I don’t know how many funerals you have chosen to attend. I guess the only one you have no choice but to attend is your own. I’m praying for the Rapture so I don’t have to go to that one, either.
But, as a pastor, I am committed to attend, even preside over, more funerals per year than I want to number. I don’t do as many as in the past. As the pastor of a large church, I only do those I am personally asked to do. Many of our other ministers do more than me because they have had the opportunity to walk down some difficult roads with the family and can really speak to them better than I can.
But recently I was asked to do a funeral and was able to fulfill the request. I’m glad I did because God taught me something in the process.
I had just led the casket up the aisle to the front of the chapel. As I waited for everyone to be seated, I noticed someone sitting in the sound booth just across the room from me.
If you are not a pastor, you probably have never seen a funeral from my perspective. I don’t sit facing the front of the chapel as do the rest of those in attendance. I sit and stand at the head of the deceased and face the rear of the room. From my perspective, not only can I see the faces of those in the room, I can also look across to the other side at the activity no one else can see. In my church, a sound tech with a CD player, musical instruments and microphones at the ready sits behind a glass panel. He must be able to see into the chapel so he can take his cues from the pastor, who sits directly across from him.
On this occasion, there was to be a total of three songs. Two were from CDs and one was going to be sung by a relative of the deceased from behind the glass. When it was time for him to sing, I saw him take his place behind the microphone and pull the words to the song out of his jacket pocket. In the past, I have heard everything from beautiful angelic voices coming from that room to sounds that only a mother could love. So I was hoping for the best and prepared for the worst.
When the song began, I was pleasantly surprised as to how much the person sounded like the original artist. “This isn’t going to be so bad,” I thought. I continued to be impressed until I noticed something. I could see that the person singing was often looking down at the words he had taken out of his pocket; when he did, his mouth moved away from the microphone. Yet the sound continued to be clear and steady.
I also began to notice that the movements of his mouth were not in tune with the melody. Sometimes he continued to sing when there were no words to the song. About midway through the song I came to understand why the song sounded so much like the original it was. They were playing the original track with the original artist while they had the microphone for the man behind the glass turned off.
I soon noticed from my vantage point that, if I listened closely enough, I could actually hear the man sing. It was not good. I am being kind in my assessment. “Painful” would be a more accurate description. The sound tech was the only person having to bear the full force of what was being released in his isolated world. I never saw the tech. I don’t know whether he had his fingers in his ears or perhaps had the track way up loud in his earphones, but I’m sure he was doing something to mask the pain.
During the song, which seemed to me to be longer than I had ever noticed, I began to see a truth played out before me. There was a beautiful picture of grace being displayed. The sound tech had saved the congregation the uncomfortable minutes of having to listen to a voice that would embarrass the one singing and make an already-sad situation worse. He had masked the ugly sound of what was emanating from that room with the beautiful voice of the artist in a studio.
It dawned on me that this is how Christ treats me. In myself I am a mess; I am totally out of tune with his melody. Where beauty should be there is ugliness. Where virtue and righteousness should exist there is sin and selfishness. If I were not his child, I would not be fit for the family of God. But thanks to his grace and kindness, he has chosen to cover me and hide me in his blood. When I try to speak for him, he turns down the microphone of my weakness and turns up the volume of his spirit so, when I walk out to preach each Sunday, people don’t run while covering their ears. They often sit and lean forward in their chairs to hear what is coming next.
What they hear coming from the speaker is not the sour wranglings of a man who struggles to hear God but the voice of an artist in a studio. It is God who arranges the words and delivers the message through his imperfect instrument. So it is with all his children.
Ken Duggan has been the pastor of Dallas Bay Baptist Church since 1990. A native of Soddy-Daisy, he and his wife, Marilyn, have two sons.
Voices of Faith is a weekly column written by area religious and spiritual leaders; if you would like to be part of it, contact Features Editor Shawn Ryan at sryan@timesfreepress.com.