Putting the fun in funeral planning

When the priest finished the reading, he declared, “That. Is. Boss.”

Thanks be to God.

No, this was not a flagrant liturgical abuse. During my recent spiritual direction meeting I mentioned that I recently had planned out the readings and hymns for my funeral Mass. In truth there’s no urgent need to do so right now: I haven’t been diagnosed with any serious illness, and I haven’t been smashed on the highway yet (major gratitude going out to the traffic angels). However, late last year a parishioner I knew suddenly found out she had advanced cancer. Eighteen days later, she entered eternity.

Eighteen days from diagnosis to death — that’s not a lot of time to wrap up loose ends.

And that got me thinking that maybe, just maybe, I should make some notes. I’m the only Catholic in my family, so leaving the task of putting together a series of readings and hymns to a baffled non-Catholic family member (or, more likely, a parish staff member) seemed a little rude.

Plus, it’s the only Mass I’m ever going to get to plan, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t have some fun now while I’m clear-minded and not weighed down with the business of actually, y’know, dying.

I searched the fount of all knowledge for a Catholic funeral planning guide and landed on a PDF from St. Boniface Catholic Church on the Illinois side of the St. Louis suburbs. (If you only want to browse the readings, the USCCB website has a nice setup.)

What surprised me, I told Fr. Spiritual Director, was how much fun it was to go through the readings and find so many that I was familiar with and had a connection to already. I had found myself saying, “Oooh, that’s a good one. … And that’s a good one too.”

First up was the first reading, which pulls from the Old Testament (unless the funeral is in Eastertide, which calls for a New Testament selection). As I looked over the list there were contenders from Wisdom and Isaiah, but then I landed on The One. I explained to Fr. Spiritual Director that during one of the years when I was in the spiritual wilderness far away from church I decided to read through the Bible chronologically, which meant riding the roller coaster of Israel’s highs and lows as they happened: from the blessing of Abraham down to slavery in Egypt, up to the Exodus and down to being oppressed by foreign powers during the time of the judges, back up to the Davidic kingdom and then down, down, down to the exile. By the time you get to Jeremiah, you’ve spent weeks watching things fall apart — people being slain by the sword or dying of starvation in the streets — and it just gets worse the longer the prophet writes.

And then, out of nowhere, in the middle of Lamentations chapter 3 comes a beautiful prayer of hope and faith in the Lord’s goodness that has stuck with me. I told Fr. Spiritual Director that I didn’t remember the exact words but that the hopefulness in the midst of all the destruction was profound.

I started to move on to my idea for the responsorial psalm, but Father gave me a look, then stood up, walked over to his bookshelf and pulled out a small booklet. Sitting back down in his comfy chair, he started to thumb through it intently until he found the page he was looking for and began to read aloud slowly:

(Lamentations 3:17-26 — from the Lectionary for Mass for Use in the Dioceses of the United States, second typical edition, Copyright © 2001, 1998, 1997, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine)

When he finished reading, he declared, “That. Is. Boss.” and with a little grin started to look over it again silently.

I haven’t faced homeless poverty, but there were dark, bitter years where I told myself that there was no hope for my future, that everything was ruined, that things were never going to get better. (I still tell myself this sometimes.) And oh, how my soul was downcast within me. But God was good even then, with favors and graces that I sometimes recognized and appreciated, sometimes not. He continues to be faithful and good now that I’m safely in full communion with the Church, but sometimes (often) I get impatient that he isn’t working the way I want him to work and, maybe more important, at the speed I want.

But that’s why I need this first reading from my funeral liturgy to remind me to wait patiently, to continue seeking him, and to not give up hope.

Because that’s a boss move.