I officiated at two funerals this week. The first went well, except for when I mispronounced the person’s name right at the start. Two family members sitting in the front row corrected me. I felt like an idiot. I knew the name — it simply came out of my mouth wrong. The family was kind about it afterward.

The second funeral preceded a meal at church. The family at first asked us to plan for 200 at the meal; we suggested 75 and then settled on 100.  When the time came 65 people ate, counting our own servers, which meant empty tables and lots of leftover food (though less than I’d feared). The number at a funeral meal is always hard to judge. Families base their expectation on love, and we base ours on experience. But it’s better to have too much food than too little. Our volunteers were cheerful and industrious. The funeral itself was a lovely thing, with three adult children offering tributes to their father.

It’s getting harder for churches to provide funeral meals. This practice holds over from an earlier era when life habits and demographics were much different. I no longer suggest such meals, but if the family requests one we comply.