Grief

This weekend, I am surrounded by death. Yesterday, I travelled
back to Medway. I attended the funeral of my dear friend Bran Griffith. He was
only 51. An early death wasn’t unexpected. He suffered terrible back problems,
caused by radiation damage. He had had radiotherapy for cancer in his youth. He
also had serious heart trouble. Three days before Christmas, he fell down the
stairs at home, and died instantly. Hundreds of us thronged to St Paul’s,
Parkwood yesterday, to remember a man, who, in the face of enormous pain,
radiated the most wonderful faith. He was gentle, humorous, uncomplaining and a
man of strong principle. His career as a social worker cut short by his
ill-health, his very character blessed innumerable people. In my case, Bran and
his wife Nikkii welcomed me to their home many times, especially when I was
single. The speaker who referred to his Caribbean chicken brought back
particular memories for me, as three times in the service I mopped up tears.

As I arrived home, my wife was coming off the phone. A church
member who had been in a home with, I guess, some form of dementia had passed
away. I rushed to see her husband. Despite lights and television clearly being
on, he couldn’t have heard my two rings at the doorbell.

This morning, we bury the ashes of my Church Council
secretary, who died two days before Christmas. I am writing this as I prepare
for that ceremony, praying that the wind and rain might subside for a
particular five minutes.

You could say it is the time of year. One month between November
and February each winter seems to have the highest concentration of deaths. You
could say it is part of the minister’s lot, and you would be right. It makes me
feel like many elderly people, who speak of how they go from one funeral to
another, from the loss of one friend to the death of another relative. All of
this would be true. What I do know is, it’s making me snappy with my family as I
attempt to process my own grief, as I think of one widow after fifteen years of
marriage, and two widowers who spent over fifty years with their wives.

But as I have sat reading prayers, ready for this morning’s
interment, I have been struck again by one inadequacy in Methodist death
liturgy. In the funeral service we pray, ‘May your Holy Spirit lift us above
our sorrow, to the peace and light of your constant love’. In the interment
service, there is a similar petition: ‘Lift us from the darkness of grief into
the light of your presence’.

What is my problem? Is it that I don’t want people to be
delivered from grief? Of course not. I do. It is a problem of timing. We are
still in the journey of grief at this point. Many who are bereaved will still
be on that journey for the rest of their lives. I want to experience God’s
peace and light within my grief. After
all, my grief is a sign of my love. I grieve, because I can no longer express
my love for the one who is gone. I don’t want to diminish the resurrection hope
for one second, but I am wondering about rewording the prayers. Would you make
any changes? If so, what, and if not, why?

Technorati Tags: death, bereavement, ministry, Methodist