A Funeral Message For An Unsaved Friend

“Remember also your Creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days come and the years draw near of which you will say, ‘I have no pleasure in them;’ before the sun and the light and the moon and the stars are darkened and the clouds return after the rain, in the day when the keepers of the house tremble, and the strong men are bent, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those who look through the windows are dimmed, and the doors on the street are shut—when the sound of the grinding is low, and one rises up at the sound of a bird, and all the daughters of song are brought low— they are afraid also of what is high, and terrors are in the way; the almond tree blossoms, the grasshopper drags itself along, and desire fails, because man is going to his eternal home, and the mourners go about the streets— before the silver cord is snapped, or the golden bowl is broken, or the pitcher is shattered at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern, and the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to God who gave it. Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher; all is vanity” [ECCLESIASTES 12:1-8].

Composed of moments of memorable excitement interspersed with days of drab routine, we will undoubtedly agree that life always seems too short. No matter how many days we may live, they are never enough for us. Because our days are almost always defined by dull routine, we are lulled into a dreamlike state that allows us to ignore the urgency to care for the critical. Despite our putting off the issue that presses us down, life runs its course and we know we must eventually set aside the flesh that defines us in this life. Then, when at last this life ends, we must appear before God Who gives us our being.

An ancient writer addressed this truth when he wrote, “Just as it is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment, so Christ, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him” [HEBREWS 9:27-28].

The words written so many years ago iterate the admonition that the Wise Man wrote long years beyond that time—words with which he urged readers to give serious thought to the tenuous nature of life, and to act now. Knowing that we have a Creator, and knowing that we must soon appear before Him to give an answer for what we have done with our life, each of us is cautioned not to squander the life that we are given, if for no other reason than the certainty that life as we know it is so very brief. Our days to accomplish anything of eternal worth are few, and they must inevitably end far too soon.

Therefore, a funeral is not conducted for the benefit of the one who has died; that one has already passed out of this life to stand before the Living God. However much we have loved that one, no matter the flood of warm memories dancing through the shadows of our mind, our loved one must now appear before the God who created us. Whether the officiant should state the fact or whether he remains silent, at the funeral we are faced with the frailty of life, we are confronted with the knowledge of the brief time facing each of us. Whatever we will do to prepare for the inevitable must be done now.

LIFE’S OPENING ACT — We are born into a world which elicits wonder. Watch the newborn child, the toddler who restlessly explores every facet of the world, and we joyfully witness the excitement of the child’s constant discovery of the world into which he was born. We are delighted as we see the wide-eyed delight with each new revelation the child encounters. Our delight reveals our fervent hope for the child, the anticipation of a better future for the child, and the sure knowledge that we have undoubtedly lost that wide-eyed wonder that we each possessed in the first blush of life.

LIFE’S PROGRESS — The wonder of childhood gives way to the grind that defines our years of growing into adulthood. School days, training in preparation for an occupation that will provide for us throughout the years that stretch out before us, courtship and marriage, and all the demands that attend raising a family become the things that define us. We are moving into the routine—the dull, demanding drudgery that defines life.

Because the demands of life are incessant, we quickly learn that we never have enough time to care for the reality that gnaws at our mind, the knowledge that life must eventually end. We know there is a God, and we know that we must one day give an answer to Him for how we live; but the demands of the moment seem to conspire against us, pushing every thought of the end of our days far from us.