Assured of God’s mercy

The Very Rev Dr John Chalmers explains why the ‘highest and humblest’ deserve the same attention during times of grief.

LOOKING back at the passing of our late Queen and the ten days of national mourning which followed, we were reminded that no one does pageant and ceremony better than the British.

In Scotland we excelled at providing the nation with an observance and commemoration which will live in the memory for years to come. More importantly, however, we saw the Church helping people make sense of their feelings and putting the life and loss of our Queen into the context of eternity.

When the only monarch that most of us had ever known slipped the anchor of this life, I reckon that most people, even those who would describe themselves as republicans and who would want to see change in the hierarchy of power, were touched by the sense of difference at the loss of a presence who was a constant for seven decades. People knew that there had been a seismic change in our common life and, one way or another, the nation felt bereft.

At some time or another bereavement touches us all, and whether grief is personal or collective we have to have a way of dealing with it. Long history records the development of ritual and ceremony as a cornerstone for coping with loss, and communities of faith have been at the forefront of providing the structure for mourning and remembrance.

The late Queen’s funeral was a supreme example of the community of faith, to which the Queen herself belonged, providing a vehicle for addressing the personaI loss of a family and the collective loss of a people. Whatever else was seen and heard you could not possibly have missed the fact that ancient words from the prophets, wise words from the apostles, clear words of Jesus and the prayers of today’s ministers and priests were a central feature of those days of national mourning. It was the words of hymns, readings and prayers which provided comfort and eased the pain of loss.

For me the words of John Donne (1572-1631), spoken in Westminster Abbey by the Precentor, were amongst the most poignant: “Bring us, O Lord God, at our last awakening into the house and gate of heaven, to enter into that gate and dwell in that house, where there shall be no darkness nor dazzling, but one equal light; no noise nor silence, but one equal music; no fears nor hopes, but one equal possession; no ends nor beginnings, but one equal eternity; in the habitation of thy glory and dominion, world without end. Amen.” I find these ancient words to be enduring. Somehow they put into words ideas and images of the heart of God which would otherwise be out of reach.

“People knew that there had been a seismic change in our common life and, one way or another, the nation felt bereft.”

I am always proud of the Church when we do well those rites of passage which put people, royal and ordinary alike, at the heart of our prayers and when simple words help us to reach beyond this little life and catch a glimpse of eternity. It is the greatest privilege of ministry to express the conviction that God is with us in our sorrow and to testify to the unconditional love that God has for every person made in God’s image.

I know some of the people who worked to make the Queen’s funeral such a significant event; it was hard graft, but it was worth the effort. I also know that working to provide the framework and the appropriate words for every funeral is harder now than it has ever been.

Bereaved families and friends are complex in their needs and in the understanding of their grief; it is hard graft to get the context and content right, but it is worth the effort. Princes and paupers, the highest and the humblest deserve the same attention in their times of loss; all deserve to hear words which lift their spirit and assure them of God’s mercy.