I am sitting in my office willing myself to get some work done. After a fourteen hour people filled day yesterday, my motivation is flagging and my stamina is ebbing. My order for a small pizza from the family pizza joint across the street should be ready momentarily. Perhaps all I need is sustenance. By the way, the pizza place is far too convenient for a woman trying to get fit and who keeps forgetting her lunch. I could go across the street in the other direction and eat at the Senior's Centre. There really isn't a satisfying solution to the dilemma.
My workplace is buzzing today. The local Catholic parish has had its largest church closed by order of the Bishop, which leaves local congregations nowhere to hold large funerals. They are using our space today for a funeral of a young father who committed suicide. They are expecting around 700 folks. Needless to say, there are funeral directors scurrying to set up and church ladies spreading food around the hall. The office is information central. Fortunately, the office administrator and the facilities rental person are in charge of that piece. I get to talk with the funeral directors whom I know by first names since this is a small town. Evidently, letting the Catholics use the church is a big deal and unprecedented here. My reply, since it was my call, was why wouldn't we let a grieving family say good-bye surrounded by their friends and family. It doesn't matter what our faith traditions are. Someone died and people want to honour, celebrate and grieve together. Thank goodness we have the space to offer.
As I write, the family is passing outside my window, walking through the warm spring air to enter with the casket from the front. A wife and three young children lead the way. I have the speakers turned on so I can hear what is happening in the sanctuary. Silent support and prayers from an unknown Protestant minister tucked away behind her desk go with them.
May the family find peace in the coming days as they struggle to find a way back to a semblance of normal. Someday may they remember life as it was with laughter instead of tears. In the meantime may they soak in the love that surrounds them, for that is the way to healing and hope from the place of sadness and grief that they now inhabit.
My workplace is buzzing today. The local Catholic parish has had its largest church closed by order of the Bishop, which leaves local congregations nowhere to hold large funerals. They are using our space today for a funeral of a young father who committed suicide. They are expecting around 700 folks. Needless to say, there are funeral directors scurrying to set up and church ladies spreading food around the hall. The office is information central. Fortunately, the office administrator and the facilities rental person are in charge of that piece. I get to talk with the funeral directors whom I know by first names since this is a small town. Evidently, letting the Catholics use the church is a big deal and unprecedented here. My reply, since it was my call, was why wouldn't we let a grieving family say good-bye surrounded by their friends and family. It doesn't matter what our faith traditions are. Someone died and people want to honour, celebrate and grieve together. Thank goodness we have the space to offer.
As I write, the family is passing outside my window, walking through the warm spring air to enter with the casket from the front. A wife and three young children lead the way. I have the speakers turned on so I can hear what is happening in the sanctuary. Silent support and prayers from an unknown Protestant minister tucked away behind her desk go with them.
May the family find peace in the coming days as they struggle to find a way back to a semblance of normal. Someday may they remember life as it was with laughter instead of tears. In the meantime may they soak in the love that surrounds them, for that is the way to healing and hope from the place of sadness and grief that they now inhabit.
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