The Rev. Dr. William Zeckhausen on a valuable lesson for a young minister

The Widow's Might

Thirty-five years ago, fresh out of seminary, I was learning the trade, so to speak, at a venerable old church in Boston. As Assistant Minister on a staff with a Senior Minister and an Associate Minister, both at least 30 years older than me, I was routinely assigned tasks considered to be beneath them.

One morning I was told that an elderly widow, unknown to the clerical or administrative staff at the church, had taken her life. She made one request: that her funeral be conducted by a minister on the staff of the historic Old South Church. It was scheduled that afternoon. I was asked to follow up on the widow’s request.

I received no further information about this woman. She had no relatives; no other names were provided through whom I might learn more about her. I had no idea who or how many people planned to attend the service. I was given only a time and a place for the ceremony and a couple of hours to prepare the service.

When I arrived, no one was present except the funeral director. He handed me an envelope with a check from the woman’s estate as payment for my services.

The funeral director was the only other person who would be attending the service. Apparently he hadn’t known the widow either. I supposed that he probably attended several funerals of strangers every week and had no particular investment in this one. My first impulse was to return the envelope and depart. This woman obviously meant nothing to him, nor did I.

I felt uneasy delivering the service only to him. I also felt sad that this lonely woman, with no known relatives or friends, had taken her life, leaving behind just one request – and no one knew why.

I had to deal with my feelings. I decided to imagine that this woman was present during the service, and that I would fulfill her one wish. With that thought, I proceeded to deliver the service – not for the funeral director, but for her. Imagining that she was there, I didn’t feel so foolish reading the words I had prepared. Imagining her presence provided some meaning to me as I spoke to an indifferent audience of one.

Now I realize that in my awkwardness and insecurity, I assumed the funeral director to be indifferent, but really I had no idea what was going on in his mind as he fulfilled his part in a routine obligation. If I had it to do over again, I would have shared my feelings about the awkwardness of the situation. I would say that I appreciated his presence during my readings; I would tell him what I had in mind while presenting the service. Perhaps that would have added meaning to our time together. At least I might have connected with him in a more humane way, which probably would have been of value for both of us.

I departed feeling grateful that a way to address this “event” had come to mind. Rather than giving in to my first impulse to refuse the envelope and leave, I accepted the check. To return it would have felt like a rejection of the woman.

Every now and then this memory returns to me – the poignancy of that situation, and the mystery of who that woman was, and what her experience may have been at the end of her life.

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