Funeral Flowers

As Valerie walked up the steps she felt her stomach tighten and mentally scolded herself. After all, she had been a Christian for eight months and the folks at church had been nothing but kind. She held her head high and tied to walk with confidence but the dress shoes she bought last week seemed to slow of their own accord.

“It’s all right,” she mentally assured herself. “Nothing weird is going to happen. You belong here.” Still, she had spent twenty-seven years avoiding funerals and facing one now was not her idea of a pleasant Saturday afternoon.

When it was announced that Bernice Watson had passed away, she knew she would be expected to attend and immediately the color had begun to rise on her neck making red streaks against her too white skin. Few people realized what a culture shock it was to go from a virtually homeless drug user to sitting on a church pew with “normal” people and the idea of attending her first funeral was just one example of the complexities.

Bernice had been the first one to reach out when Valerie stumbled into the church food bank last year asking for help. Not only had the sweet-faced older woman given her three bags of groceries, she took time to know her and over the next few weeks convinced her that through Jesus another life was possible.

So many changes had taken place since that day. Now, she had a steady job and her own apartment. She even had a little furnature. But, more importantly, she had hope and was slowly learning to live a new way.

A line of mostly strangers was filing slowly through the door and Valerie watched hoping to copy their behavior. There was book inside the door that people were signing. She took her turn and a man in a suit offered her a folded piece of paper. Organ music was coming through the speakers and she remembered one of the hymns. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad.

When she recognized Ashley sitting on the last pew she breathed a sign of relief and slipped in beside her. They didn’t have a lot in common but it was good to have a familiar face close by. The service had not started and people were talking in low tones, so she took the initiative and said “Hello” just as Bernice had encouraged her to do and began to relax. Looking over the piece of paper the man in the suit had given her, she saw it was a program of sorts. There was a list of names, a paragraph about Bernice and a picture of her as a young woman. How nice.

Pastor Hampton was up front in the same chair he always occupied and though he looked sad, at least he wasn’t crying. And, the flowers! There were hundreds of individual blossoms of every color and more sitting in pots along the edge of the stage. She wondered if her own offering of red carnations was among the group.

“I don’t think I’ve every seen so many flowers,” she remarked. “I think I can smell the fragrance even from here!”

“Yes, I know. It’s such a waste.” Ashley shifted her position and crossed her legs.

Color began to creep up her neck again and she strongly wished for a high-necked blouse to hide it. “Uh, you didn’t send flowers?”

“Of course not!” She appeared shocked at the very idea. “Offering flowers when people die is a pagan practice. Christians don’t worship the dead or try to appease their spirits. The flowers will be wilted and dead by tomorrow. The money would much better be donated to a missionary or used to purchase Bibles or even given to the cancer fund.” Then noticing the color on her friends’ neck and the way she squirmed while looking at her hands, she tried to soften the blow. “Oh, I don’t mean that giving flowers is wrong.” Her admission only deepen the embarrassment. “But those of us who understand the real intent of such things never send flowers.”

She spoke the last word with a withering tone that made “flowers” sound like such a nasty thing. Valerie wanted to crawl under the pew but Pastor Hampton was coming to the pulpit. There was no escape. She would have to sit and listen.

As it turned out, listening was not such a difficult thing. Even though the room contained a few hundred people there was a close, connected feeling as he spoke telling of Bernice’s life and faith. A granddaughter read a funny story she had written about her grandmother opening a stubborn milk carton and everyone laughed and the final song brought tears. Now, her neck was blotched for an entirely different reason. She was missing her friend.

Still trying to know the right thing to do by following others, Valerie waited until the man in the suit dismissed her row. She filed past the open casket and shook the pastor’s hand when he offered it. But, once outside she almost ran to her car and hid behind the wheel. Even though she was blocked in on every side and could not leave, the inside of her car was something she knew; something familiar and solid that gave her room to feel without making demands.

Two things bothered her. The first was an empty ache inside all mixed up with hope and the other was her embarrassment over not knowing the “Christian” way of doing things. Flowers. She was almost thirty! How could she be so dumb!

It seemed like forever before the line of cars began slowly filing out of the parking lot behind the hearse and reluctantly she followed. She was determined she would see this event through to the end.

It was hot at the cemetery. Even the birds were silent and a swarm of gnats pestered mourners as they stood around sweating in their good clothes. Pastor Hampton read his Bible. Those gathered sang “Amazing Grace” without the aid of a piano to keep them on key. A final prayer and it seemed to be over. People shook hands with Bernice’s children who had flown in from California and slowly began to drift away.

Valerie didn’t realize that Rainee had been standing behind her until the older woman placed a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?” she asked in a voice that sounded genuinely concerned. She didn’t know this woman very well, but recognized her as a very close friend of Bernice. Glancing back, she nodded

“It’s just that I’ll miss her,” she said in a broken voice.

“Me, too” said Rainee. She slowly walked to the bank of flowers that had been used to cover the ugly red clay dug from the grave and pulled a red carnation from one of the arrangements then returned to where she was standing. “Flowers mean so much.”

Valerie cleared her throat and tried to find the right words. “You don’t think they are a pagan custom?”

Rainee chuckled deep in her throat. “I see you have been talking to Ashley.” She shrugged and tried to smile. “Well, I guess even pagans can have a good idea once in a while.” When a wave of shock passed across Valerie’s face, Rainee laughed out loud.

“Its okay,” she slipped her arm around the younger woman’s shoulder and they both headed back toward the parked cars. “Some details of Christian life and practice can be pretty confusing. But, there is one piece of advice that I think Bernice would give if she were here: There is much freedom in Christ.”

That was all she said. Then she waited for the profound statement to register in Valerie’s eyes. When it didn’t, Rainee continued. “God is very serious about rules, such as “Don’t lie” and “Do love the Lord Thy God,” but there are many, many other things that are purely a matter of preference. You will run into some Christians who do things one way and others who do it differently. The only thing that really matters is that you read the Bible for yourself and listen to the Holy Spirit. God will lead you concerning the details.

“Look at it this way, dear friend,” she continued. “If you have prayed and can’t find a scriptural directive about flowers and funerals; if sending them seems good to you, then by all means do! The only thing to remember is not to accept condemnation from others if you don’t deserve it and make sure you don’t condemn them just because they see things differently.”

She put the red carnation in Valerie’s hand and smiled. “I think this was intended for you. Why don’t you take it to remind you that in Christ you are free.”

“How did you know I sent red carnations?”

“I didn’t. But I guess God did. And, personally, I think Bernice knew it, too.”

Be Encouraged: Are you feeling judged by another Christian? Instead of cringing in a corner, why not rest in the knowledge that only the approval of our Father really counts. Life not only feels better when we think that way, it’s the truth.

*****

For information about Elizabeth's books and to read other stories visit her at: www.elizabethbakerbooks.com