There are some things I hate hearing at the funeral of a loved one, you know the sort of thing . . .
- He's gone to a better place.
No, he's dead. He won't be going anywhere ever again.
- He's gone to join the Lord.
No, he hasn't gone to join your imaginary friend. He's dead.
- God has the last word today, not death.
It doesn't get any more final than death.
- God has prepared him a room in His house.
No He hasn't. He's dead.
- At least he's finally out of pain.
No, he's dead.
- Now he's in peace.
No, he's dead.
- It's a blessing really.
No, it doesn't get any worse. He's dead.
- Now he'll have life everlasting.
No, he's just lost the only life he'll ever have, you arsehole. He's dead.
- This is a test from God.
No, it's a test whether or not I can refrain from punching you in the nose.
- Life is a vale of tears, with paradise as its reward.
You unspeakable lowlife.
- It's for the best, really.
No , it's not, you arsehole. It's an unspeakable bloody tragedy -- the end of a human life -- a life that can never be replaced. There's nothing good about it.
Here's about the only one that does make any sense:
- This is a test of faith.
Yes. It should be.
If Christians come knocking at our door at any other time the interfering busybodies are generally sent on their way with a well-deserved flea in their ear, yet for some reason the interfering bastards are given a free ride at funerals -- when they take advantage of everyone's emotional guard being down -- with the result that at a time of utter loss and devastation the bereaved don't get a chance to reflect on their loss in peace, but are assailed instead with bullshit, bromides and superstitious fictions.