Learning to listen
24/04/14 05:10
I’ve been working on a funeral off and on all week. It isn’t common for me to have so much time to work on a funeral service. Usually I have to write the entire service in a short amount of time. Families often like to plan funerals within a few days of the death of their loved ones. This particular situation, however, involves a relatively large and spread-out family, people who have jobs and find it difficult to take time off from work, and other factors, so there was a week’s delay. This may be difficult for some family members, but it is a good thing for the pastor. I’ve been able to have four relatively long conversations with family members.
Back in 2011, when I was working on a project titled, “Blessing and Letting God,” I wrote a manuscript that is still unpublished about the process of planning and executing funerals. The manuscript is rough and needs some significant work, but it contains the seeds of some pretty good ideas. The genesis of the project was a series of conversations that i had with people about their experience with funerals. While we routinely hear that our church does a really good job with funerals, I also routinely hear people tell stories of funeral services that lack personal connection and that do not speak well of God’s hope in difficult situations. My initial reaction is that we are no ways experts in funerals and that while we try our best, we make plenty of mistakes. Later, when I was collecting the stories I had been told for the manuscript, I decided that really poorly-handled funeral services are more common than I had originally thought.
From the perspective of grieving family members, a funeral is not judged by the quality of the preaching or by the amount of theological reflection that goes into the preparation of the service. It is not judged by the number of ancient prayers that are intoned or the order of the liturgy. Grieving people come to funerals in search of meaning. They want to know that their loved one was known and loved, that her or his life had meaning, and that the pain and grief that they experience has been acknowledged and shared.
The quality of a funeral service is directly related to the quality of listening.
I am a natural story teller. Often, in conversation with others their stories remind me of stories that I know. The temptation is to go ahead with my story that has been triggered by something that the other says. There are plenty of places where such exchanges of stories is appropriate. But planning a funeral is not a matter of what experiences i have had or what parts of my story have been shared. It is about the person who has died and his or her relationship with those who have survived. However, sometimes it is necessary for me to tell parts of my story in order to make connections with the people to whom I am listening. In the case of the funeral we are currently planning, the deceased died suddenly of a heart attack in his van while completing his duties as a courier driver. At some point in the conversation I let the family know that I had a brother who was, at the time near in age to the man who had died. My brother, too, died suddenly of a heart attack in his van while making deliveries. The point of the story wasn’t my brother, or even my process of grief. It was simply to make a connection. “I can’t know fully what you are experiencing, but I have some experiences that make it possible for me to understand your grief and sadness.” My sharing a bit of my story made it easier for the family to tell their stories.
I have officiated at funerals where I don’t have very much information about the person who has died. Sometimes I haven’t had adequate opportunities to get to know the grieving family. In our complex world, families are spread out over large distances. We may not always have the opportunity to meet face to face prior to the funeral. Phone conversations tend to focus on logistics: who arrives where and when; what music; how many pallbearers; where the committal will take place; and the like. I favor worship that is well-planned and I have little patience for worship where the logistics are not in place, but getting those things right is far from having a funeral service that is personal, connected, and assists grieving people to move forward from their journey from despair to hope.
The luxury of being able to listen is a wonderful gift. Large families often allow me to lurk at the edges of conversation while they tell stories. I can gather quotes and quips and the kinds of things that can be used in the funeral to stir those memories. I don’t have to be able to tell the whole story, but I can gather enough bits of it that I can set off the memories in the minds of those who knew the deceased. Sometimes I can ask questions that spark storytelling. I might how qualities and personality traits are part of the legacies we inherit and ask how someone in the room is like the person who had died. Sometimes I ask for single words that might be used to describe the person: honest, energetic, caring, etc. There have been more than one funeral where just reading that list as recorded in my notebook has sparked powerful memories for those who are grieving.
People often confuse listening with hearing. Hearing is a biological process that can be scientifically explained. It is, for the most part, a passive process. When I sit quietly in my boat on the surface of the lake, I don’t have to do anything to hear all kinds of sounds. Listening, in contrast, is an active process that is working to connect with the other at a deep level. Sometimes listening involves knowing how to ask the right question. Listening involves being open to a different way of thinking - a fresh perspective on the world.
Learning to officiate at funerals is probably less a process of learning about bible and theology and the history of liturgy, though those skills are important. The most critical skill an officiant needs to learn to minister through the funeral service is the skill of listening.
Back in 2011, when I was working on a project titled, “Blessing and Letting God,” I wrote a manuscript that is still unpublished about the process of planning and executing funerals. The manuscript is rough and needs some significant work, but it contains the seeds of some pretty good ideas. The genesis of the project was a series of conversations that i had with people about their experience with funerals. While we routinely hear that our church does a really good job with funerals, I also routinely hear people tell stories of funeral services that lack personal connection and that do not speak well of God’s hope in difficult situations. My initial reaction is that we are no ways experts in funerals and that while we try our best, we make plenty of mistakes. Later, when I was collecting the stories I had been told for the manuscript, I decided that really poorly-handled funeral services are more common than I had originally thought.
From the perspective of grieving family members, a funeral is not judged by the quality of the preaching or by the amount of theological reflection that goes into the preparation of the service. It is not judged by the number of ancient prayers that are intoned or the order of the liturgy. Grieving people come to funerals in search of meaning. They want to know that their loved one was known and loved, that her or his life had meaning, and that the pain and grief that they experience has been acknowledged and shared.
The quality of a funeral service is directly related to the quality of listening.
I am a natural story teller. Often, in conversation with others their stories remind me of stories that I know. The temptation is to go ahead with my story that has been triggered by something that the other says. There are plenty of places where such exchanges of stories is appropriate. But planning a funeral is not a matter of what experiences i have had or what parts of my story have been shared. It is about the person who has died and his or her relationship with those who have survived. However, sometimes it is necessary for me to tell parts of my story in order to make connections with the people to whom I am listening. In the case of the funeral we are currently planning, the deceased died suddenly of a heart attack in his van while completing his duties as a courier driver. At some point in the conversation I let the family know that I had a brother who was, at the time near in age to the man who had died. My brother, too, died suddenly of a heart attack in his van while making deliveries. The point of the story wasn’t my brother, or even my process of grief. It was simply to make a connection. “I can’t know fully what you are experiencing, but I have some experiences that make it possible for me to understand your grief and sadness.” My sharing a bit of my story made it easier for the family to tell their stories.
I have officiated at funerals where I don’t have very much information about the person who has died. Sometimes I haven’t had adequate opportunities to get to know the grieving family. In our complex world, families are spread out over large distances. We may not always have the opportunity to meet face to face prior to the funeral. Phone conversations tend to focus on logistics: who arrives where and when; what music; how many pallbearers; where the committal will take place; and the like. I favor worship that is well-planned and I have little patience for worship where the logistics are not in place, but getting those things right is far from having a funeral service that is personal, connected, and assists grieving people to move forward from their journey from despair to hope.
The luxury of being able to listen is a wonderful gift. Large families often allow me to lurk at the edges of conversation while they tell stories. I can gather quotes and quips and the kinds of things that can be used in the funeral to stir those memories. I don’t have to be able to tell the whole story, but I can gather enough bits of it that I can set off the memories in the minds of those who knew the deceased. Sometimes I can ask questions that spark storytelling. I might how qualities and personality traits are part of the legacies we inherit and ask how someone in the room is like the person who had died. Sometimes I ask for single words that might be used to describe the person: honest, energetic, caring, etc. There have been more than one funeral where just reading that list as recorded in my notebook has sparked powerful memories for those who are grieving.
People often confuse listening with hearing. Hearing is a biological process that can be scientifically explained. It is, for the most part, a passive process. When I sit quietly in my boat on the surface of the lake, I don’t have to do anything to hear all kinds of sounds. Listening, in contrast, is an active process that is working to connect with the other at a deep level. Sometimes listening involves knowing how to ask the right question. Listening involves being open to a different way of thinking - a fresh perspective on the world.
Learning to officiate at funerals is probably less a process of learning about bible and theology and the history of liturgy, though those skills are important. The most critical skill an officiant needs to learn to minister through the funeral service is the skill of listening.