I thought I’d found my groove for funerals. I used to feel calm as they approached. I used to feel competent, I felt I knew exactly what to do. That is, until the pandemic hit.
My first funeral after lockdown was the funeral of Eddy, a sweet elderly member of our church. He died of coronavirus. At Eddy’s funeral, nothing was the same.
The four familiar walls of our church sanctuary were replaced with the windy hill beside the grave. My congregation had drastically shrunk in size: only ...
