Amid dozens of “likes,” my friend Bishop Dan Martins clicked the sad reaction. The picture, posted many years ago on social media, was of yours truly in the sacristy at Nashotah House in a black chasuble just before celebrating a requiem for a departed staff member of the seminary. To be clear, it wasn’t his funeral, but rather a Eucharist with the specific intention of remembering him before God. What Bishop Martins was communicating with the “sad” reaction, though, was obvious to me, and I have to admit, I agree substantively with what he was attempting to telegraph with that simple mouse click. It was this: one of the principles of the Liturgical Movement that triumphed in the mid-20th century is that funerals are always Easter liturgies. On this Easter Monday, then, let’s consider carefully how we proclaim the central hope of the resurrection, most critically at funerals.
The black chasuble, though, isn’t the point. This essay is not so much about the propriety or impropriety of different kinds of vestments. Although E.C. Ratcliff was probably dismissive when he said “liturgy, not circus, is my subject,” the vestments are not my primary concern in this space. Rather, my interest is the words we use at funerals. To what extent do our words, spoken or sung before people who are facing the death of someone they loved and are thereby reminded of their own mortality, situate the resurrection centrally, unmistakably, and without ambiguity? That is the question.
Let me underscore up front, the question isn’t a matter of mourning or joy; that’s a false dichotomy. Paul offers a theologically sound and psychologically healthy discussion about the way Christians mourn and weep in hope in 1 Thessalonians 4:13. The notes for burials on page 507 in the Book of Common Prayer (1979) beautifully capture the Christian way of mourning.
Again, the question really is what we tell people, through the words we pray at funerals, about what we really believe. Are we speaking about the resurrection? Or are we mired in a focus on the intermediate postmortem state loosely and imprecisely called “going to heaven”? Do we offer a clear, pastoral, and confident Easter hope of resurrection? Or do we fumble for what to say, possibly stumble into Gnosticism, and grasp in the dark for unbiblical imagery?
Every experienced priest knows there are moments of catechesis and moments when one simply nods, prays, and grips hands to convey comfort. The deathbed is not the time for teaching. But funerals do provide that opportunity—a chance to lead mourners to a place of pastorally-satisfying and biblically-grounded peace in the hope not of some gibberish they heard on the Hallmark Channel or cobbled together through what is more or less gnostic spiritualism, but rather in the share believers have in the bodily resurrection (Rom. 6:5).
I could review the history of prayer-book funerals, but let me pass to how well the liturgical movement did with our contemporary Anglican funeral liturgies. In general, there is a centrality to Easter and resurrection hope. The options for lessons and the prayers are helpful and I’ve already mentioned the guiding notes on page 507.
But I believe there is one exception to this wonderful orientation toward the resurrection in the BCP 1979: the proper preface for the Great Thanksgiving for Commemorations of the Dead on page 382.
Through Jesus Christ our Lord; who rose victorious from the dead, and comforts us with the blessed hope of everlasting life. For to your faithful people, O Lord, life is changed, not ended; and when our mortal body lies in death, there is prepared for us a dwelling place eternal in the heavens.
Lionell Mitchell was right to say, in his Praying Shapes Believing, that this preface commemorates the resurrection victory of Jesus. That is true. But what assurance does this preface offer us? Where does it land and stick? A place eternal in the heavens. And this, evidently, is an eternal existence separate from the body (now discarded in the grave).
Is that right?
Well, Christ does promise in John 14:3 that he will go and prepare a “place” for us, with the emphasis that where Christ is, there we will be also. But that phrase about preparing a place is rightly understood as the New Jerusalem that will come down out of heaven to earth (Rev. 21). And on that great day, earth and heaven will be perfectly joined, a hope anticipated in the Lord’s Prayer, i.e., the petition that God’s will in heaven will be obeyed on earth. Even the materiality of the Eucharist points to this hope: the Lord’s Supper is a foretaste of a “heavenly banquet,” yes, but it is the body and blood of that Jesus who is the first fruits of those that slept (1 Cor. 15:20). In short, heaven will come down to earth, not remain eternally separate.
On that great and unending day, the dead will rise from their graves and death will be abolished. Not only will death be no more, but the very order of death will be but a passing memory. On that great day, God will wipe away every tear from every eye. So says St. John the Divine.
And St. Paul writes about this beautifully, again in 1 Corinthians 15: the dead will be raised and the final enemy to be defeated will be death. When Paul writes in 1 Thessalonians 4:17 about being caught up in the air, he is drawing on imagery that would have been familiar to his late ancient readers, an image of a people going out of their city gates to greet their triumphant king who comes home to them. This is not an image of a people evacuating the city, or even being rescued from the city in order to live somewhere else. The king comes to his own in triumph to reign (Eph. 1:20-22; Matt. 20:18; Luke 10:22; John 5:22).
No, our “place” that Christ prepares for us is not “eternally” in the heavens. Rather, that place he prepares (if we must linger on the subject) is only intermediate. I doubt there is any need in this space to review N.T. Wright’s work—how Christians seem to miss the point, regularly, that our hope is resurrection and the renewal of God’s creation, and that this biblical hope should shape our mission and witness in the world today, a world groaning in hope of new creation (Rom. 8:22).
Sure, there is rest—of some sort—in the immediate postmortem state. We know it is “with Christ” (2 Cor. 5:8; Luke 23:43) and we know it can be described as “rest” (1 Cor. 15:20; Acts 13:36; 1 Thess. 5:10). One might debate some of the details, often based on the parable Christ tells to make a completely unrelated point in Luke 16. Can anything be gleaned from the story of Samuel’s “shade” being drawn up by witchcraft in 1 Samuel 28? That seems like an unfruitful path.
Instead, the thrust of Scripture—the interest and emphasis of the biblical writers—is on the resurrection, our ultimate and eternal hope. So it is wise for us to adopt that interest and mirror it. And nowhere should that interest and emphasis be more obvious, unmistakable, and unambiguous than at a Christian funeral. People should leave our funerals—whether they are longtime mature disciples, or part of the “Christmas and Easter” club, or simply unbelievers who knew the departed and attended to pay their respects—with the distinct sense that Christians, when facing death, have a hope in the resurrection.
So, if I have convinced you that the preface for commemorations of the dead misses the mark, that it just doesn’t capture resurrection hope at this critical moment, then what options are there?
Prayer D works perfectly fine and has no proper preface. But perhaps the most obvious answer is to live more deeply into the notion that funerals are Easter liturgies by using the Easter preface.
But chiefly are we bound to praise you for the glorious resurrection of your Son Jesus Christ our Lord; for he is the true Paschal Lamb, who was sacrificed for us, and has taken away the sin of the world. By his death he has destroyed death, and by his rising to life again he has won for us everlasting life.
For, as Paul writes, “if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly also be united with him in a resurrection like his” (Rom. 6:5).
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Rev. Calvin Lane, PhD is the editor of Covenant: The Online Journal of The Living Church. He is the author of two books on the reformation era and was elected a Fellow of the Royal Historical Society in 2013 . Ordained in 2011, Dr. Lane currently serves as associate rector of St. George's Episcopal Church, Dayton Ohio. He has also taught for various seminaries and colleges, including serving as Affiliate Professor at Nashotah House.
