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We are not meant to suffer alone

Funeral, Sacrament-based, Holy Day, Holiday, Special Occasion - Sample homilies to be adapted for your use

Funeral: Death of a child WE COME HERE TODAY to celebrate a young life. We are still in shock, in disbelief, our tears still flowing freely. N. was a vibrant young person—he/she was simply too young. With hope in our hearts, we also come as a faith community. The eyes of faith have a great vantage point from which we can look down through the millennia. We see another woman who lost her child at a young age. Mary, at the foot of the cross, must have also been in shock and disbelief; her tears tinged with anger. In this scene of excruciating pain, both physical and emotional, Jesus does the most amazing thing. In his very last moments, as he literally hangs between life and death, Jesus creates community. The Gospel of John tells us that Jesus looked at his mother and said, "'Woman, here is your son.' Then he said to the disciple, 'Here is your mother.'" And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home" (John 19:26-27). In his very last moments, as he literally hangs between life and death, Jesus creates community. They were not family by any definition, yet from that hour the disciple took her into his home. John cared for Mary, and Mary, full of wisdom and grace, certainly consoled and supported John in his grief. For the remainder of their lives here on earth they told his story, a story that echoes through the centuries. After the death of Jesus, Mary and John must have gathered with friends and relatives; everyone told their own stories of Jesus and laughter mingled with their tears. Perhaps Mary told stories of Jesus as a little boy. Even though everyone knew the story of when Jesus, at the age of 12, stayed in Jerusalem for three days while Mary and Joseph searched anxiously for him, they told the story again. Remember when Jesus wept at the death of Lazarus. Jesus wept! He loved Lazarus so much. Maybe they recalled the incident when he felt such compassion for the widow of Nain that he raised her son from the dead. Friends and disciples must have gathered to share a meal. And as they embraced one another, they gave one another comfort and hope. In N.'s loving family I saw all of that happen here again and again this week as they planned the funeral. Friends and relatives streamed in and out of the family home, bringing love with food, hugs, kisses, stories, and laughter together with all the tears. [Add a personal story or description of the deceased's traits, such as: As a child, N. showed his poetic side. He loved to walk through puddles as little boys do. But one day, before he made the big splash, he gazed intently at each puddle. When his mother asked what he was doing, he told her that the sky was so big but he could watch the clouds pass by in the puddles. Remember N., his freckled face and big grin. Remember the way he could impersonate people and make us laugh. Remember those long legs and all those track and field events.] N.'s friends have stories to tell, too. Tell those stories again and again. Remember those we have loved and lost continue to live where they have always lived--in our hearts. Let N. continue to live in our hearts. Our hearts are far bigger than this small planet. As Christians we also use the vantage point of faith to see the risen Christ, the Christ that lives among us. Conscious of the presence of Christ, Saint Teresa of Avila once said that "Jesus has no hands but ours." Yes, Jesus is in our hands but also in our voice, our pain, and our love for one another. Our God understands our suffering with such detail and with such depth that in his dying moments, he created community, a community bound by love. We are not meant to suffer alone. So continue to be Christ for one another. Nowhere is the presence of the risen Christ felt more powerfully than when we bear one another's sorrow. Your words of comfort and support for N.'s family will last a lifetime. And if words fail you, just be present, your presence will hold them and comfort them. These are eternal moments, Christ moments; they do not fade but follow us into eternity.

Authors Catherine Collins

funeral death of a child/baby John 19:26-27

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Into the arms of a larger family

Funeral, Sacrament-based, Holy Day, Holiday, Special Occasion - Sample homilies to be adapted for your use

Funeral: Death of a child Readings: Lamentations 3:22-26; Revelation 7:9-10, 15-17; Mark 10:13-16 It is impossible and unwise to try to compare human sufferings, but many people have said that losing a child is the worst possible agony in life. One reason the death of a child is so wrenching is that it simply feels wrong, unnatural, so contrary to every instinct we have about the right order of things, the proper flow of life. We expect the next generation to outlive us. We expect to watch babies grow into children, and then into teenagers and young adults. We count on the ordinary progression of years, on the gradual, satisfying unfolding of the developmental process as a child grows physically, mentally, and spiritually. But even more than the feeling that a child's death is outrageously wrong, most of the pain comes from the fact that the love we bear for our children is unbelievably strong. Anyone who has given birth to or nurtured or raised a child can tell you how surprising it is to experience the intensity and the depth of love a child evokes. Perhaps it is programmed into our biology, one of the ways that God has made us like himself, this fierce attachment, this devotion we have to our children. The desire to protect them and the joy we experience in their presence is beyond description. And so to lose such a beloved child is like watching the sun fall from the sky. Naturally, you cannot be comforted now. You are in extreme emotional pain. You may feel that you cannot go on living, yourself. Or perhaps you are still in shock, living in that trance of numbness that the mind creates to cushion you from the unbearable fact of this loss. In these early days, and in this liturgy, this is simply a time for the church and the gathered community to carry you. We will hold before you all the symbols of hope, images and words and signs of God's guarantee that your child's life continues, now and forever in the beautiful kingdom." So now, in these early days, and in this liturgy, this is simply a time for the church and the gathered community to carry you. We will hold before you all the symbols of hope, images and words and signs of God's guarantee that your child's life continues, now and forever in the beautiful kingdom. This does nothing to ease your longing to hold your precious child right now, but some day, weeks, or months or years in the future, you will remember what you saw and heard here today, and these seeds of hope will grow into a vision, a deep knowing that will support you through the rest of your life. In baptism N. was brought into this eternal family of hope, love, and mutual support, and entered into everlasting life, which goes on now in a place beyond our sight. We believe in the communion of saints, and we know that N. has gone from our arms into the arms of those others, members of our greater family, who live now on the other side. There is a great multitude there, in the presence of our Lord Jesus, who is both tender Lamb and guiding Shepherd to them. There, in his presence, they will not hunger or thirst anymore. He will lead them to springs of life-giving water, and will wipe away every tear from their eyes. As desperately, wrenchingly hard as it is for us to let go of this one we love, still we can cling to this promise, this faith that tells us that those who have died in Christ are alive in perfect peace. But even if we can believe that N. is safe and happy, enveloped in God's love, we ourselves are left bereft. For this we have only the gentle and trustworthy word of God, the assurance that the favors of the Lord are not exhausted, his mercies are not spent. Childhood itself is a profound mystery, and one of the most amazing qualities of children is their ability to trust. When Jesus urges us to accept the kingdom of God like a child, perhaps this is what he means. If we allow ourselves to wait and hope in silence for the saving help of God, it will come. Grace and love and comfort and strength will come, in time, in so many ways, from so many directions. Even though the pain of this loss will never go away, there will come a day when you will see it all, N. and yourself and your whole life, through the infinitely compassionate eyes of God. Gratitude will flower, and you will understand the immense blessing that was N.'s brief life on earth, which has now become eternal life in heaven.

Authors Mary Vineyard

funeral death of a child/baby Lamentations 3:22-26 Mark 10:13-16 Revelation 7:9-10, 15-17

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We are going to have very big hearts

Funeral, Sacrament-based, Holy Day, Holiday, Special Occasion - Sample homilies to be adapted for your use

Funeral: Death of a baby Readings: Lamentations 3:22-26; Ephesians 1:3-5; Matthew 11:25-30 In the readings we have just heard, there is no explanation for suffering. No words could satisfy or explain away the grief we all face today. Scripture reaches out to comfort us. "The favors of the Lord are not exhausted . . . . God's faithfulness is renewed every morning . . . . Wait, and hope in the Lord." God knows our grief. God reaches out and touches us, reminding us, that this child, too, no matter how young, holds a very special place in the heart of God." God knows our grief. God reaches out and touches us, reminding us, that this child, too, no matter how young, holds a very special place in the heart of God. Before the foundation of the world, God dreamed of N. This child came to us with a wisdom that Jesus tells us belongs only to the little ones, a wisdom growing up robs from us. This child returned to God with that wonder and wisdom intact. Jesus cannot take away our grief, and so he offers us the next best thing. He offers to bear the burden with us. "Take my yoke upon you . . . ." Oxen, when they are well matched, can bear more than twice the burden that either of them could bear alone. This morning, Jesus offers to be yoked with us through this time of darkness. People often carelessly say that God would never give any of us more than we could bear. This morning, some of us here present would argue that this is not true. Jesus offers a different truth: There will never be more than we can bear when we are yoked with him. Hold on. Wait and hope in the Lord. Years ago I was asked to preach at a special memorial service for a group of families who had lost their babies during pregnancy. I was wandering outside the church wondering what words could possibly offer insight and comfort. Each of the families had been presented with a long-stem rose. I was lost in thought when I bumped into a little girl carrying a rose. "Did your baby die?" I asked her gently. Her face became sad as she answered seriously, "Yes." "I am so sorry." "I know," she lisped, her childish voice at odds with the maturity of that quiet response. She looked at her rose silently for a moment, then looked up at me and smiled. "My mommy says that our baby will live forever in our hearts." Her mother was chatting nearby and the child looked to her for confirmation. Her mother nodded pleasantly and continued her conversation, barely aware of our discussion. "Mommys are wise like that," I responded. "They know these things." "And my grandpa lives in our hearts." A little frown began to form in her brow. I wished her mother were paying a little more attention, because I could see a real problem coming. "And our dog lives in our hearts." By now, the little brow was deeply creased as she contemplated the complexity of this situation. I was afraid to speak, afraid to disturb the carefully constructed theology she had been given that was falling apart before my eyes. She stood absolutely still for a moment, eyes fixed on a faraway spot. Then, understanding suddenly blossomed almost physically across her face. She looked up at me and said confidently, "You know, if people keep on dying, we are going to have very big hearts!" It is impossible at a time like this not to focus on our loss. This child was so young. This child's time with us was so short. This baby was never able to become all he/she could have become. But it is important not to forget the verb in each of those sentences. This child was. This baby is. This baby lived. This baby touched our hearts and changed each of our lives. If we have become kinder, gentler, more compassionate people because of this baby, then any time we reach out to others in kindness and compassion, they will feel the touch of this child. If this baby has awakened us to the suffering of others, then each time we reach out with healing and help, those others will know the touch of this child. This child will live forever, not just in the eternity that Jesus has promised N., but in the lives of each of us who have been touched and changed, in all of our very big hearts.

Authors Kathleen Chesto

funeral death of a child/baby Lamentations 3:22-26 Matthew 11:25-30 Ephesians 1:3-5

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Nothing can separate us from the love of God

Funeral, Sacrament-based, Holy Day, Holiday, Special Occasion - Sample homilies to be adapted for your use

Funeral: Death of a child "Part of me is gone: what years of love and affection have fused in me as one has been cut away." —Father Ed Hayes, from the book Prayers for a Planetary Pilgrim These are the words that have haunted me in the last days as I have watched you, [parent(s)], grieve the loss of your beautiful and innocent daughter, the daughter who was created in love and was a visible sign of that love. "Part of me is gone." As we gather this morning to celebrate her life, it is indeed true that it feels as if part of all of us has been cut away. The wound is raw and throbbing. No matter how we sit or move, no matter what we do—in every conversation and every action—every moment is filled with this nearly unspeakable pain. We ask why did she die so young? How could a loving God allow this to be? Even if we knew the answers, we are not ready to hear them. And so we tell the stories that we know—and hope that in doing so, a door will open, an insight will come, and we might catch, for a tiny instant, a glimmer of God's hope and consolation. Some years ago, a woman had just given birth to her first child. She and her husband had lived with infertility for several years, so this baby was something of a miracle. In the midst of the euphoric homecoming, a card arrived from an old and dear friend, which read in part: "We promise you our support as you begin the journey of returning this child back to God." She read the card several times. How could someone, and a good friend no less, even suggest such a thing? This longed-for baby had just arrived. The words alternately puzzled, frightened, and annoyed her. But she couldn't take her eyes off the card and she couldn't get the words out of her head. As she let the words sink in and take hold, she finally admitted the truth of the message. This child was indeed a treasured gift on loan from God. Our children are gifts from God. And truly, all of life is gift. The relationships of life—among parents, children, siblings, grandparents, friends, partners, and soul mates—are the very relationships that enrich our days and give life meaning. In daily give and take, in laughter and in tears, in fighting and making up, in very ordinary and extraordinary ways, we learn to care deeply and to love others. And so we open ourselves not only to the joy of human love but the potential pain of human loss. To escape the pain you feel—and we all feel today—you would never have loved her, you would never have learned to care so deeply, to laugh at her antics, to marvel at her innocence and goodness, to experience her unconditional love. That is the price we pay today as we gather here, seeking the healing love of God. God counts our tears, the psalmist David tells us (Psalm 56:8). God not only counts them but also records them. God who experienced the death of his own Son has promised that he will never abandon us. Though mountains fall and hills turn to dust, God's love will never forsake us. For as the apostle Paul wrote in his letter to the Romans, "I am convinced that neither death, nor life . . . will be able to separate us from the love of God" (8:38-39). [Parents], God's love for you is made visible in this community that surrounds you today. In the weeks and months to come, our love and our prayers will continue. Call on our prayers and call on us to help you do what you think you cannot do. Call on our prayers when you are in doubt, so that you may hold on to faith. Call on our prayers when you are afraid, so that you may cling to hope. Call on our prayers when you want to give up so that you may persevere. Call on our prayers when you think that her life is over so that you may remember that life in Christ goes on forever and one day we will again see eye to eye. We will continue to tell the stories, to honor her memory and to cherish your love for him/her. We will continue to give thanks for the gift of her life, until that day comes when we know for ourselves, and no longer need to take it on faith, that death will never ever separate us from God's love.

Authors Peggy Ekerdt

funeral death of a child/baby Psalm 56:8 Romans 8:38-39

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