I must confess I did a shameful thing while watching a funeral video that suddenly appeared on my phone. I smiled. There were at least a dozen priests around the departed gentleman, sprinkling holy water and conducting solemn proceedings. Enough clergy, I thought, to make heaven wonder whether an entire parish was arriving.

“There’s nothing you can do!” I wanted to shout. Unfortunately, phones allow people to shout at us, but have yet to develop a facility for shouting back into recorded funerals. Otherwise, several politicians would have received valuable feedback from my drawing room.

Now, before somebody sprinkles holy water on this column, let me explain. Funerals comfort the grieving. Prayers, scripture and a loving presence help families through terrible loss. But surely we cannot treat the ceremony as an emergency repair workshop for the departed soul, with twelve priests accomplishing what one priest might struggle to finish.

In Luke 16:19–31, Jesus tells of a rich man and a poor man named Lazarus. After death, Lazarus is comforted beside Abraham, while the rich man suffers. Abraham speaks of a great chasm that cannot be crossed. No mention of an undertaker offering a premium package with a bridge included.

The rich man had enjoyed splendid clothes and sumptuous meals while Lazarus lay suffering at his gate. He had apparently noticed the poor fellow only after discovering that the seating arrangements in eternity differed considerably from those at his dining table.

Hebrews 9:27 says that people die once and afterwards face judgment. A sobering appointment. No secretary to telephone, no influential friend to recommend us, and certainly no opportunity to explain that our charitable intentions were awaiting clearance from our accountant.

And yet, how carefully we arrange the departure! Polished coffin. Expensive flowers. Impressive attendance. Someone whispers, “Such a grand funeral!” As though the deceased might sit up and say, “Thank you! I always wanted my final achievement to be upholstery.”

Ephesians 2:8–10 reminds us that salvation is God’s gift through faith, and that we are created in Christ for good works. Grace cannot be purchased through funeral expenditure. Nor can the kindness we postponed be supplied afterwards by relatives distributing sandwiches beside our photograph.

Perhaps the question is less, “How many priests will attend my funeral?” and more, “How many people experienced compassion because I was alive?” Did my faith reach my wallet, my temper, my employees, the hungry person outside my gate? Or did it remain safely framed above the sofa?

Let the priests come to comfort those who mourn. But let us stop expecting them to rewrite a life after its author has put down the pen. The time for repentance, faith, forgiveness and love is while we can still get out of bed and practise them.

Give the poor priest some rest at his manse. He can preach the sermon, comfort your family and accompany your coffin.

But he cannot climb inside and live your life again for you…!

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