Funeral Preaching: Holding Memory and Promise, Grief and Hope

Carla Jones Brown

Between the time that I was invited to write this piece and the submission date, several significant death-related events occurred. One was the death and global grieving of Pope Francis. Another was a request from a former congregant to provide a simple graveside service for her stepfather. Finally, on the eve of the submission due date, I received a call with the news that a beloved member of my former congregation had passed away. Her final wishes indicated that she wanted me to serve as the officiant and deliver her eulogy. Thus, this article was not written with academic distance. It comes alongside my observations of my grief and accompanies me as I prepare to walk with each of these families and also with the global community that grieves the loss of Pope Francis. Grief is a living, breathing, and taxing entity, and as such, our words to the grieving must acknowledge that entity and speak to a hope that also lives, breathes, and has the power to sustain us.

In the PC(USA), our A Brief Statement of Faith begins with these words, “In life and death, we belong to God,” and concludes on this note, “With believers in every time and place, we rejoice that nothing in life or in death can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” We say with confidence what we believe, but in the midst of grief, it can be hard to feel convinced this is true. It is the job of the pastor, preacher, or eulogist to recognize that this is not true because we believe it, but because God has promised it. We who proclaim these words must often find a way to convey this message to those for whom the notion is unfamiliar, foreign, or impossible to conceive. When we approach the task of preparing the words for a eulogy or funeral sermon, we must make decisions about how to honor the deceased and the promises of God. 

In his poem “Holy Sonnets: Death, be not proud,” sixteenth-century poet John Donne challenges Death to “be not proud, for some have called thee mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so.”¹ I wonder if many clergy often want to challenge Death to be not inconvenient. Death does not tend to arrive at a time conducive to our church or personal calendars. Death comes when it will, and we are called to care for those who are grieving. Funeral sermons and eulogies are not one-size-fits-all, so how does a person meet the unique challenges of the occasion, often on short notice? What do we say to those whose lives have been forever changed by death and grief? How do we preach good news to those who may not be able to hear anything beyond the sound of tears rolling down their cheeks? Is it even possible? If so, how? How do we share a word of hope while also managing our grief? These questions are valuable as we search for the right words for the occasion.

While I do not recall being assigned a funeral sermon or eulogy in my seminary preaching course, I do recall the first funeral that I officiated. The funeral was for a young man who died unexpectedly. His family had already seen a lot of loss that year, and their grief was thick. The service was held at a funeral home, so there was no home-court advantage of a church sanctuary. His friends and family lined the Philadelphia sidewalk, wearing T-shirts with his photo on the front and the words “Rest in Peace” on the back. The words on the shirts gave some clue about the theology of the gathered group. There were no Scripture references, but there was a claim that death did not have the last word and peace was available to the deceased. This claim, emblazoned on a T-shirt in spray-paint script, was the bridge that connected us. What more needed to be said to make sense of this fragile moment? What would I say to these young people who might not have had any relationship with a church? How dare I stand there, not having known their beloved, and try to speak words of comfort to them?

These nervous questions are a good, if uneasy, place to start. My role on that day was to provide a presence and to lift not only this young man’s life story, but also to present hope to those who grieved him. Before settling into the differences between sermons, funeral sermons, and eulogies, it may be useful to consider purpose and presence. Our purpose and our presence will be informed by our theology of death and dying. If we are unable to allow grief and hope to coexist, our sermon or eulogy may reflect an unrealistic sense of happiness or celebration. A funeral is not an ideal place to argue theology of heaven and hell and the final destination of the deceased, but some in attendance may come to argue that very point, and if we are unclear about our purpose and how we manage our presence, we may be drawn into a losing battle. Whether it is labeled a funeral, a memorial, or a celebration of life does not matter. What matters is that death has come to call, and living beings are left to find a new normal. Our presence and our words will be written into the story of their new normal. 

As the clergyperson with the privilege of delivering a sermon, our purpose is clear. Comb the Scriptures for an appropriate text that offers hope to the living and perhaps includes some connective tissue from the life of the deceased. It may be helpful to remember that our job is to provide a safe space for those who grieve. It is not the job of the preacher to “fix” anything. The gathered community is not broken. They may be heartbroken, but death is not a problem for us to solve. It is a part of the life cycle that we are privileged to share with those in our communities. Our words, actions, and physical presence all create an environment where it is safe to feel the pains of grief as a normal human process and not something to stifle or suppress.

Before we open our mouths to speak a word, our presence includes how we remember the deceased and how we minister to those who are living. A funeral sermon need not preach someone into heaven or hell—a Reformed approach recognizes that this is not our job. The sermon may honor the deceased while also acknowledging the feelings of the living. These are the ones who need to hear the good news. These are the ones whose ears are stopped up with grief and may not hear brilliant turns of phrase. If they are congregants who hear your sermons on a regular basis, they don’t need that finesse on such a difficult day. They need a simple reminder of the love and care that God and the gathered community can provide. In the case of the sermon for the young man I referenced earlier, those who gathered had not heard my preaching, and only the sister of the deceased knew me. I learned from the meeting with the family to hear stories and important details about the life of the deceased that they expected a eulogy that centered the life of their loved one and not a sermon that centered the life of Jesus, since not everyone coming to the service was a Christian. 

After visiting with the family and building a bit of trust with them, I had a decision to make. Would I be faithful to their request to talk more about their loved one, or would I remain faithful to my call to preach the gospel? This is a question that every person must answer for themselves. I find the answer when I remember our purpose to provide a safe space to grieve and to offer hope. I also find the answer when I consider my presence. I am not a tall person, so what I lack in stature I make up for with words and personality. As the officiant, I was able to establish myself as the go-to person for our time together, and when the time came for the sermon, I was able to bridge the gap between sermon and eulogy. Others had come to share their memories of their beloved, and as one who was not part of the family, I was able to name the power of their testimonies and remind them that I am acquainted with the God found in the Christian Scriptures. Using the Romans passage referenced in A Brief Statement of Faith, I was able to offer them a love that is indestructible, for all of us. I was able to demonstrate the ways that God brings us together in the best and worst of times, and though this was among the worst for them, I was able to point to the power in their communal fortitude by naming other times that they were able to help each other get through. The sermon did not provide any easy answers. I did not attempt to answer questions that I was not qualified to answer. I was able to give voice and validation to the questions that they may have held but were afraid to ask. It was important to me to demonstrate that this is the moment to ask those questions, not of a frail human being in a clergy collar but of a God who is big enough to take the questions and the heat of our anger and grief. Even if we do not get an answer to our question, the love of God accompanies us if we want to receive it. 

Purpose and presence served me well on that day. I did not come to be the church lady wearing heaven and hell on my arm like an accessory for my outfit. I did not come to be the one with all the answers. I came to that funeral home to be a companion on the grief journey. I came in my “proper” black suit, separating me from the friends and family in their T-shirts. I came to the moment with a bundle of nerves in my belly and more questions than answers in my sermon manuscript. I allowed the tributes of others to serve as the eulogy, lifting the life and legacy of the deceased. I offered a core part of my faith, rooted in Scripture, with an occasional nod to the deceased as the bridge between my life of faith and the lives of the hearers. 

Eulogy, Sermon, Homily, or Remarks

Having shared an example from personal experience with funeral preaching, I’d like to explore some practical distinctions between different ways one might be called upon to speak at a funeral service. Understanding these distinctions is essential for clergy as we prepare to meet the specific needs of families and faith communities during times of loss. The terms eulogy, sermon, homily, and remarks are often used interchangeably, but each carries different expectations and serves different purposes within the funeral context.

It is important to remain aware of the time that one has been offered and to honor it. While it may be appropriate to preach for seventeen to twenty minutes on a Sunday in the context of worship, that may not be possible at a funeral, whether in a church or a funeral home. If asked to provide a homily, Pope Francis recommended keeping it between eight and ten minutes² because anything longer is a “disaster.” Pope Francis explained his rationale within the context of a Catholic mass, but I believe the logic remains solid in Reformed worship as well. What is the goal? The funeral homily is not the ideal place to unpack complicated theology but rather is an opportunity to lift the hope of the gospel for those who grieve. Carving out space in the service for a homily suggests that the person planning the service intends to have a moment reserved for a word from Scripture. Our challenge is to meet this moment not with our best illustration or wittiest one-liner, but with something that the hearers can hold on to even with tear-filled eyes and broken hearts.  

When offering a homily, it may be wise to choose a text that is familiar or that has been read earlier in the service. In services where the Old Testament and New Testament readings are often chosen ahead of time, the clergy will have time to consider using one of them. The Twenty-third Psalm is familiar even to those whose lives are not intertwined with the life of the church. This familiarity and the loving care found in the text make it useful for a homily. One need not know the background of the writer of the psalm to receive the generosity and tenderness of the Shepherd. Sharing that tenderness and highlighting the love of God can be accomplished well in eight to ten minutes. 

Some traditions expect a full Sunday-length sermon within the context of the funeral service. These settings usually include music selections and prayers that support the energy of such a service. These may be labeled as a celebration of life and often celebrate the life of one whose life was deeply connected to the life of the church. These can be tricky because while there is room for celebrating the promise of the resurrection and celebrating a life well lived, this focus on celebration can easily overshadow or steal grief from the family and friends who have come to pay their respects. There is room for the preacher to name the grief and to offer to those gathered that though Psalm 30 reminds us that weeping may endure for a night, the night may last longer for some of us than for others. The preacher may want to name the delicate balancing act of knowing that joy comes in the morning while the weeping endures. There is no rush to get to the joy. There is comfort in knowing that when the time comes, the joy will be waiting for us. The challenge for the preacher is to find a way to hold space for both without robbing the weepers of their grief or suppressing the joy of those for whom morning has come. If a preacher is given the grace of a longer time frame and has allotted time for a sermon and not a brief homily, they may be able to work out that tension well and hold space for all who gather. 

When I was a child, I always wondered about the difference between remarks, the eulogy, the obituary, and the funeral sermon. Sometimes, they overlapped and that left me confused. The obituary is the biographical sketch that appears in the printed funeral program. It is prepared by the family and may include references that can connect the person’s life to the preacher’s homily or sermon. A eulogy is typically a tribute to the person’s life. It is important to share these distinctions with the family when planning a service so that expectations can be met. The eulogy need not be delivered by a clergyperson, but it can be. There are also moments when a person is asked to bring remarks, and in their remarks, they eulogize the person instead. Sometimes, the designated eulogist will take the opportunity to overstep boundaries or share stories that may feel inappropriate, and this is where clergy presence is a gift to the gathered community. In these moments, those of us charged with embodying the good news may reference the words already spoken by those who preceded us on the program. It may be useful to characterize the remarks that celebrated the person’s life as a series of eulogies, leaving room for the preacher to lift the word of God, because so many have already spoken so well of the deceased. We may have to make a split-second decision about whether levity or sobriety is best in the moment, and we may get it right or we may get it wrong. Both offer opportunities for reflection on our work. It is helpful to have notes on transitions along with our sermon notes. The sermonic moment is not set aside for the clergy to combat the platitudes that may have been offered during the time of remarks, but there is an opportunity to present a theology that is helpful and not harmful to the hearers.

When, as clergy, one is asked to make remarks, it is useful to simply fulfil the request. While it may be wise to keep a sermon in one’s pocket in case of emergency, it is unwise to take the opportunity provided for remarks and to turn it into a sermonic moment. The purpose of the funeral service is to provide a safe space for those who grieve. When the podium or pulpit turns into a competitive battleground, the space is no longer safe for anyone. If asked to make remarks, preparation of a homily is not necessary. Scripture may be part of one’s prepared remarks, but the focus is on remembering the deceased, not preaching Christ crucified. It may be appropriate to give a nod to the homilist or preacher as the one who will bring the good news and then share a ninety-second anecdote about the deceased, extend condolences to the family, and return to one’s seat. 

What to Do When It’s Difficult? 

For the bereaved, it is always difficult. For the clergyperson, finding the right words may be complicated by the circumstances of the death. Officiating the funeral of a beloved member of a church community whose faith was always on display may be easier than that of an infant or a young person who dies by suicide or violence. Does the good news still hold true in those circumstances? What if the deceased was someone whose life did not serve as a witness to the good news of the gospel? What do we say in those circumstances?

In these particularly challenging situations, consider these practical approaches:

• First, acknowledge the reality of the pain without attempting to explain it away. When death feels untimely or tragic, simple statements such as “This loss is profound. We need not pretend it isn’t devastating” validate the grief without theologizing the tragedy. 
• Second, focus on God’s presence in suffering rather than the reasons for suffering. When officiating for an infant’s funeral, drawing on Psalm 139’s imagery of God knowing us in the womb can speak to God’s intimate care without suggesting divine causation of tragedy. Similarly, in cases of death by suicide, emphasizing that nothing can “separate us from the love of God” (Rom. 8:38‑39) speaks hope without judgment. 
• Third, prepare for your own emotional response. When the circumstances are particularly difficult, arrange for pastoral care for yourself before and after the service. A brief conversation with a colleague or therapist can help process the emotional weight these services carry. 
• Fourth, when family wishes conflict with your theological understanding, find a gracious middle ground. If asked to avoid “religious talk,” you might say, “While I respect your desire to avoid religious talk, my presence as a clergyperson represents something about hope that extends beyond this moment. May I briefly speak to that hope in a way that honors your loved one without imposing my beliefs?” It is of primary importance that we remember our purpose and presence. With or without a collar, stole, or robe, we are still witnesses to the good news and the resurrection. We may not share the theology of the deceased or their family, but we can offer the best of God’s love and grace without condemning anyone else’s beliefs. We can hold space for the questions that have no good answers but need to be voiced.

And Finally . . .

In the end, funeral preaching calls us to a delicate balance—holding grief and hope, memory and promise, lament and comfort in the same sacred space. As we stand before those whose hearts are broken, we offer not simple answers but faithful presence. Our words, whether sermon, eulogy, homily, or remarks, serve best when they create space for authentic grief while gently pointing to the God of hope and love who accompanies us through our loneliest hours. In this holy moment, we embody the truth that in life and in death, we belong to God—and we share that space of belonging with those who gather. This is the gift we offer as clergy: not to disregard grief but to illuminate it with the light of grace, allowing those who mourn to feel both the weight of their loss and the promise that they do not carry it alone. 

Notes

1. John Donne, “Holy Sonnets: Death, be not proud,” www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44107/holy-sonnets-death-be-not-proud/.

2. Justin McLellan, “Long Homilies Are ‘a Disaster,’ Keep It under 10 Minutes, Pope Says,” National Catholic Reporter, January 23, 2023, www.ncronline.org/vatican/vatican-news/long-homilies-are-disaster-keep-it-under-10-minutes-pope-says/.