This weekend I’m traveling to my husband’s hometown to sing at Santa’s funeral.
Well, he wasn’t the real Santa Claus, but he was one of Santa’s main helpers. Each year we celebrated Christmas in my husband’s lake town, this man would appear at the front door wearing a red and white suit, boots and a beard. He would have a large bag of toys in hand, and would shake when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly. His attempt to spread Christmas cheer each year in this way was just one of the many ways this exemplary man sowed love.
Now, after a decade of fighting pancreatic cancer, he’s moving on to bigger and better pursuits.
I’ve been asked to song-lead at his funeral and I’m honored to accept. Even though a funeral is a very emotional time, I’ve learned to pull myself together at such times to offer this final gift to those who have passed on. I often cry at some point if it’s someone I know well, either before or after, but I know while I’m up there singing that it’s not the time to for me to break down. It’s time for me to use what God has given me to lift up and comfort those who cry. Sometimes, I sense that my job is to give people permission to weep. Weeping can be a very healing and necessary act.
I still remember singing at my Aunt Lorraine’s funeral. At one point I made the mistake of looking out into the crowd and catching a glimpse of my father. He was looking upward and tears were streaming down his face. The song, it appeared, had allowed him to grieve his older sister’s passing. Suddenly, he was not my father but a small boy crying out for the older sister who had once nurtured him.
That almost did me in. Since then I’ve learned to be careful not to look out too much. I have to focus. I have to remind myself what’s at stake; that at that moment, I have a job to do. And for that duration, I need to be emotionally strong…because it’s not about me right then.
Honestly, I can think of few better ways to say goodbye. I start out thinking of it as a gift to the family, but inevitably, I’m the one who comes away feeling like I’ve received a gift.
The really cool thing is…I always sense that the deceased is there with me when I sing at a funeral. I believe that when I sing at our friend’s funeral this weekend, he’ll be there next to me and all the others, smiling away, reveling in the love that he sowed during his time on earth.
Q4U: When has music been a healing gift to you?
I’ve played at just a couple funerals, but feel the same way. It’s a gift for the family, for the dearly departed, and for me. My most challenging was the infant, but the most meaningful, as well. Peace to you as you share your gift.
And people like me, who you would thank for NOT singing, are so beyond grateful for the talented people like you who sing at times when the rest of us need that comfort and release. What a blessing your talent of singing is- especially in times of sorrow! At my friend Sara’s funeral, they played her singing Amazing Grace- she had a beautiful voice she could no longer use to sing, but had recorded some of her songs and shared them all with us.
What a wonderful blessing and gift you are giving. (I, like Vicky, didn’t get a singing voice.) It has just been recently in my life that I have been turning to music to help express my thoughts/feelings. Most evenings the first thing I do when I come home is turn on some light jazz. Praying for you this weekend.