Goodbye Until We Meet Again: Reflections on the Funeral of Fr. Mark Shuey

 

My pastor, mentor, and friend, Fr. Mark Shuey, entered eternal life a few weeks ago. His funeral and burial took place last week. It was a very emotional and moving few days. Led by our bishop, who made the journey down from Parma, we all prayed together as one family in Christ for the repose of the soul of our beloved brother.

The Funeral Liturgy and rites are very beautiful and offer the great hope that comes from being faithful disciples of Jesus. Through the prayers of the Church, God comes to those who mourn and offers comfort. Despair is canceled out by the power of the Resurrection and the newness of life that awaits us.

Much of modern culture has become uncomfortable with death. We often try to soften it, sanitize it, or put it out of sight. Even our language has changed. We speak of “celebrations of life” rather than funerals, and often the body of the deceased is absent or hidden away.

The Eastern Catholic Church, of which I am a member, does something very different. It does not hide death from us. The body is present. The casket remains open throughout the service. We stand before the reality of death and mourn the person we love.

At first, this can seem almost painfully direct. But perhaps that is precisely the point. We cannot truly grieve what we refuse to acknowledge. The Church allows us to look at death honestly—and then, having looked directly at death, she gives us the Gospel.

With tears, we mourn the one who has departed. As one of the Troparia during the service says:

“We approach You, Christ our Lord and Benefactor with burning tears, and with a funeral dirge we cry mournfully to You; Give rest to Your faithful servant, because You are so merciful.”

The funeral rites do not ask us to pretend that death is not painful. They open the door to what has taken place. They allow us to grieve, to mourn, and to say goodbye to the person we love. But they also remind us that death is not the end of the story.

For me, the service that took place at the grave was the most difficult of the two days, but at the same time it was also the most fruitful.

It was a hot and sunny afternoon at the cemetery. There was a nice breeze in the air. The grass was very green, and everything was ready when the funeral party arrived for the burial.

Because Fr. Mark had served in the U.S. Marines, the Honor Guard did their part of the service first. It is always a special moment when they play “Taps” and fold the American flag. The service members then presented the flag to Fr. Mark’s wife, Dawn. It was a touching moment as they knelt and presented her with the flag that had draped the coffin.

After this, it was time for the final prayers to be said for our beloved father, friend, and pastor.

Part of this service is placing dirt on the coffin, reminding everyone present of the passage from Genesis:

“For you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

Death is indeed a reality of our fallen world. There is no escape from it. Every one of us will face it. The fullness and pain of that truth really sets in at this point in the service.

Once the rite was complete, the person who works for the cemetery began the process of lowering Fr. Mark's coffin into the vault and grave. This takes a few minutes, so there was time to stand there before people began to depart.

For me, this was the most difficult moment emotionally, but at the same time, it was also the most rewarding.

There was the dirt, the earth to which we are all going to return. As the coffin went down, the tyranny of death was so real and present. The earth receives the body and does not give it back.

But as Christians, we do not despair at this point.

We rejoice in our Lord's own Resurrection, His victory over sin and death.

As I stood there thinking about this, the pain and hurt of saying goodbye to my mentor and friend finally set in completely. The tears came, and I could not hold them back.

Then the cantor, bishop, and other clergy began to sing.

First, the Lord's Prayer.

Then came the hymn above all hymns:

“Christ is Risen from the dead, by death He trampled death, and to those in the tombs He granted life.”

As the tears fell down my face, I could not join the singing. But my heart was burning and rejoicing with the power of what was being sung.

The ultimate assurance of our faith was being proclaimed over the grave.

Life, not death, has the last word.

I was reminded also of the powerful scene in John's Gospel concerning the death of Jesus' friend Lazarus. Jesus hears that His friend has died and goes there to reveal the glory of God, but also to comfort the grieving family.

Martha, through her tears, tells Jesus:

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

The Lord reminds her, and all of us:

“I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.”

Jesus Himself knows fully well that this is true. He knows that He has the power to raise Lazarus. He knows that He will soon conquer death Himself.

And yet, when He encounters death at the tomb of Lazarus, He weeps.

The onlookers reply:

“See how He loved him!”

This powerful scene is repeated every time a disciple of Jesus passes from this world to the next. Jesus is there, weeping with us over the great loss and emptiness that we now feel. But He is also there with the message of life—the new life that only He can give.

The tears we shed at the grave are not a failure of faith.

Jesus Himself wept at the grave of His friend.

We weep because we loved. We grieve because the person mattered. And Christ does not ask us to pretend otherwise. He enters into our grief with us.

But He does not leave us there.

He stands with us at the tomb and reminds us of what He promised:

“I am the resurrection and the life.”

It is difficult to say goodbye. It is something that all of us will eventually have to do. The pain is real. The tears come. The emptiness left behind by someone we love is real.

But so is Christ.

He is there in the midst of our grief. He stands with us at the tomb. He weeps with us. And then He reminds us of the promise of the Resurrection.

That is why the Church does not have to hide death.

We can look directly at death because we know the One who has conquered it.

We can stand beside the grave because we know that the grave is not the end.

We can shed our tears because we know that Christ will one day wipe them away.

Fr. Mark based his life and his priesthood on that truth. He taught it to so many of us. He lived it in his ministry, his family, his friendships, and his service to the Church.

And now, standing at his grave, I understand that truth a little more deeply.

We say goodbye, but we do not say farewell forever.

We have hope.

We have the promise of the Resurrection.

We have Christ.

And because we have Christ, we can stand at the grave of someone we love, shed our tears, and still believe that death does not have the final word.

Fr. Mark, thank you for your friendship, your priesthood, your example, and your love.

Goodbye, until we meet again.