So I’ve spent the last two columns (which, at a rate of one column a month, covers a really long time) essentially writing about “what not to say” during a funeral homily. 

Shortly after the last column was published, my uncle (well, technically my dad’s cousin’s husband, but really my uncle) died suddenly and very unexpectedly.  And so I attended a really heartbreakingly sad family funeral.  And while I was there, of course, I thought about everything I’d written over the past few months.  Specifically, I thought “Well, Miss ‘Pontificates in Her PJ’s While Others Do the Really Hard Work of Giving Funeral Homilies’, what would you say?”  After all, as a speaker, I can see where funeral homilies would be among the most difficult to write and to deliver.  You’re facing a grieving family and friends.  Their grief is raw – and in some cases they’re still in shock.  Anybody with a heart would want to reach out and comfort these people.  And certainly nobody would want to say anything that would upset them further or compound their grief.

So what would I tell them?

Of course, I don’t claim that my way would be the “right” way.  There could never be any one single “right” way to give a funeral homily.  Anyone facing that task would bring his own unique gifts and perspectives to the pulpit.  And some of those gifts are formidable.  I’ve never heard any of the funeral homilies given by Bishop Fulton Sheen, but I would imagine they were amazing.  Likewise the homilies of the great Fr. George Rutler in New York, and those of the countless other priests around the country and around the world who do a far, far better job than I could ever dream of doing.

Nevertheless, I thought if I’m going to stick my neck out, I should at least try to put myself in the shoes of someone preparing a homily under these most difficult of circumstances.

I concluded, first of all, that it’s very difficult.  Just ask my editors, who will confirm that this column arrived on their desks about two weeks late.  I put this off from a very, very long time.  But, in the end, here are my very generalized thoughts.

First, if I knew the deceased, I would speak personally about him or her.  If I didn’t, I’d keep my mouth shut and not pretend by reciting some impersonal biographical facts that telegraphed to everyone else that we’d never met. 

Next, I would tell them why we were gathered – why we bother with a funeral Mass.  It isn’t just to say “good-bye” or to tell stories about our dearly departed.  We could do that at a bar.  We gather together at a funeral Mass to pray for our deceased loved one, to commend him or her to God.

Then, the most important part.  I would talk about the awesome, tender, all-encompassing love tthat God has for each and every one of us.  God is not some impersonal “Judge in the Sky” waiting to zap us for our sins.  He is a Father who loves his children.

That’s a hard concept for us to wrap our minds around, probably because it’s become such a cliché.  We all sang “Yes, Jesus Loves Me” along with “Now I Know My ABC’s”, and both seem to occupy the same space in our brains.  God loves us.  Whatever.

No, He really loves us.  He yearns for us.  Mother Teresa spoke of “the depths of His infinite longing to love and be loved” by us.  Think of how you feel when you really love someone.  You want good things for them.  You want to be with them.   You look forward to time spent together.  You’re disappointed – crushed – when this person ignores or forgets you.

And all of that love and emotion comes out of our little, limited human hearts.  How much greater is the infinite “heart” of God?  We can’t even imagine the intensity of His love and longing for us.

That is the intensity of His love for our deceased loved one.  As we sit at the funeral, contemplating our love for this person, God is right there beside us, loving him along with us.  This, to me, is amazing.  God joins us in loving our loved ones.  Only His love is infinitely stronger than ours.

Yes, God gave us free will.  We can choose to love Him in return, or not.  He will never force us to choose Him.  But He woos us, beckons us.  He is the “Hound of Heaven,” lovingly pursuing each and every one of us to the very end.

He wants to be with us.  He wants to share eternity with us.  He won’t force it on anybody, but He will continue to invite, to woo, and to love.

God is perfect justice.  He is also perfect mercy.  We can’t possibly understand how those two go together, but we don’t have to.  He does.

And so we entrust our deceased loved one to the God who loves him more than we ever could.  We continue to pray for his soul.  And we commit, in our own lives, to turning toward God -- to receive the love He offers us, and to choose Him in all things and in every situation.

We are all in very, very good hands.