I was in my final summer as a seminary student when I conducted my first funeral. The grandfather of a little boy Tara cared for had died, and his wife asked me if I would do his funeral. We had lived in a guest house for two years in exchange for childcare. When we took the job, the husband and wife told us that the one thing they did not want to hear from us was any talk about God. All we could do was pray for an opportunity to share Christ with them. And now her father had died, and I was to conduct his funeral.

I was way out of my depth and way beyond my comfort zone. During seminary, I had preached a few sermons. I taught Sunday School, but a funeral was something of a different magnitude. And to make matters worse, there was no indication that anyone in the family was Christian. I agonized for days on what to say and how to conduct a funeral for an unbeliever.

On the day of the service, we arrived at the funeral home on the other side of Dallas. In my inexperience, I did not have much contact with the funeral director before that day. I should have visited to get the lay of the land.

When I arrived, he ushered me immediately into a room that was the backstage of the chapel. It was a totally closed-off room with no curtain or way of seeing into the chapel. I had no idea what the room looked like or how many people were there. The director told me to just wait, and he would tell me when it was time to enter through the door to the chapel stage.

While I was waiting, my heart began to race. I have never been that nervous in my entire life. I honestly thought I might have a heart attack; that’s how nervous I was. My only recourse was to pray. I asked God to calm me, strengthen me, and give me the words to say.

When it was time for the service to begin, the funeral director gave me the signal and told me to go out. I’m sure he noticed my inexperience and nervousness and was expecting me to fail miserably. 

As I took my place before the family and all who were there, God calmed my heart and fears. I conducted the service in dependence on God to the best of my experience, knowledge, and preparation. During the service, I spoke of the kindly grandfather who had died. Still, I drew no conclusions about his eternal destiny. It would be wrong for me to say he did not know Christ, and it would be false hope for me to say he was with the Lord. Only God knows. But I did know and preach that all are sinners, Christ died for sin and was raised from the dead, and that simple faith in Him assures us of our eternal home.

After the service, I walked out into the crowd and immediately noticed a woman making a beeline for me with a stern look on her face. When she reached me, she stuck her finger in my face and said, “That’s not what you say at a funeral!” I was shell-shocked and barely even remember the rest of the conversation. What did I say that offended her so? Did I slip up or make some huge mistake? I thought I had really blown it and that my worst fears had been realized.

I wanted so badly to just disappear and get the day over with. I knew I needed to greet the family in preparation for the procession to the cemetery. I approached them, fearing an awkward moment about something I may have said to offend. Instead, the family was effusive in their gratitude for the service and the great comfort they received from the message. Their reaction was the exact opposite of the woman who wagged her finger in my face. I learned a valuable lesson that day: The only comfort in the face of death is the Gospel, and the Gospel cuts both ways.

The Apostle Paul put it this way, “For the word of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God” (1 Corinthians 1:18). As we have seen in 1 Corinthians 15, the Gospel message includes the hope of our resurrection because of the death and resurrection of Christ.

“For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain,” said the Apostle. He was torn between being at home with the Lord or remaining and ministering on this earth. We, too, should be living “between two worlds.” This is a tension that will always be with us. And that’s okay. It’s supposed to be that way.

One day that tension will be relieved, and our faith will become sight. Until that day, we are to live in the hope, the unshakable expectation, that He will come for us. He will neither leave us stranded on this earth nor will He come to judge us for our sin, for He has already taken that on Himself (Hebrews 9:28). “In Christ,” we are redeemed, forgiven, born again, a new creation, seated with Him in the heavenly places. And “in Christ,” we await our own resurrection.

In the end, God answered our prayers for an opportunity to share Christ with the family. Through God’s strange and wonderful providence, they were able to hear about the only hope for eternity. The rest is in His hands.

O sing hallelujah!

Our hope springs eternal

O sing hallelujah!

Now and ever we confess

Christ our hope in life and death