I went to a funeral yesterday.  Perhaps it was because the deceased was someone I did not know very well (the mother of an old friend), but I found the occasion inspiring and thought-provoking.  It was very much the celebration of a life well lived.  The vicar, who gave a lengthy yet engaging eulogy, use the word “plentiful” as his theme.  Not plentiful in a gluttonous way but more about the way the deceased made the most out of her life.  The venue for the funeral was grand, there were lots of people there (always a sign of a life well lived in my opinion) and the music was varied and eclectic.

The vicar talked about seeing the death of a loved one as an opportunity for us to look at how we are living our own lives and I was reminded of a quote from an unknown tibetan monk that I had heard two months previously “If only death is certain and the manner and time of your death is uncertain, what will you do know?”

The vicar encouraged us not only to live our lives more plentifully but also, predictably, to turn to Jesus as part of that.  Without getting into a theological debate (the subject of a future blog I am sure!) the point is that I found his message about the way we live our lives to be inspiring.  It triggered me off into a daydream about seeing life as a gift.  Whether it is a gift provided by god, by parents, by science or by nature is irrelevant to my point.

 So if I see life as a gift, the question I have for myself is how much I can make of it?  It is possible to drift through life, to sleepwalk from cradle to grave.  But to me that seems like a waste of a gift.  The life we were celebrating at the funeral felt worthy of celebration, not just because of the things she did but also the way in which she did them (to quote Fun Boy Three and Bananarama). So the recipe for life coming out of this funeral was simple: live life fully both in what I do and how I do it

I find that often at funerals the congregation is asked to celebrate the life of the deceased but cannot.  They are encouraged to be grateful for the life lived rather than mourn the loss but cannot.  Is it because on those occasions the deceased has not left a legacy to celebrate and be grateful about?

Finally, the funeral included a reading of the following poem:

You can shed tears that he is gone,
or you can smile because he has lived.
You can close your eyes and pray that he’ll come back,
or you can open your eyes and see all he’s left.
Your heart can be empty because you can’t see him,
or you can be full of the love you have shared.
You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday,
or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.
You can remember him and only that he’s gone,
or you can cherish his memory and let it live on.
You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back,
or you can do what he’d want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

I have heard this poem a few times at funerals (obviously ’she’ replaces ‘he’ when required) and it is hard for a mourning congregation to commit to thinking in the way being proposed in the words.  However, in my opinion, if we know that the deceased has treated their life as a gift and has lived it plentifully, then we are much more likely to be able, at their passing, to smile, open our eyes, love and go on.

Here endeth the lesson!