I keep a Word Document on the desktop of my computer. It’s called Read At My Funeral. Not very catchy, I know. I have informed my wife of this document in case of my untimely death in a kick-boxing tournament or something equally as exciting. Strangely, our future funerals are not an uncommon topic of conversation. Our deaths feel far off so it gives us liberty to have fun with the last hurrah. I don’t feel like we’re disrespectful in our banter. Mostly, it just brings some levity to a heavy topic.
My current funeral plans: A party with good wine and a really sweet buffet and probably a Journey cover band. A massive piñata filled with Swedish Fish and Twizzlers. This is a funeral I would like to go to—a celebration of life and relationship.
We will also have a microphone set up in the front of the venue. But there will be rules people must understand before they can speak.
Rule #1 No Fake News. I abhor funerals that are full of fiction. “Sammy was such a good man. Always patient and kind and generous! I never saw Sammy say a hurtful word to his wife or children. He would give you the shirt off his back.” Lies . . . mostly. Sammy was probably a good dude. But we all heard Sammy run down his boss and he was kind of a cry-cry about politics and SEC football; and there was that one time we saw him get into it with his wife and he slammed the door and stomped off. Sammy could be a jerk. No need to whitewash the truth when everyone knows it.
Rule #2 Stories. Tell some stories about our life together. We are not a collection of virtues, but experiences. Talk about my quirks and frailties. Laugh about how I got lost everywhere I went. Share about that time we laughed and cried and argued and were mad at each other for two weeks. Reveal how hard it was to be in community with me because I didn’t always make it easy to be my friend.
Rule #3 Jesus. I want my funeral to be about the redemption of Jesus. I want my wife and friends and kids to say, “He was sort of a wreck. And boy, he was insecure. He got angry too. And he spent lots of time seeking the approval of people. But Jesus was his treasure. And Jesus loved him. That God would love someone as broken as Jon is a testimony of how gracious and long-suffering our Abba is.”
And then I want my funeral document read. All of the statements begin with these same words—Don’t cry for me because . . .
- Don’t cry for me because I have been loved by God.
- Don’t cry for me because I have caught a 30 lb tuna.
- Don’t cry for me because I have been called Daddy.
The list is long. It spans two pages and I add to it every couple of months. Each new season brings with it new ways to lift up a memory of thanksgiving. It includes travels and trips and friendship and failures. It is a historical document of God’s grace in my life. I want this read so people know my life has not been primarily an exercise in vanity. I want my friends to know that there are things much worse than death and funerals.
A life wasted is worse.
Funerals should be about celebrating the life lived and spent in honor of God and others. A funeral should be an exclamation point on a beautiful and full story. A funeral (at least my funeral) should be about looking forward to God’s continued faithfulness, his ferocious love, and His awakening call to live every breath for his glory.
My funeral will be about grace . . . and a sweet buffet.
