When God Sends You to a Stranger’s Funeral

Something I didn’t know about Catholicism prior to joining is that funeral masses are open to the public. 

It has happened several times that on mornings I’ve decided to attend mass, I will walk, unexpectedly into a funeral mass. 

That’s exactly what happened today. As I approached the building and saw the way people were dressed, piecing it together, I considered leaving. 

The mass may take an extra long time. Also, regardless of how happy the life story of the deceased is- I will cry. Probably a lot. 

I sat on a bench under a tree and took in the peaceful, verdant scenery. 

A man, tossing feed to geese in a pond. 

The moon, half full, adorning the summer morning sky. 

The gentle shades of green and quiet sounds of nature. 

I looked at my outfit. All black. 

My attire was funeral appropriate. 

I had driven out here on inspiration, God must have a plan. 

After a few minutes of solitary repose, I decided to go in. 

I selected a pew in the very back on the right, where I could cry the most confidentially and escape if I needed to. 

I opened up the missal, landing instantly on a page that displayed the order of operations for the funeral mass. 

I released any doubt in my mind that my being here was a coincidence and I settled in, for what I was sure would be a spectacular display of God at work and a soul-cleansing cry. 

The non-flashy but soul-warming sound of Latin phrases soon filled the air in calming, melodic waves. 

A black and white framed photo of a couple sat next to single white rose at the front of the sanctuary and the faint aroma of incense entered my nostrils with each breath. 

A story was painted by the Priest. The recently deceased was a woman who had been married to her husband for seventy-two years. He had passed just three months prior. 

Wow. The waterworks began easily. 

With moving oration, the Father said that this couple took their marriage vow of “until death do us part” one step further and didn’t allow even death to separate them. 

This complemented Romans 8:38-39 that had been read moments earlier: “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, nor angels nor demons, neither the present or the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” 

The beauty of the story and scripture, the transitory nature of human life, and the devotion of the flock’s leader alchemized the feelings, thoughts, and weight I had walked in with into honest, gentle weeping. 

The recently deceased’s son came up and provided a glimpse into his mother’s life, referring affectionately to his parents as “Mami and Papi” and his grandmother, “Abuella.” We learned that when his parents fell in love, his abuella forbid the marriage. 

“Mami” took to her bed, love-sick, and refused to eat until the family relented and Abuella granted her blessing. The couple married and immigrated from Puerto Rico to New York City. They went to a fair and spent the 25 cents they had for food that week on a photo of them, side by side. This was the framed photo sitting at the front of the sanctuary next to the white rose. 

As I exited the sanctuary following the hour-long service, I marveled at the unexpected perfection. This morning, I was granted a transformative experience by serendipitously witnessing a stranger’s funeral. 

I was a later-arriver to Catholicism and am currently a casual attendee, but I was unabashedly moved by what I saw and felt in that sacred space. The mass is art. Devotion to something beyond and yet immanent is real. I felt it bathe and cleanse every cell of my body. 

I walked out of my impromptu visit feeling grateful, renewed, and trusting that God is still in control.