We Need to Hear the Stories
By M
Photo by Kym van der Plas
His daughter spoke first. And then his brother. And finally, two of his friends. Several days ago, I turned in at four o’clock in the morning after staying up to watch a friend’s funeral online. It was the second funeral I had watched in the space of a few days and whilst the formats were similar, the stories were literally worlds apart. One detailed a life lived in Australia, teaching in theological colleges, a much-loved mentor and friend to many. The other had grown up in a street overlooking Aston Villa Park before a Billy Graham crusade had changed the course of her life. Long before tourists had caught the travel bug to South America, she had moved to Bolivia as a missionary and raised her five children there before returning to the UK.
“I didn’t know that she spoke Spanish to her grandchildren,” my sister said when I told her about the funeral. Neither did I. We need to hear their stories. We need to hear the tributes. From childhood memories to honed skills, celebrations and losses, untold achievements and comical anecdotes; eulogies may be the hardest speeches to write but they are an immense privilege to hear, often inspiring and encouraging a community of listeners to live well.
As a student, I have sat through hundreds of lectures and as a Christian, I have listened to thousands of sermons. I know how to take a seat and click my brain into gear as I anticipate quietly listening and following the auditory trail that a speaker is outlining. But of course, a eulogy is different. With the remembrance of someone so missed, we gather together and welcome the sharing of memories and the spoken expressions of gratitudes.
A few years ago, I was in a room with colleagues, a seated doctor’s ward round. We were mid-discussion when suddenly one of my colleagues broke off his sentence to comment on the light that was reflecting off my ring. Sunshine was streaming through the window and had caught the diamond in my ring. I had noticed it too. Second hand and bought in a pawn shop, I was always surprised to see how a tiny diamond could catch the light. A eulogy combs through the milestones of birth and education, graduation and first job, relationships and life passions looking for where the light catches. And so, I can say that my favourite part of a funeral service are the eulogies. A eulogy is not trying to be impressive, it is a gentle offering of someone’s unique story, grazing over the memories to pause and pick out a few to share.
Capturing the reflected light is what C.S. Lewis does as he describes what it is to lose a friend in his book, The Four Loves.
“In each of my friends there is something that only some other friend can fully bring out. By myself I am not large enough to call the whole man into activity; I want other lights than my own to show all his facets. Now that Charles is dead, I shall never again see Ronald’s reaction to a specifically Charles joke. Far from having more of Ronald, having him ‘to myself’ now that Charles is away, I have less of Ronald.”
He notices that his friend Charles, could bring out a side of Ronald that no-one else managed to find. His anecdote epitomises his grief but offers great tribute to his friend, noticing his rare skill that would be deeply missed.
Sharing life stories with strangers is not a comfortable prospect for most people. Several years ago, I was sitting in a large living room in Melbourne and we each had twenty minutes to share a synopsis of our lives. It was like speed dating except we were all listening in and these were not strangers to judge us but the early days of what would become lasting friendships built on trust and shared learning. I felt daunted, wondering what to share (and hoping I would not cry). A few seats away from me, sat a couple who were 30 years older than I. At the outset, they remarked that it was hard to encapsulate their life in just 20 minutes. It did not seem fair. We all had the same amount of time to speak yet they had lived almost twice as long as I had.
It does seem ludicrous to condense a life to several minutes in a eulogy. Of course, this is impossible - and the words spoken will never capture who that person was. However, you can still capture something. I know because I have stood up from my seat in great awe and thankfulness for the person whose funeral I have attended, always wishing I had known them better than I did. I have come away, encouraged to know Jesus more deeply and inspired to love others as they did.
My closest friend is approaching the anniversary of her father’s death. Living overseas, I could not attend his funeral in person, so I deeply appreciated being able to watch the live recording from thousands of miles away. I recall being able to see where each of her family members were sitting as the camera panned in and out across the room. Sometimes at a funeral, I know the person who walks up to the lectern to speak and other times I don’t. On this occasion, I knew most of the speakers, but each reflected on a facet of her father’s life that I had not known previously. As the funeral came to an end, I closed my computer screen in quiet wonder at the man her father was, and all the hardships he had been through in his life. I heard about his generosity, kindness and love for his children and extended family. I was moved to tears as I heard how his own life had been changed when he became a Christian. My dear friend was raised with a rich heritage to be proud of and the eulogies at her father’s funeral helped me to see her father’s legacy.
The book of Luke details the story of two men who were walking the seven miles out of Jerusalem towards Emmaus. The long-awaited Messiah had died and their hearts were heavy with grief. The friends share their stories of Jesus with a stranger and in response he fills in the gaps where their remembrance was incomplete. This story is a favourite of mine. The grief of these two men was heavy and in their hopelessness, they were leaving town. Yet this stranger reminds them that the story has not finished. The two men began the conversation with a faltering eulogy to the Messiah - but in a “big reveal”, Jesus himself completes their account by adding the hope of the resurrection. As they realised that death was not the end, they are spurred on by this new hope to return to their community in Jerusalem.
Listening to the eulogy of a Christian who has died will bring hope amidst the heartache. Capturing the light of this person’s life will include hearing about how they came to meet Jesus and how his grace permeated throughout their life, bringing new direction and changed relationships. A eulogy that contains this kind of testimony is so precious that it spurs us on to know and love Jesus more as we see his light reflected in the life of a friend who has died. So to those who have written eulogies such as these and choked on the frog in their throat as they started to speak; to those who combed through the memories to find where the light reflected and how grace transformed an ordinary beginning, thank you.
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M—Regular Contributor
M is currently living in Argentina (her husband’s home country) and learning Spanish. Until recently, she was an overseas cross-cultural worker, so she is now processing all the transitions whilst still in transition herself. She is grateful for acts of kindness and grace, friends who have prayed for her in seasons of loss and enjoys taking photos of beautiful doors. You can find more on Instagram @booksonfridays