I’m Awkward as Fuck at Funerals
My Job is to Comfort the Dead and the Dying
As the motorcycle went up in flames not too far in front of me, I made the sign of the cross, and said to the rider:
“Jesus recieves you, go in peace, may light perpetual shine upon you.”
As their soul left their body, I cried tears for a person I did not know, but who had needed comfort in death. I prayed the prayers for the dead as traffic started moving again and everything went back to “normal” but with one less person in the world.
I’m thankful that I can be there to help the dead and the dying. It gives them dignity and love in their final moments. It’s something that someone has to do and I’m glad to do it.
Matthew’s entire worldview was shattered the moment he died. When I met him, he was sitting on the steps of the Missionary Baptist church, holding the railing, head bowed and crying. It took him a few weeks to reach out for my help, but I saw him every time I drove past.
I don’t usually converse too much with the ghosts that I help, but Matthew was different. He needed reassurance. This was the day he decided he could swallow his pride and ask a woman for spiritual help. I knew what it had cost him to ask.
“What’s your name?”
“Matthew,” he said, which was significant. He didn’t say Brother Matthew, he just said Matthew. He had preached and believed his whole life that a soul went to either heaven or hell upon death, but here he was, very obviously dead but stuck in some kind of morbid, purgatorial state, aware that he was dead but not sure what to do about it.
“The light is here,” I said, pointing “would you like to go?”
“I always thought the light was Jesus,” he responded.
“The light is Jesus, and that has always been true. See, not everything you believed was false, perhaps just your interpretations of it.”
“I’ve done some bad things, things I preached against, while I was the pastor here.”
“I know,” I said. “The good news is that Jesus forgives all sins, I know he does because he’s forgiven me for terrible things. It’s part of why I’m here to help. It’s my penance and my pleasure.”
Matthew hesitated, looked back at me, and walked into the light to meet Jesus.
I’m not Catholic, but I believe in purgatory. I believe purgatory is a state of being rather than a physical location. Ghosts are living in a period after death, because they have something they need to sort. They are stuck there until someone who can see them helps them.
The traffic was at a standstill when I got to the section right on the border of the city limits, that merged into one lane. I saw the police cars, an ambulance, and what appeared like every fire truck in the city.
The man was about to die. All he had in this world was his backpack and his bicycle, and someone in a car had carelessly hit him and killed him. I recognized the man, I had bought him breakfast less than a month beforehand.
I had gone through the drive thru and ordered breakfast because I’d been out a good while running errands and I was hungry and needed coffee. When I exited the drive thru, I saw him, sitting on his backpack and staring at the ground.
“Sir, are you hungry?” I asked him, as I rolled down my window.
“Actually, yes, I really am” he replied.
I handed him the bag with the nice warm food inside of it. He looked at me as if he wanted to ask me a question.
“Look, I’ve been homeless, I know it’s rough, and today I can help with breakfast. I hope you have a good day.”
I had rolled up my window, waved, and left. I didn’t go back and buy any more food, that was all the money I’d had for breakfast, and he was hungry. I could wait a while longer and eat food at home.
As he lay there dying, I spoke to him.
“Go in peace, Jesus receives you.” I said.
“You don’t know what I’ve done,” he said to me.
“It doesn’t matter to me what you’ve done. Jesus forgives all sins, and he’s ready to receive you.”
Jesus reached down to him, he took his last breath, and departed this world.
“Jesus, recieve your child who has died, grant to him eternal rest, the forgiveness he craves, and may light perpetual shine upon him.” I grieved for him, and kept him in my prayers for quite a while afterwards.
I couldn’t offer him absolution because I’m not a priest. I’m just the person that offered him a little comfort as he died on the side of the road, but I could remind him that Jesus forgives sins, and that Jesus could forgive him directly as he was going to be with him momentarily.
It’s not my job, my desire, nor my place, to judge the dead and the dying. I’ve committed more than my fair share of sins in my life. I’m there to make their passage as comfortable as I can. In this man’s case, he just needed someone, anyone, to give a shit that he was dying.
I was glad I had the honor of showing him some love when I gave him breakfast that day, and the honor of helping him die. I prayed prayers for the dead for him afterwards.
Someone has to be there to help the dead and the dying, and it’s my pleasure to be of service.
