Funerals for the Living

Traditions

We’re gonna discuss funerals, utterly steeped in tradition, and as a theological lens, scripture based rituals hold no weight. Even Elohim himself dismissed them as worthless, for they offer nothing to alter the spiritual standing of the soul. Traditions merely clutter our lives with rituals, dragging us farther from Elohim. They wear us down. Imagine a soul assigned to tend the hearth, yet strangers keep ringing, bombarding with pointless queries and chores. All it does is pull them away from the purpose they’ve been granted. Traditions are worthless. They don’t impress Elohim, neither are they required for salvation. So why bother?

Distraction

The only thing they cause is to make us forget the very commands we’ve been issued, replacing them with these utterly worthless rituals. This is why Elohim, in the scriptures, grew furious at his people. They cast his laws aside and choked themselves with needless customs. Funerals? I skip them. In scripture, when God’s faithful died, they were simply laid in the ground. No fanfare. No hired singers belting out hymns. Elohim rebuked those professionals. Pointless. Everything’s pointless. Clogs life with noise. Honor the living: sit beside them, listen, help their kin when grief hits. But parading around a box for a body that’s already crossed the chasm? The word is plain. They are either comforted or tormented, divided by that uncrossable gulf. They don’t hear you cry. They don’t wave back. You are just hurting yourself longer because tradition demands it. And tradition, once more, is worthless.

Pain

People have been trained to romanticize pain, to stretch grief longer than it needs to be. They drag the burial out, forcing every mourner to keep staring at the corpse, which only sharpens the ache. That’s why I quit funerals. They hurt too much. Each one slapped me back to the day my father left, a dull fist in my chest I refuse to feel again. Back before covid, family after family fell, one after the other, like dominoes. I stopped showing up and started visiting the living instead. I’d push through senior homes, park myself beside grandpa for hours, three, four times a week, no agenda, just company. Secrets spilled. Don’t tell a soul, he’d say. Didn’t expect you’d be the one, he whispered near the end, voice cracking. The ones he counted on vanished. Elohim arranged it. I got to hold his hand when the clock ran out. Still, at the service I froze in the last row, eyes on the box, couldn’t budge. Been the same ever since. Too many caskets, too much dad-echo. So now I serve while they’re breathing. When they’re gone, I get up and walk, carrying the memory of their grin, their stories, not the shell on display for hollow applause.

Memory

Those grins, genuine, pulled by living muscle. I’ll cling to that forever. No more painted masks sewn shut by strangers, no hollow cheeks mocking the man I knew. Never again. Most don’t get it; why would they, without scripture? Take Yeshua, someone begged, Let me bury my dad first. He shut it down. Let the dead bury the dead. Come follow. He knew: the carcass is not the point. It’s shell, dust, gone. Stop nursing it. Embrace the raw fact. Not cruelty, truth. Hugging a box or kneeling at stone, you’ll rot right alongside it. Elohim never wired us for that. Nowhere in His words do we find folks strolling to tombs for chit-chat. They wrapped the body in spices to kill the stench, period. No pilgrimages. No headstones getting whispered secrets to. That’s necromancy. That’s idolatry. Pure and simple. Quit it. You’re trading eternal life for antique pageantry. And it’s packing us off to hell like sweating fish in a crate.

Duty

I have no interest in attending any more funerals, regardless how much I appreciate and love the person. The only ones I will ever go to because it is my duty, not tradition, but repaying a debt, when I was too young to care for myself are for my brothers and sisters who held me up when I was small. My sister Marilyn and her husband Rolando, who took care of us as second parents when I was a kid for a short time. My brother who always kept me from getting beat up by his friends when I wouldn’t back down. My younger sister who financially supported me when I was a teenager on the island of Puerto Rico when my mother was unable to do so. My wife, who is my partner; I promised Elohim when we got married I will be there for her. My mother, who brought me to this earth, who nursed me, who took care of me, and who still calls me to this day. My children, a parent should never bury their child, but if that does happen, it is my duty to lay them to rest because I brought them to this earth. It is my duty to do so and not leave that burden for others. But after that, I owe nobody anything. Let me just say it: I hate funerals. I’ve never understood them; they make no sense. And please, let’s stop lying to ourselves by claiming that the corpse looks fantastic, enough of that. Most corpses I’ve seen appear horrendous, bearing no resemblance to the person who passed away. It’s a circus we’ve normalized, and be completely frank, it borders on improper handling of a corpse. The only people who truly adore funerals are casket retailers and undertakers. Most of these traditions? Merely clever ploys to stimulate the economy, pagan holidays, wedding bells, you name it. They keep us consuming for fear of public shame, they have people, panicking and buried in debt. Enough of all that nonsense.

Instructions

I gave my wife and my son precise instructions: promise me that when I die, no mourning parade, no casket on display, no summoning crowds to stare my corpse. Put me in the ground quicky. Let these merchants of death go broke! My family and loved ones? Allow them their bereavement day, not to mourn, nor to watched a casket, but to run errands, to breathe, to keep living, free from extra loads. Let’s be honest. Most folks dread funerals, but won’t say it, they’re terrified of offending someone or looking callous. It’s the bondage of tradition… tradition, nothing but a weight we refuse to drop. If they wish to attend, let them. No sin in showing up. And if they don’t, no one’s allowed to judge them. This isn’t Elohim’s decree. Just rotten old habits, worn thin. However, for every family, every friend if possible, if they let me, while I’m still living, I will sit by their side day and night, talking to them, comforting them, until their last breath. Because that is what really matters.

Verdict

Let people who love unless traditions and ignore Elohim’s law be angry if they want. If staying true to scripture makes me guilty, let the verdict stand. Yeshua warned us that people would hate us, would get angry at us. They are not our kin. We do not belong to this earth though we live here. We are children of heaven. Their anger shows they’ve never known Elohim. And these are the ones he will turn away on the last day. I never knew you. Away from me, you lawless. The entire reason for this writing is one thing: do not allow anyone to judge you by the customs they grew up with, when what matters is scripture. If Elohim does not condemn you, man cannot. If they do, it’s because they have no clue who he really is.

Last Respect

Respect is not given in a funeral home to a painted corpse. It is given when they’re still seeing, when they’re still feeling, when they’re still breathing. Nobody celebrates with the guest of honor after he’s left the room, that’s when the party’s over. Same with life. You don’t honor the man after he’s closed his eyes. You do it before. You sit there. You let him know he’s not alone. You wipe his sweat. You squeeze his hand. That is respect. That is honor. The only time it counts is when they finally close their eyes for the last time and the last thing they saw was you sitting by their side. So whenever possible, whenever you can make it to the person who’s passing away, do it. Let traditions die, and Elohim’s word be true. That’s the only way. After they’re gone, it means nothing. Because Elohim does not value traditions, he values those who value him through obedience.

Shalom.