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Recalling, remembering, and reciting

Funeral homily stories

One death triggers memories of other deaths, particularly family members and close friends of the deceased and the survivors who have also died. Recalling, remembering, and reciting names of other family and friends who have died can be a moving and faith-filled experience. The words of Ecclesiasticus 44 echo the importance of remembering all who have died in faith: "Here is a list of generous men and women whose good works have not been forgotten. Their descendants stand by the covenants; their glory will not fade. Their bodies have been buried in peace, and their name lives on for all generations. The peoples will proclaim their wisdom, the assembly will celebrate their praises."

funeral remembrances death

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Homage to our dead

Funeral homily stories

"We do best homage to our dead when we live our lives most fully, even in the shadow of our loss. For each of our lives is worth the life of the whole world; in each one is the breath of the ultimate one. In affirming the one, we affirm the worth of each one whose life, now ended, brought us closer to the source of life, in whose unity no one is ever alone and every life finds purpose." This prayer, from the Jewish tradition, could work as a broad outline for a funeral homily. After the first paragraph, specifics about the deceased could be added. After the second paragraph, specifics about the survivors could be added. And after the last paragraph, the challenge and importance for survivors to continue living and to remember the deceased could be expanded upon.

funeral homilies death

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Sample homilies to be adapted for your use

Funeral, Sacrament-based, Holy Day, Holiday, Special Occasion

Please browse our homily library and adapt our award-winning selection to your particular needs.

Authors PTW staff

funerals sacrament-based holidays holy days special occasions

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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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Homily stories

23 Nov 2014 - Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe, Cycle A

My father, who most everyone knew as Big John—a name that said as much about his hearty personality as it did about his large frame—did not leave this world without a grand sendoff. “Epic” is how one of my father’s friends described his wake and funeral Mass. As de facto patriarch of a large Irish family, many people from around the world made their way to Chicago to pay their last respects. At one point in each evening of his two-day wake, mourners were invited to say a few words about my father. These moments quickly transformed into revival-style gatherings with people waiting in line to “testify” about Big John. They told of his random acts of kindness, his broad embrace of family and friends, his long nights of drinking and storytelling. Aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, and co-workers wanted to describe the impact Big John had on their lives. My cousin John, a young father at the time, described in hilarious detail the many things he learned from Big John, including the art of conversation, how to make a sale, and the importance of pacing yourself during a long night on the town. He then ended his tribute describing one last lesson learned: “We were at the Tuohy Picnic—I was probably 17 or 18 at the time—and Big John was bouncing one of the cousins’ babies in his lap. He looked at me smiling and said, ‘Johnnie, there isn’t anything softer than a baby’s foot.’ At that moment, he taught me what it means to be a man.”

Authors Patrice J. Tuohy

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Be healed

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

Funeral: Death of a nurse or other medical professional "Be ye healed from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes!" Oral Roberts used to loudly command on his television program broadcast in the 1950's. As the entire assembly fervently prayed and family members and friends stood by, pleading with God, expressing their hopes and fears—much like those of us who have a friend with cancer or who has been involved in a sudden, catastrophic illness or accident—and Oral himself winced in concentration. "Be ye healed . . . ." And of course, the sick person was. Crutches were cast aside, arms upraised in exultant joy and praise for the God of Jesus Christ, who proclaimed the reign of God not only with words but with his miraculous deeds of healing. N. was a healer, too. Less spectacular, perhaps, than Brother Oral and Jesus, but no less real, no less miraculous, no less sacred. She was, with the best of medical technology and her God-given talents and abilities, a miracle-worker, a healer. Just ask the patients for whom she cared and their grateful families, whose tears of joy were every bit as real as any cried on that television program. Suffering and death are not God's will. In fact, Jesus described his life and work to John the Baptist's disciples as one of healing, of liberation from every illness, from anything and everything that weighs us down, anything that keeps us from living full, purposeful, joy-filled lives. This was Jesus' mission. This is God's reign, and N., who cared for the ill and suffering, contributed to its coming more fully among us. Suffering and death are not God's will. The painful problem is: This healer herself wasn't cured. [Cause of death] took her. All the best knowledge and skill of the best healthcare professionals could not—did not—save her from death. Unbelievers and skeptics will announce death's ultimate victory and medical skills as temporary band-aids that merely "buy time" until death arrives and takes another loved one away. But God is stronger than death and has created us for life: never-ending, eternal, everlasting life. This was not only Jesus' work when he lived on this earth—and people like N. who carry on his mission—but his dead-certain promise for the future, for the "end time," when he will return again in majesty. Death will be conquered. God will one day "swallow up death forever." Until that day, as we "wait in joyful hope for the coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ," we gather together to pray in the presence of N.'s body. We console one another in our grief. We tell stories about her and pledge to keep her story alive. At the very start of our liturgy we affirmed that she was claimed for Christ at her baptism, plunged into-yes-his passion and death but also with him from mortality to immortality, into a new life for God in Christ. We clothe her in that garment by which she put on Christ on the day of her baptism, and we are enlightened by the paschal candle, the light of Christ, with which she goes out to meet her God. Very soon, we will prepare the table and celebrate that meal which Christ shared with his friends, in which he pledged to give his life for theirs and ours—and N.'s. We will honor her body with fragrant incense as we pray to the saints and angels, our ancestors, our grandmas and grandpas, parents, family members and friends who have gone before us in faith—the holy ones—to receive her soul and together present it to God Most High. We will lay her body to rest in Mother Earth to await that final day, when death is swallowed up in victory, and we shall join in the joyful song, "Where, O Death, is your victory? Where, O Death, is your sting?" This is our faith. This is the faith of us who are gathered here today as his church, and we are proud to profess it—even through our tears—in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Authors Thomas Johnson

funeral Death of a nurse/medical professional

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The courage to teach—and to grieve

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

Funeral: Death of a teacher Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, "To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived . . . this is to have succeeded." Here, before this altar, we gather to mourn the death and celebrate the success of N., who, as a teacher, has most certainly given innumerable lives the ability to breathe easier—not only his/her students but all those who have been touched by his/her presence. Teaching is no easy job. It is a work of sacrifice and of love. It was the work of our Lord, Jesus, whose title, rabbi, fell from the lips of all who followed him. The life of Jesus, our Rabbi and our Lord, holds many powerful lessons. Today, as we celebrate the life of N., one lesson stands out: Being a teacher takes courage. "The courage to teach," wrote renowned teacher Parker Palmer, "is the courage to keep one's heart open in those very moments when the heart is asked to hold more than it is able so that teacher and students and subject can be woven into the fabric of community that learning, and living, require." Today, as we come together—a community of family and friends of N.—it seems our hearts, too, are being asked to hold more than they are able—so much pain, so much emptiness, so many memories all pressed together into moments already filled to the brim with grief. When we lose someone we love, grief moves us almost as if in a dream. We walk in shadows doing what needs to be done while part of us wonders when we will wake up from the nightmare. We grieve with the psalmist who said, "How long must I struggle with anguish in my soul, with sorrow in my heart every day?" We grieve with the apostles, who, with the death of Jesus, their friend and teacher, knew what it was like to lose someone they loved so much; someone who had loved them in return beyond measure. Their grief drove them to the upper room, fearful, distraught, doubtful of their ability to go on without him. Surely they wondered, as we will wonder, "How does one live without the teacher who taught, not only with words, but through a life of love and affirmation?" We grieve with Jesus, who understood all too well the pain of abandonment, of loss and of death. Isaiah describes Jesus as "a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief" (53:3). Even as Lord, Jesus wept openly at the death of Lazarus, his friend, and in empathy for the pain of Lazarus' sisters, Martha and Mary. He cried to his Father from the cross, "Why have you abandoned me?" We, like him, may feel abandoned and cry to our God with anger or fear born of this new and abiding emptiness. Surely, N. would understand. N. was a teacher and hers/his a vocation of the heart. Listen to Parker Palmer's beautiful words: "As good teachers weave the fabric that joins them with students and subjects, the heart is the loom on which the threads are tried, the tension is held, the shuttle flies, and the fabric is stretched tight. Small wonder, then, that teaching tugs at the heart, opens the heart, even breaks the heart—and the more one loves teaching, the more heartbreaking it can be." Life itself teaches us that the more one loves anything, especially another person, the more one's heart breaks with the loss. Grief comes to each of us in its own way and cannot be denied. Just as with teaching, it takes courage to grieve." Grief comes to each of us in its own way and cannot be denied. Just as with teaching, it takes courage to grieve. Right now it is hard to imagine life without N.'s guiding light, his/her wisdom or his/her encouragement. Now is the time to follow the example of our Lord and allow ourselves the opportunity to grieve and acknowledge the pain of loss. Ecclesiastes says, "To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven: a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance" (3:1, 4). Now is the time to weep, to share memories of a special life and, in doing so keep that life alive in the hearts of others. But, as N. would undoubtedly say, the best teachers form their students for the future, encourage them to step forward with confidence and hope, and without fear, into the life that lies before them. For those who died in Christ, there is the promise of new life in the Resurrection. Today, N. would encourage us to have the same confidence, the same hope in the promises of God, repeating the words of Our Lord, "Be not afraid. I go before you always."

Authors Mary Morrell

funeral death of a teacher Isaiah 53:3 Ecclesiastes 3:1,4 educator

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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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Rejoice and be glad

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

Occasion: Funeral homily for a death after a long illness or after a long life When I got the phone call that N. had died, I was glad. I know, I know: I'm supposed to be sad, not glad. When people die, the obituaries in the paper usually say something like, "We were all deeply saddened to learn of the passing of so-and-so." But I was glad to hear about N. Don't get me wrong: Most of the time I am sad when I hear of a death. And I can remember fondly the better days and better years we shared with N. before she began the final phase of her journey home. But when a suffering Christian like N. finally completes the seemingly endless voyage to her heavenly reward, I'm just flat out glad. I think of where she is right now, right at this moment, and I smile. For month after month, she patiently struggled with her sickness and pain, slowly but surely losing her mobility, her energy, her keen mind, and, finally, even her ability to talk. At times, it seemed as if we weren't even sure who it was we were visiting when we'd sit there silently holding her hand. But, in some way, I think she knew who she was and that we were there with her. Waiting, praying, watching, and holding onto her as she held onto life. They talk in the Bible about crossing the River Jordan into the Promised Land. Well, Lord knows, we gathered repeatedly at that river, ready to see N. make her crossing into heaven—only to see her pushed back to the near shore once again. Some of us felt like asking God what was the holdup, what's the delay? Does she need to pay for the boat ride across the River Jordan or something? Then, perhaps, to teach us patience, God pulled her across when the time was right—without a ticket or anything and without any help from us. She loved God all her life, and God loved her right back. And finally called her home. We can be sad or glad. Is she sad? Well, listen to this from First Corinthians: "What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him" (2:9). She loved God all her life, and God continues to love her right back. I'm pretty sure she's glad, very glad, right now. We can share that gladness by continuing to visit with her. Yes, beyond the grave. Here's how that might work. Ronald Rolheiser in The Holy Longing asks: "How does a Christian remain in contact love, communication, and in a real community of life with his or her loved ones after they have died? How do we find our loved ones after death separates them from us?" Answer: "Through their word made flesh. By giving concrete expression in our lives to those virtues and qualities which they best incarnated." Rolheiser says our loved ones live where they have always lived, "and it is there that we will find them." We enter into life "in terms of love and faith that was most distinctive to them." Rolheiser says our loved ones live where they have always lived, "and it is there that we will find them." We enter into life "in terms of love and faith that was most distinctive to them. We contact them and connect to them when we shape our own lives in the richness of God's mercy and compassion that they modeled when they were with us on earth." When we pour ourselves into life as they did, we don't experience them as dead at all, but as "present, alive and connected, in a vital community of life with me," says Rolheiser. So we talk to N. in our daily prayers, remembering her not only when she was strong, but also when she became frail and weak, almost like a helpless infant. We can even console ourselves in continuing gladness at the promise of Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew that whoever humbles herself as a child "is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven." And N., glad not sad, may be silently quoting the Gospel of Matthew right back at us: "Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven" (5:12). So, let's all keep gathering at the river, sending our loved ones home and then asking them to help us across when our turn comes.

Authors Kevin Axe

funeral death after a long illness 1 Corinthians 2:9 Matthew 5:12

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