Funerals are rituals meant for the living. Other than burying a dead person's body in hallowed ground and praying that God helps the soul find paradise, there's not much the living can do for their dearly departed once they are gone. However, for those who remain, there's lots of work to be done for each other, hence the wake, the funeral and family gatherings.
Last week I attended the funeral of my father-in-law, Francisco Gobourne. Since he was a lifelong Catholic, his funeral included all the "typical" Catholic features: time with family, the "wake" held at a local funeral home, and the funeral mass in the church.
During the wake, which was held on Friday evening, the body of Francisco lay in an open casket. Friends and family were invited to view the body, pay respects to the dead, and extend words of sympathy to family members. During the wake, the family lead an informal service of prayer and rememberance.
The next day saw a funeral mass held at the church. The casket was present in the church during the service, but it was closed, covered by the funeral cloth (a.k.a. the pall). During the service, scripture was read, prayers prayed, music played and sung. One song, "His Eye is on the Sparrow" was sung by my son Isaac and his cousin Sean.
Following the funeral, the family caravaned out to Long Island to the cemetary, where, under the watchful and prayful eyes of a gnarled old Irish deacon, Francisco's body was laid to rest. Friends and family then returned to Francisco's house where we broke bread together and toasted the memory of our departed loved one.
Francisco was buried with appropriate dignity and his family honored him with respect and even joy. This was not a sad affair, but a celebration of a life.
One theme that surfaced during last weekend that keeps running through my mind is the idea of assurance. My brother-in-law Omar specifically talked about assurance at the Friday wake--and I have returned to that theme over and over ever since. Omar asked everyone present at the wake to ask themselves whether they felt assured their lives were on the right path. And, if after reflection you found yourself on the wrong path, he challenged us to change directions and follow the light of Christ.
I don't know about you, but I need a lot of assurance in my life. I constantly question whether my choices are the right ones. For me, assurance comes when other people tell me I'm on the right path and that I should soldier forward. You probably know that I need assurance in many aspects of my life, not just with the big decisions. I look to my wife to tell me constantly that she loves me, and my daughter to tell me I look alright, and my friends to tell me I'm still relevant. Further, I want to feel assured that the people I love have also chosen rightly--that ultimately their choices will lead them to happiness and satisfaction. Without assurance, I become paralyzed by doubt, worry, and indecision. Should I stop? Turn around? Change directions? Should I warn others of the perils they face? Or do I proceed forward, sometimes cautiously, sometimes boldly, but forward.
There's an old gospel song I love, "Blessed Assurance," which says that by choosing the way of Jesus Christ, we put ourselves on a road that leads to eternal joy in the presence of the creator. I heard echoes of that song many times last week as family member after family member affirmed that my father-in-law had chosen the path of Christ. They said that though he was an imperfect follower, Francisco owned strong faith. These same persons affirmed that God would reward his faith with a place in heaven. Family members said it. The priest said it at the funeral mass. The deacon said it at the grave site. Blessed assurance. Francisco had chosen the path of faith--and now he lives in God's presence. Speaking these words of assurance did not speed Francisco to the pearly gates, they were meant to comfort the living.
In the end, my sense of assurance regarding Francisco has little to do with the words spoken about him last week. As we all know, actions speak louder than words--and it is actions, not words that give me comfort today.
Deeds of a life truly reflect what's in one's heart, and I believe Francisco's actions are the best measure of his person. Certain deeds he performed stand out as a clear indication he was walking on the right path when he died. First, the man loved his family and never tired of seeking and promoting reconciliation among siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles. He wanted everyone in his family together and in love. Second, he prayed daily that God would direct his steps and he freely shared God's guiding hand through almost daily emails he sent to his family and friends. Third, he helped the needy. For thirteen years Francisco fed and sheltered a homeless man at his house. The family knew the man as "Jocko". Nobody knows for sure where Jocko came from or why he was homeless, all we know is that Francisco found him alone and destitute and he helped him without asking for anything in return.
Jesus said that a tree is known by its fruit. A good tree will produce good fruit, while a barren tree is useless. We can have assurance that the path we are following is the right one by looking at our fruit. Is there real, juicy, delicious fruit in our lives? Are we experiencing love, peace, and joy? Are we improving the lives of others? And, can others see our fruit and do they want similar fruit for themselves?
If I want for myself the blessed assurance that Francisco had in his last days, I need to show some fruit. Not words, not leaves, not roots nor branches, I must bear fruit.
Hope you find some fruit in me. And if you find a piece of fruit from my tree, let me know what it tastes like.
KJP
P.S. The photo at the front of this piece was taken at Francico's house in Queens, New York. The people in the photo are friends and family of Francisco Gobourne. I'm in the picture. So is Clarisa and all four of our children. Can you find them? The garage in the background is where Jocko sleeps (it is heated!).
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