Thoughts on Death and Life: Kaiti Lammert

It wasn’t my intention to create a wishlist for my funeral. Making a wishlist for your own funeral is, after all, fairly morbid. But after attending a funeral recently, this list began to flow out. My aim, I think, was a wish for beauty. And radiant life. A death, or funeral at least, that reflected the Beauty I found my life in.

To be frank, I don’t want my funeral to suck.

Because I have been to funerals of beautiful, radiant people where the best offered condolences were so lacking of Truth my heart wept. Where people and pastors talked about those souls gaining wings, how God needed those people there, in heaven, instead of here on earth, and the only mention of heaven was as the “better place” this person surely was. And then, we follow cars slowly to a hollow ground and bury a shiny box covered in flowers but filled with, at best, a corpse covered in makeup and nicely dressed.

It’s no wonder we are afraid of death.

I consider how funerals are not really for the dead, but those they loved and who loved them. Because my vocation is preaching, and because my greatest call is Mothering, I couldn’t help but wonder what proclamation I would leave behind when I die. I hope it is the same declaration I live—an incarnate life of joyfully surrendering to the limits of our humanity and basking in the fullness of our inheritance as heirs of God.

In short, I want to live in such a way that it gives my daughters and friends reasons to celebrate life, and mourn death, but not as those without hope, not as those who have no witness to the impending and all the more real Life of the World to Come.

In short, I want my life to embody a kind of theology that has something to say about death. I want my life to have something to say about heaven—a rich longing for it, a deep trust in the fullness and satisfaction of it—a theology of heaven that truly comforts and confronts the sting of death.

I want my life to embody trust in Words like, “As for man, his days are like grass—he blooms like a flower of the field; when the wind passes over, it vanishes” and, “All flesh is like grass, and all its glory like the flowers of the field.” I want to live and die in a way that trusts our time here is finite and still glorious, momentary in breath, yet immeasurable in width and depth and wonder. I want to live and die like the grass and flowers of the field, rising to face the Sun, unapologetic of my weakness to the elements, and unflinching in my glory that the best is yet to come.

When I began thinking, or putting into words, what I hope my legacy is, I hope it’s one where people, especially my children and husband, were filled with an overwhelming love, the kind of love that casts away fear, even the fear of death. One where people I know were given something wonderful and unimaginable, and even magical, to believe in. One where people were seen in such a worthy way that they were able to live into a potential and beyond they never could have dreamed for themselves. One where people, especially my children, and my husband, and the mentally handicapped man at the park I call friend, knew they were the most important person in the world to me. One where the love of Christ was made alive and tangible in their midst, where redemption was not a fairytale but a near and ever-present choice, and where heaven was a reality that was lived. Where my kids knew that the brightest and most pure yellow we know is but a shadow of the true brightness of yellow in heaven. And where people, especially my children, can join Christ as he sings, “Death is swallowed up in victory. Where, oh death, is your sting?”

Not that I’ll know or care, but I hope my funeral isn’t one where people stand around in nice black suits while my decaying flesh is lowered into the ground. I hope, rather, people come together to worship—and then leave, and go get on their hands and knees and be with God in the dust and dirt, and pull some weeds and plant some flowers, and rest well that evening, having experienced in that earthly veil of seeds and ground and song and tears and laughter and wine and colors and stories and blooming (but finite) flowers, that heaven is here and worth living now.

Plant Me, Don’t Bury Me

Plant me, don’t bury me.

Plant me among wildflowers.

Or roses and lilies. Or sunflowers.

[The big tall ones that turn their face to the sun and only last such a short while before they bow and make room for others. Who know their glory, and their time. Who don’t apologize for shining, and have no time to compare themselves to others.]

Talk about heaven

Tell stories, sure, but oh talk about heaven

Give party favors

Flower seed party favors

Read poetry

Merton, or Oliver, or Angelou

Serve communion

Speak joyfully of the life of the world to come

Don’t pretend we’ll fly

And don’t you dare mention clouds

Mention Christ and him crucified

And risen

Especially that he’s risen with wounds

Mention streets of gold

And no more tears

Mention that most joyous wedding day

And how much I loved being a bride—his bride

Mention yellows

Yellows we couldn’t imagine

And how I’m bursting from the sight

Talk about heaven

Cry and laugh

And wonder

Please wonder

And believe in magic and the Loch Ness monster

[Just for a moment, for me]

Let Ryan preach,

So people will laugh

And know Christ

Sing “There is a Fountain”

And repeat the line about being redeemed

Talk about heaven.

[Don’t let Ryan talk about sex, it’s my dying wish]

Say I was a good preacher,

Even if it’s a lie

Say I preached most with my life

[I pray that’s true]

Tell my babies mothering was my most beautiful

And sacred call

And it was all an honor and joy to mother them

Talk about heaven

And butterflies

And believing in people, even when they are acting like caterpillars

Someone mention Michael

And how I loved staring up at his smile

And how that smile told me all I needed to know about him

And how he satisfied me

And mention the yellows

And that sunless sky

So bright

Imagine

Even though it falls short

The unimaginable life—deathless life. Painless life. Fearless life. Poverty-less life.

Sing “My Redeemer Lives”

And something upbeat

Paint

(Can you paint at a funeral?)

Use only bright colors

Don’t dress in black

Let Michael wear a hat

Pray

Talk about heaven

Give each other hugs

Big ones

And hold each other’s hands

Laugh

Talk about heaven.

Serve food

A lot of it

Good food—not sushi, even though it’s great

But chocolate and fruit

And cake

The stuff people don’t have to be polite about

And will comfort rather than impress

Use paper plates

So no one has to do any dishes

Let people bring their dogs

And don’t worry if babies cry

God I hope there are babies there

Not mine, maybe greats, that would be nice

Let people tell stories

Their own

How their voice and worth and hearts were known

By me—and He.

Don’t put me in a graveyard

Put me in a garden

Burn me up—dust to dust

till me with soil—rich and fertile

Or mix me with some pigments

And paint me on the sidewalks

Among children’s wild laughter and faithful imaginings

And let wildflowers twist their roots within me

Let life burst forth on earth

As it is in heaven

Oh please, Talk about heaven

Kaiti Lammert served as the associate director of the Wesley Foundation for 5 years before moving with her husband and two daughters to the eastern corner of Texas in 2019. Despite being separated by many miles of highway, her joyful, steady spirit remains a source of comfort to those of us here in Ruston.