families express their grief, and sometimes those rules can conflict with what families want and need to be able to process their loss and to cope with living without their loved ones.

A recent article in the Church Times highlights this particular issue with a family in Leeds who want to remember their children by decorating their grave with brightly coloured toys and mementoes. The grave is located in a churchyard, which has its own rules about what is permitted, and the team vicar has written to the family to ask them to remove these items. The reasons given by the church were that it was time consuming for maintenance, and the ornaments and plantings were “detracting from the natural beauty and tranquillity of the churchyard”. The items in question were things like artificial flowers, windmills, balloons and toys of Winnie the Pooh. The letter to the family also said that the headstone was not in keeping with the churchyard and contravened its rules on what was permitted. The family are obviously very upset, not least because the grave is of two children but also that the letter from the church was sent just before Christmas. My heart really does go out to them in their distress.

But my heart also goes out to the families of the other people buried in that same space, because whilst the family who want brightly coloured toys and flowers on their loved ones’ grave, they have the right to visit their loved ones in the “natural beauty” that the church has maintained its churchyard is, without the distractions of windmills and Disney characters around them. Where does one person’s right to express themselves in one way stop, and another person’s right begin? And how do the church respond?

An answer is that in the private churchyard that this particular family has chosen to have their children buried has its own rules and regulations and when the family requested the plot they would have been made aware of what those rules are. It’s not uncommon practice for burial spaces to have rules about what is permitted in them, and they cover all sorts of things from the maximum size of headstone, the material headstones are made out of, wording on them, the size of floral tributes permitted and so on. Some are now introducing rules about the amount of plastic that is permitted on graves for ecological reasons and are discouraging anything that is not biodegradable or is harmful to the environment.

Natural looking cemetery

But at the time that families make the approach to a churchyard to have loved ones buried there, are they really in a position to take in the finer points of what is permitted on the graves? I would say perhaps not, especially in the case mentioned, where these parents had lost two children. The unimaginable pain and grief in that moment would make most people blind and deaf to the finer points of what is allowed at a grave.

So what can be done to help in the future?

This is a difficult one to answer because as with anything in life, there are trends about the ways that people express their grief. Do we make death more of an “everyday” subject to talk about? If we talk about it more, then when it comes to dealing with it head-on for ourselves, it wouldn’t be so difficult to break the ice or to be confronted by a lot of these painful decisions for the first time. If talking about death and funerals is more commonplace, more people would be aware that the burial plot is not their private property to do with what they wish, and that it is part of a bigger picture that involves other people around them.

Grief itself is universal, but the ways that families express and share it are not. We only have to look back to the 19^th Century graves in our cemeteries to see how people marked the passing of their loved ones then to see how different it was then to how it is now. A return to antiquity meant that many families chose to have secular items on their graves, such as the draped urns that represented a different, sentimental, view of death.

In the 1990s a lot of families chose to have photographs of their loved ones on their headstones, but we don’t tend to see that anymore, and modern headstones tend now to be cut into more irregular and asymmetrical shapes with the advances in stone cutting and computer aided design technology.

Asymmetrical headstone

We cannot see into the future, but who knows what our graves will look like in twenty years from now? I’ve already mentioned environmental matters with the use of plastics, but what else might change? Will we return to wooden markers instead of stone or marble headstones? Will we be even burying people at all? We could all be cremated before too long – who knows?

Maybe there is a compromise to be had with the family in Leeds who are at odds with the church because of the toys and ornaments on their children’s grave. Maybe one side or the other will have a change of heart and see it from the other point of view. Maybe the rules might change, or maybe they might be tightened further in response to the voices of those who want to mourn and remember their loved ones in a natural-looking setting.

However this particular situation is resolved, I pray that it is done with love, sensitivity and compassion for all those who grieve and all those who are struggling to express it.

Funeral Ministry

I experienced two contrasting funerals today, and they have made me think about the things that unite us as well as the things that divide us.

You might know already that I am a lay minister in my church and I am in the process of discernment as to whether I am a suitable candidate to be trained further, with a view to being ordained in the future. My ministry takes in lots of different things, including children’s work, leading worship and prayers, leading study groups and so on, and recently I have been increasingly involved with the funeral ministry that the church offers. I started off by shadowing the priest who conducted funerals, visiting the family and offering some pastoral support at the event itself. That quickly evolved into me saying prayers at funerals while the priest led the rest of the service, and then I began to deliver the eulogy and address too. More recently I have had the privilege to conduct the service from the beginning right up to the point of the committal, which for Church of England funerals can only be conducted by a priest. I have found funeral ministry fulfilling as well as challenging, and I am gaining experience every time I do one.

Funeral ministry might sound morbid and depressing but it is such a rewarding experience for me because not only do we get to share good news with people at a time when they are at their lowest, but when there are no words with which to frame that good news, we can stand alongside people and show them that they are not alone.

Which is why I wanted to talk to you about today’s funerals and the way that they are sitting with me and in my prayers today.

The first funeral was of a 41 year old man and the second was of a premature baby who died after living for an hour and 16 minutes. There are further contrasts between the two funerals, in that the first was filled with extended family and friends, with six pall bearers drawn from that circle, and the second was just the two parents who had come to mourn their loss, carrying a tiny white coffin themselves.

I visited the man’s family (I’ll refer to him as A for ease now) the day before yesterday with the priest who was to conduct the service (“E”) and was struck by just how close the brothers were, especially after hearing how the family had worked together to earn money and how they had informally adopted a lifelong friend into their midst when he found himself in difficulties. The visit was a noisy one, with everyone talking over each other to tell A’s story, and their memories came tumbling out with very little prompting from either E or myself. They were all keen to share their grief as well as some of the happier times they had shared with A before he died. Visits like this one are easier for me to deal with emotionally, because their keenness to talk and to share shows me signs that they are processing the death of their loved one and are prepared for the difficult time at the funeral ahead. It also means that the conversation flows easily and there is little prompting or nudging needed for them to tell their story.

E and I also visited the baby’s parents yesterday, and for me, that is where the deeper contrasts began to show themselves.

Baby C was the third child to this couple, and the visit took place with one of their other children in the room with us. It was very quiet, despite a toddler being there, and conversation was not quite as forthcoming as it was for the big family the day before. But how could it have been otherwise? Baby C didn’t have a story to tell, no escapades at school, no achievements or disappointments with exams or boyfriends and girlfriends and so on. But the parents were just as upset over their loss as A’s family were the day before.

The purpose of a funeral (for me) is a three-fold thing: it is to give thanks for the life of the deceased, for the bereaved to comfort each other, and to commit our brother or sister to the eternal care of God, and because we do those things at every funeral, they serve to unite us despite our differences and contrasts.

So how do we give thanks for the life of a baby whose heartbeat only lasted an hour and 16 minutes? How do we offer comfort to the parents who are grieving not only the physical loss of their child but also the loss of a life not even lived? How do we comfort a family whose brother has found life so difficult that he could only find solace and strength in alcohol? What can we say to ease the pain and disappointment, the anger and distress at the loss of a loved one no matter what their age is, or how many heartbeats they have had.

It is so, so hard, but for me, the answer to those questions lies in the one thing that united the two funerals today, and that is the promise of new life when we go from here. It is the promise that was made real by Jesus Christ, and it is what we celebrate every Easter when we remember his death and resurrection.

I can’t imagine that the bubble of grief in which the two parents have existed after the birth of their baby was ready to be punctured by the gospel message today, but I do hope and pray that the ministry they received from E and I this morning will stay with them and that they could draw some comfort from the prayers we offered. I doubt that many words will have been heard today, but I hope and pray that our being there, standing alongside both families in their grief made some difference to them.

There was a time at A’s funeral, when one of his brothers was overcome with grief, that the only thing to do was to stand and hold his hand and simply be there for him while he clutched at the coffin and cried out in anguish. It was a privilege to hold Baby C’s mother’s hand as the end of the service came, at the moment when she had to say her final goodbyes. I could feel the pain rolling off her, and there were simply no words I could have said to have eased it but to just hold her hand seemed to have made a difference to her.

So, yes, lots of contrasts in the two funerals, but lots of similarities too. Most important is the unifying message that this life is not the end, and God has his hands and eyes and ears all over us, from the moment we are knitted together in our mother’s wombs right through to the moment we see him face to face and beyond.

A Day Of Opposites

It has been a day of opposites today, where sorrow and comedy have lived side by side.

The sorrow came in the shape of two funerals I attended today. The first was for a 37 year old woman who died suddenly in hospital a couple of weeks ago. Her family were devastated – how on earth can a young mother of four children be suddenly be taken away with no warning and no reason?- and though I didn’t personally know her, it was impossible not to be hit by the tidal wave of their distress during the service. I was present during the service to help with the music and to some photos the family had chosen on a slide show on the TV screen to tell the story of her life, which is something I am proud to have been able to do for them.

The second funeral was for a 77 year old gentle man who was a friend to me and a member of our congregation. You’ll notice I split that word to describe him, but he truly was a very gentle and humble man. He had lots of health problems which mainly stemmed from a brain tumour he had at the age of 13, and he had been given a life expectancy of no more than 2 years after the surgery to remove it.

The service for him was very different to the one earlier. Both were Christian services held in church and both were families who had the Christian faith running through the family, yet they were as opposite to each other as could be. The music – one was mostly pop songs that were played on an iPad; the other was all hymns which were played on the church organ. The circumstances – one was a young woman who shouldn’t be dead; the other was an elderly gentleman who arguably shouldn’t have still been alive. The families – one was totally devastated and lost; the other peacefully accepting.

There were similarities too – the certain faith that their loved ones are not lost to us, just lost from this life and are now with God; the trust that their grief will eventually be assuaged, and they will celebrate having known and loved both of these people.

Of course, as in life, death isn’t perfect either and there was comedy (if not farce) in the day too.

The first funeral was to be held at 12 o’clock, and the second at 2.15pm. That would have been ample time to make sure the service for the first was held with dignity, the vicar could travel the mile and a half to the crematorium to conduct the short service there before heading back to church, and the mourners would have time to move on to the wake without being rushed before the next one arrived.

Only the limousine to take the family to the crematorium for the first funeral broke down and couldn’t be started. The funeral directors sent for another limo, which was fine because at least the funeral could continue and the service at the crematorium would have been on time, but our church is on a main road where there is no daytime parking, and the limo was blocking the space for the next hearse and limo to arrive.

This is a picture of the vicar, who had arrived back from the first one, “helping” the funeral directors trying to get it going.

They got a bit frantic when they realised that the next one was due in about 20 minutes and so ended up man-handling the car further up the road to make way for it, and then rang for the breakdown service.

We didn’t think any more of it until after the second service, when it was getting a bit dark outside and everyone left the church to go to the crematorium, to be faced with a massive bright orange RAC truck – complete with lights flashing – loading up the first limo directly in front of the second hearse.

It was a scene that wouldn’t have been out of place on a hidden camera prank show on TV!

My overwhelming feeling about today is one of thankfulness. I’m thankful that I had the privilege of being able to help a family I didn’t know celebrate the life of Janine, and I’m also thankful that I had the chance to hear Brian’s story and share the sorrow felt by his brother Frank and the rest of his family. I’m thankful that I had the privilege to know Brian personally too; he had the twinkliest blue eyes and he was always cheerful, even on the days when his health problems were getting him down.

I’m thankful too for my own family and for my place in it. I’m thankful for my faith in God, and most of all I’m thankful that life – and death – is a splendid mix of sorrow and comedy.

Break Over

I said last Sunday that I was going to be taking a break from blogging for a week so that my tired and stale mind could refresh itself with a spell of reading and researching. Well let me tell you, this past week has not turned out quite as I imagined it to….

When I made my “I need a break” statement on Sunday evening, I couldn’t have anticipated what would happen the following day, which probably would have made me take a break anyway. My Dad’s older brother was admitted to hospital last Sunday afternoon, and he was extremely ill. We received a phone call first thing on Monday morning to tell us that he was poorly and that it would be a good idea if we could go and see him. I didn’t go because I didn’t feel it was right but my Mum and Dad did and they got to spend two days with my uncle before he sadly passed away on Tuesday night. He had been in the advanced stages of liver cancer so the end was swift, if brutal.

Mum and Dad stayed with the family for a couple more days and while they were away I held the fort back here at home. They only live round the corner from me so it was no problem to take care of Bella the dog (I’ve posted about Bella the wonder dog before, and this spell she was an absolute star!), and I was also holder of the church keys. They are both church wardens so they are more or less on call to let people in and out of church whenever it’s needed, so last week I stepped in to help. Luckily I only needed to use them about 20 times…it’s a busy church!

So as it happened, what with my grief over my Uncle David and the busy-ness of deputising for Mum and Dad as well as running my own bits and pieces, I would have had to take a break from blogging because it just didn’t feel right and because I was pooped. I have enjoyed the break away from composing a new post every day but I didn’t quite manage the reading part of research to refresh my mind in the meantime.

Never mind. Although I like the discipline of a daily post I’ll state now that this week may be a bit patchy in my output again. I will be travelling for the funeral on Thursday to stay overnight with my Gran, and Friday will just be a no-no in terms of leaving the family circle to make a blog post. I will try and schedule a couple of posts but I’m not going to break into a sweat about it. Being bereaved does funny things to one’s sense of what’s right doesn’t it?!

Here’s a picture of David on his wedding day just under two years ago. He was my hero. A bon-viveur with a zest for life and he will leave a huge void in so many lives.