Yesterday I went to the funeral of a former editor’s father. It was not a Catholic service (I live in Bible Belt country), but was at a funeral home, not at the church he had attended. A pianist played a number of hymns before the service; there was no provision for participation. The family was escorted to the front rows, and the pastor preached on the 23rd Psalm, often making a statement and asking those gathered, “Amen?” But then the son spoke about his father, his many interests, the way he treated people, his unfailing kindness. A family friend spoke joyously about his friend’s quirks. The oldest granddaughter, fighting tears, spoke about her grandpa’s love of books. Their firm faith that they would be reunited with him in heaven was breathtakingly apparent. By the end of the service, every person there had a very clear sense of who this man was, and what he firmly believed—and those who had not known him were wishing they had.  

Today’s first reading quotes a passage from Isaiah familiar from Christmas Midnight Mass:

            The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light;
            upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom a light has shone. …
            You have brought them abundant joy.

Many dioceses prohibit or severely limit eulogies. Often the presider has not known the person who has died and the homily is generally churchy boilerplate. But our music can speak volumes, such as O’Connor’s “Lift Up Your Hearts”; Thomerson’s “I Want to Walk as a Child of the Light”; “I Have Decided to Follow Jesus”; and Peter Scholtes’ simple classic, “They’ll Know We Are Christians.”

Amen?