There is nothing like being with a family at the most profound moments of its life--baptisms, weddings, and funerals, or what we clergy sometimes call "hatch, match and dispatch." I'm not sure why we call it that, other than it's an example of cutesy insider language that every profession has, or it's our way of holding at arm's length the absolute privilege it is to be present at such moments. Truth be told, it's a pretty amazing thing.

When I say "amazing," I do not mean some idealistic greeting card notion of family and togetherness. Weddings and funerals often bring out the best in people, but even more so, they bring out the real in people. You know how alcohol is said to be a personality enhancer? The grief of a funeral, or the stress of a wedding, has a similar intoxicating effect--the defenses are down. The caretaker goes into overdrive. The diva reaches new octaves of drama, and the baby of the family has a whole new set of demands. And your heart goes out to them.

Most of the family at last Saturday's memorial service were not church people. Part of a pastor's job in this case is to be translator and guide. Not only are you called to be with them, but in a very gentle way, you offer them language to describe what is happening, a way to connect their story with a larger story. Then you have to let go. They may or may not accept the offer. They may have language of their own. They may have been wounded by the church and they're enduring this for the sake of their loved one for whom it?'s important and helpful. Or, perhaps, a window is opened.

Apparently Nana loved the Footprints in the Sand poem, so we read that, and connected those words with some other, much older words: "What can separate us from the love of God... For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God." (Romans 8) Was there a flash of resonance on a few faces as I read it? And did I see a nod and a smile when I read that "mouring and crying and pain will be no more... for the first things have passed away"? As a pastor I am on the hunt for such little moments, even as I know not to live for them.

The money part really unnerves people. They want to do the right thing. Every church does this differently, but in general, funerals are part of the ministry of the church. I don't think it's right to charge, and few churches that I know of do. If the family wishes to make a donation they are welcome, but not required or even urged, to do so. The way this particular family handled it was touching in its awkwardness--the eldest son came to thank me, held out his hand to shake mine, and in it was a folded, crumpled $100 bill. It was the kind of handoff that would happen between customer and maitre d'. I did not get him a good table, or park his car, but I did perform a service, I suppose.

Normally there is a check in an envelope. There was something less sterile about the way he did it. It was also a bit funny, I can later admit. It probably would have been funnier if he had been a random person I was reading about on a blog. It definitely would have been funnier if I hadn't just heard him say goodbye to his mother in his own beautifully halting way, if his niece hadn't told me how this man had fed, dressed, bathed and changed his mother for the last several months. But instead, I was flooded with genuine love for this man I had just met an hour earlier. We're all just doing the best we can in this life, and the fumbling moments and the heroic moments go hand in hand.