Dog at an Outdoor Funeral

My Favourite Funeral Readings for a Celebration of Life

If you’re here because you’re currently in the process of planning a ceremony to honour someone who has died, welcome. I know that the admin surrounding death can be a lot to handle whilst you’re also dealing with grief. I hope that this article can help to lighten that load for a little while.

Who Does the Reading at a Funeral?

Readings at a funeral can be performed by the celebrant leading the ceremony, but they might also be read by a member of the deceased’s family or one of their friends. It’s usually the decision of the family or chief mourner about who gets this responsibility, depending on who feels able to do a reading and also who would like to take part.

Celebrant Behind a Coffin at a Funeral

How Many Readings at a Funeral?

The choice of how many readings you would like to include in a funeral is again, up the person or people organising it. In some cases, the deceased may already have picked out the readings they would like included. But if you’re planning the ceremony yourself, know that there’s no ‘right’ number.

The only thing to consider is the length of the ceremony. If you’re having a celebration of life in a crematorium, the service will likely have a fixed amount of time, and you don’t want an excess number of readings to cause problems.

Decorated funeral coffin

7 Funeral Reading Ideas

Here are seven of my favourite readings for a celebration of life, reflecting on a range of themes including death, loss, grief, and loneliness.

When I Am Asked

“ …and placed my grief / in the mouth of language, / the only thing that would grieve with me.”

This is more of a modern funeral reading, but it’s going at the top of my list because it has always resonated so deeply with me. Reflecting on the contrast between the internal experience of grief and external experience of the world, I find that it perfectly captures the strangeness of loss and mourning. It’s also a reflection on writing poetry, which as a writer myself, I also adore.

When I am asked
how I began writing poems,
I talk about the indifference of nature.
It was soon after my mother died,
a brilliant June day,
everything blooming.

I sat on a gray stone bench
in a lovingly planted garden,
but the day lilies were as deaf
as the ears of drunken sleepers
and the roses curved inward.

Nothing was black or broken
and not a leaf fell
and the sun blared endless commercials
for summer holidays.

I sat on a gray stone bench
ringed with the ingenue faces
of pink and white impatiens
and placed my grief
in the mouth of language,
the only thing that would grieve with me.

No Time

This is a much shorter poem, and one that works well if you’re looking for more uplifting funeral readings. It’s a nice way to bring a light-heartedness to a celebration of life, imagining how our loved ones who have passed away would respond to the actions that we take.

In a rush this weekday morning,
I tap the horn as I speed past the cemetery
where my parents are buried
side by side beneath a slab of smooth granite.

Then, all day, I think of him rising up
to give me that look
of knowing disapproval
while my mother calmly tells him to lie back down.

In Praise of Craziness of a Certain Kind

“…to be like her with what is left, that loving.”

I love Mary Oliver’s poetry for the simple way that she manages to so perfectly capture emotions that are relatable to such a wide audience of readers. This option is another short, modern funeral reading that I think would work particularly well if the person who has passed away also struggled with memory loss. It acknowledges the confusion gently, but focuses on the importance of what remained.

On cold evenings
my grandmother,
with ownership of half her mind —
the other half having flown back to Bohemia —
spread newspapers over the porch floor
so, she said, the garden ants could crawl beneath,
as under a blanket, and keep warm,
and what shall I wish for, for myself,
but, being so struck by the lightning of years, to be like her with what is left, that loving.

The Raincoat

“…my whole life I’ve been under her / raincoat thinking it was somehow a marvel / that I never got wet.”

This funeral reading feels most appropriate for someone who was a mother, but there’s no reason why the sentiment can’t also apply to anyone who has been a parent or taken on a caring responsibility. It’s a reflective piece that considers what our parents give to us and give up for us, making it a bit more sombre than others on this list, but still a lovely read.

When the doctor suggested surgery
and a brace for all my youngest years,
my parents scrambled to take me
to massage therapy, deep tissue work,
osteopathy, and soon my crooked spine
unspooled a bit, I could breathe again,
and move more in a body unclouded by pain.
My mom would tell me to sing
songs to her the whole forty-five-minute
drive to Middle Two Rock Road and forty-
five minutes back from physical therapy.
She’d say that even my voice sounded unfettered
by my spine afterward. So I sang and sang,
because I thought she liked it. I never
asked her what she gave up to drive me,
or how her day was before this chore. Today,
at her age, I was driving myself home from yet
another spine appointment, singing along
to some maudlin but solid song on the radio,
and I saw a mom take her raincoat off
and give it to her young daughter when
a storm took over the afternoon. My god,
I thought, my whole life I’ve been under her
raincoat thinking it was somehow a marvel
that I never got wet.

Kinder than Man

By Althea Davis

“If I am killed / for simply living, / let death be kinder / than man.”

This is another of the more unusual funeral readings on this list, but I think it works quite nicely if you’re looking for a poem that reflects on the theme of death instead of focusing on grief and loss.

And God
please let the deer
on the highway
get some kind of heaven.
Something with tall soft grass
and sweet reunion.

Let the moths in porch lights
go someplace
with a thousand suns,
that taste like sugar
and get swallowed whole.

May the mice
in oil and glue
have forever dry, warm fur
and full bellies.

If I am killed
for simply living,
let death be kinder
than man.

On The Death Of The Beloved

“May this dark grief flower with hope / In every heart that loves you.”

I featured a blessing from John O’Donohue in my post about wedding readings, and wanted to include another of his work’s here that was more suited to a celebration of life. Many of his poems are ideal if you’re looking for a funeral reading that has a spiritual element but isn’t overtly religious. This one is a gentle and hopeful reflection that would make a lovely addition to a committal.

Though we need to weep your loss,
You dwell in that safe place in our hearts,
Where no storm or night or pain can reach you.

Your love was like the dawn
Brightening over our lives
Awakening beneath the dark
A further adventure of colour.

The sound of your voice
Found for us
A new music
That brightened everything.

Whatever you enfolded in your gaze
Quickened in the joy of its being;
You placed smiles like flowers
On the altar of the heart.
Your mind always sparkled
With wonder at things.

Though your days here were brief,
Your spirit was live, awake, complete.

We look towards each other no longer
From the old distance of our names;
Now you dwell inside the rhythm of breath,
As close to us as we are to ourselves.

Though we cannot see you with outward eyes,
We know our soul’s gaze is upon your face,
Smiling back at us from within everything
To which we bring our best refinement.

Let us not look for you only in memory,
Where we would grow lonely without you.
You would want us to find you in presence,
Beside us when beauty brightens,
When kindness glows
And music echoes eternal tones.

When orchids brighten the earth,
Darkest winter has turned to spring;
May this dark grief flower with hope
In every heart that loves you.

May you continue to inspire us:

To enter each day with a generous heart.
To serve the call of courage and love
Until we see your beautiful face again
In that land where there is no more separation,
Where all tears will be wiped from our mind,
And where we will never lose you again.

In Blackwater Woods

By Mary Oliver

“to love what is mortal; / to hold it / against your bones knowing / your own life depends on it; / and, when the time comes to let it go, / to let it go.”

I’m including another Mary Oliver poem here, because this is another really lovely choice for a more uplifting and modern funeral reading. It’s a poem about grief and loss, but also about how loss is a natural part of life.

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfilment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

LOOKING FOR A CELEBRANT IN BRISTOL OR BEYOND?

Get in touch to arrange a chat where I can find out more about what you’re looking for from a celebrant.

If it feels like the right fit, we’ll make a start on planning your perfect ceremony!

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