Over the years of working with people who were facing severe illness,, intense grief, and permanent disability, I learned that it isn’t always the right question to ask, “How are you?” There are circumstances when I already know that the person I’m visiting is experiencing pain or might have any number of other reasons to respond to such a question with an answer like, “not good,” or “pretty bad.” I have learned that there are times when skipping the small talk can be helpful to a person. If the person is in the depths of grief, having to provide some commentary on the weather or make small talk about other subjects can be unnecessarily painful. Sometimes we need to name the truth in our midst and get on with providing the care and support that the situation requires.

I will always remember an email that I got from a friend who was very near to his death. Within a couple of hours of his death, he wrote me, “There is some disagreement among the doctors as to the seriousness of my condition.” Whatever the doctors were saying, his condition was serious. He didn’t have time to chit chat in his email message. He got straight to the point expressing his wishes about his funeral service. It wasn’t the first, nor the last time someone wanted to talk about their own death and funeral with me. I’ve experienced enough death to know that it is a reality of human existence and there are times when avoiding the topic is not appropriate. Sometimes we simply need to name the reality in our midst.

Somewhere in my career, I started asking, on occasion, “How is it with your spirit?” or “How is your soul?” It is a variation on the question “How are you?” that allows the person with whom I am visiting to acknowledge the presence of pain or grief and yet display some resilience. It is also an opportunity for an individual to be frankly honest about their depression and sadness.

My question often brings to my mind the familiar hymn with lyrics by Horatio G. Spafford, “It is Well With My Soul.” The story behind the hymn is well known. Spafford was a Chicago lawyer and businessman with a wife and five children. In 1871, their young son died of pneumonia. Later that same year, much of their business was lost in the Great Chicago Fire. Then, in November of 1873, an ocean liner carrying Spafford’s wife and four daughters collided with an iron-hulled Scottish ship and sank. The Spafford’s four daughters all died in the accident. His wife was found clinging to a bit of wreckage and rescued. Spafford had originally been ticketed for the crossing, but business forced him to remain behind, expecting to follow in a few days. His wife landed in Cardiff, Wales after being rescued and wired him saying, “Saved alone, what shall I do?” Spafford later had that telegram framed and displayed it in his office. At the time, he rushed to book passage on another ship to join his grieving wife. It is said that he wrote the lyrics to the hymn while crossing the ocean near the place where his daughters were lost:

When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll,
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.

Sometimes, when I have inquired about someone’s soul, I have told that story and sung that song. Sometimes, I’ve just thought about the song in my own mind while listening to another.

A few months ago, we participated in a prayer service for a friend who was facing a health crisis. At the service, I sang the first verse and chorus of Spafford’s hymn. It seemed to be fitting, given what I knew about this friend and her family. Later, I learned from her family that the hymn was one of her favorites. I sang it again for her after she had made a partial recovery. Not long after that, she asked me directly if I would sing the hymn at her funeral. I’m not a soloist. I’ve officiated at hundreds of funerals. I’ve attended hundreds more. But I’ve never sung at a funeral. On the other hand, I was in no position to refuse when directly asked.

It turned out that our friend passed away surrounded by loving family. She repeated her request of me when I visited the day before she died. The request was made again by her family. So I will be singing the hymn at her funeral.

Yesterday, after a busy day of working with children and volunteers at our sumner day camp for children, I rehearsed the hymn with some musicians from our church. It was reassuring to have a team of skilled musicians to back me up as I sang the song. But I am nervous about the funeral. In the ways of the Covid pandemic, the funeral is still nearly a month away, so I’ve got plenty of time to rehearse, and to get nervous about singing.

I used to get very nervous about leading worship. There have been times when I avoided eating breakfast on Sunday mornings because I’d get an upset stomach worrying about my sermon and how I would serve the people. But I was a working preacher for 42 years. That was long enough for me to learn to deal with my nerves. However, that was about preaching. I never had to sing a solo and try not to be the center of attention on a day of grieving for a family. A funeral is a service where we need to get it right. It is a once-in-a-lifetime experience for the family. I know there will be a lot of nervous worrying for me until the service is completed.

I’ve always thought it funny when people talk about decreasing stress. I don’t choose my stress, stress chooses me. I get nervous about situations I feel I cannot escape. I suppose I could have said, “No,” when asked to sing, but that would not have been the right thing to do. It is best for me to practice and to worry. After all, the service is not about me, or how uncomfortable I might be. It is about a grieving family who need to know the love and support of their community. My discomfort is nothing compared to the grief others are bearing. I have a promise to keep.