For Wilshire Baptist Church
I’d never experienced it before and nobody else I talked to who was there had either: a fire alarm at a memorial service.
We’d sung hymns, heard the eulogy and family memories, and the minister was halfway through his message when a bright white emergency light began blinking on the wall near the door. After a half-dozen blinks there was the familiar sound of a fire alarm, and then a recorded message instructing us to exit the building immediately. Knowing that it might be a false alarm, the minister kept speaking over the alarm while the senior pastor went to check the situation. A short while later he came back and said, “I apologize but this is a real alarm and we do need to leave.”
And so we did. There was no panicked racing for the exits; everyone left the room as calmly and reverently as they had entered. Outside, it was partly cloudy and breezy, and people just stood on the sidewalk and chatted comfortably with each other and with members of the family. It was a time of unexpected fellowship and everyone made the most of it until we were told all was safe and secure and we returned to our seats. At the reception after the service, I didn’t hear anyone talking about what had happened.
I credit the good nature of the family for the fact that what might have been a source of major drama was instead treated as “just one of those things” that can happen in life. And I credit the ministers and church staff for handling it calmly and efficiently.
Most of all, I appreciate that while there was an actual fire alarm, there wasn’t a hell-fire message during the service. We’ve all heard them: the minister uses the occasion of a funeral or memorial service to pose the question: “What would happen if you died today? Would your soul ascend to heaven, or would it descend to the fires of hell.” Or words to that effect.
I understand why some ministers do that. They believe every time they preach is an opportunity to save a soul, and in theory it truly is. I get it, but I don’t like it. I don’t think the “scared straight” technique is really effective at a funeral. In fact, I think it puts an unnecessary scar on the memory of the day for the family that’s grieving, especially when the service is a celebration of a good life well lived, and this service was certainly that.
I’ve never been to a funeral as an “unsaved” person, but I have to believe that hearing stories about a person who loved life, loved family and loved the Lord provides a clearer view of the kingdom than a sermon about the fires of hell.
We have a saying at our house on those rare nights when we don’t need to set an alarm clock to get up in the morning: “Safe and secure from all alarms.” It’s lifted from the chorus of the hymn, “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms,” which starts out, “What a fellowship, what a joy divine, leaning on the everlasting arms; What a blessedness, what a peace is mine, leaning on the everlasting arms.”
We didn’t sing that hymn at this memorial service, but that was the spirit in the room and out on the sidewalk. We knew we were safe and secure from all alarms.