Learning to Mean What the Liturgy Says

First Things, 28 April 2021

The Duke of Edinburgh’s funeral was instructive in three ways.

A month back I wrote on the confusions caused by the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, who claimed—disputed by Lambeth Palace—that the archbishop of Canterbury had secretly married them in their backyard a few days ahead of the big ceremony at St. George’s Chapel, Windsor.

The archbishop’s recent visit to Windsor for the obsequies of Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, was a more straightforward affair. Like a wedding, a royal funeral is a signal cultural moment. For many people, it is the only time they encounter the liturgy. The Duke of Edinburgh’s funeral was instructive in three ways.

First, the pandemic restrictions were a reminder that a funeral is about praying to God for the deceased. The poignant, even painful, sight of the Queen sitting alone, grieving her husband of 73 years, was surely the most memorable image from the funeral. It is likely that exceptions could have been made for the unique situation of the royal family at Windsor, but the Queen decided that she would mourn as her subjects have had to mourn during the pandemic, with only a few congregants permitted.

Funerals serve multiple purposes, one of which is the gathering of the family, the parish, and the wider community in a time of mourning. Another is the opportunity to extend condolences to the bereaved in person. These aspects have largely been set aside during the pandemic. Yet a funeral with only a few people present is still a funeral: an occasion to worship God, to give thanks for a particular life lived, and to pray for a merciful judgment upon the deceased.

Even before the pandemic, most clergy sometimes had funerals with just a few people. It might be a person, often indigent, discovered dead with no known family or friends. It might be a prisoner, incarcerated for so long that there is no one on the “outside” who knows him. It might be one of those tragic situations where the family thinks it best to bury the dead discreetly. Whatever the circumstances, there is special power in those funerals; God knows what is being done, it is meet and right, and that is enough.

A royal funeral cannot be such a hidden affair, not when televised worldwide. But there was something of that in Prince Philip’s funeral, with only a few dozen present instead of the thousands who would have otherwise taken part.

Second, there was neither preaching nor eulogy. That is such a rare choice today that I cannot remember another example of it. That choice meant that the liturgy—its prayers, biblical readings, hymns—had to speak for itself.

The funeral liturgy always speaks for itself, but we are often distracted by eulogizing the dead. Catholic funeral rites discourage eulogies, but they are often included anyway. Funeral preaching customarily offers at least some comment upon the life of the deceased. A well-preached homily or well-crafted eulogy achieves worthy purposes and sets the life of the departed in the context of the paschal mystery. Nevertheless, we often overlook what the liturgy says when we are speaking ourselves. 

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel’s dictum remains valid, namely that we must learn to mean what the liturgy says, rather than force the liturgy to say what we mean. Prince Philip’s funeral was an invitation to mean what the liturgy said.

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