We had the funeral today of a member of our congregation. She was an older woman who had been sick and lay dying in the hospital for several weeks. Her son and two grandsons were beside her when she passed into eternity.
Significant to me were the people who attended. Most of us did not know this precious old lady personally, but we do know and love her son and grandsons. One by one, I watched my beloved friends arrive on very short notice. Many of us are busier than we should be-a sign of the times in which we live. Some postponed meetings. Some simply cancelled previous plans and some came from work, grabbing a slice of pizza on the way. I saw a friend sitting in the car transporting the deceased to her final resting place. According to Jewish tradition, the body of the departed must never be left unattended. It is also a supreme act of kindness to attend a funeral since the deceased can never repay the deed.
One by one, as my friends arrived, we embraced and clung to each other. Each of us was conscious of the pain and grief of our friends, of our own mortality and frailty, and of our need one for the other.
The house, I was told, was overflowing with food, and during the coming week during the "shiva" (the traditional period of mourning after a death), there will be more visits and more food, words of hope, and the simple comforting presence of those who care.
The loss of a mother is one of the most central losses we face, I told my friend. It doesn't matter if the mother is 120 and the child is 90, it is still so very painful and I am so sorry.
Yes, he answered sadly. And the pain is lessened by people who show their love and compassion by being there at a time such as this.
This, then, is the sum total of our lives, after all is said and done. Are we there for our friends in their sorrows and their joys? When we are, we bring into their lives a small piece of the heart of God, and the comfort of his love.