The Funeral

Jennifer has always loved animals. It began with gerbils. I don’t know if a fellow kindergartner sparked her interest or seeing gerbils in a pet store. But her interest took hold. One day in the pet shop, she convinced us to buy a couple of gerbils. And Gerbil bedding. And gerbil food. And water dispensers. And gerbil toys. And a habitat. All of which required a “How To” book on gerbils. (Seems that we should have gotten the book first.) Armed with ample accoutrements, we headed home—a newly minted gerbil household.

A gerbil is a rodent. Normal people work hard to keep rodents out of their homes. Not only did we not rodent-proof our house, we also paid for and brought one (actually, two) to live in ours. A gerbil is not a hamster. They do have some similarities. A hamster is nocturnal, and has a stubby tail; compared to the gerbil’s long tail; hamsters can store a lot in their cheeks, gerbils cannot. Both are very active, but in different ways; fortunately for our family, gerbils are diurnal, so they are awake and quite active throughout daytime.

Jennifer’s great joy with the gerbils was taking them out of their habitat to play with them; not only lettng them play in her room, but also on her. She loved poking one up her sleeve and letting it run all around under her shirt, making a “habitrail” out of her clothes. We held our breath seeing that little animal run all over her, around her neck, and through her hair. She loved it. I could never tell the difference between the two little creatures, but Jennifer could spot the difference from across the room. A strong bond grew. As happens to all living creatures, the first gerbil eventually died. It was a sad day for us—especially for Jennifer; it became something of a family crisis.

I was pastor of the church across the street, so Jennifer was familiar with rituals of the church—-weddings, receptions, baptisms and—funerals. Therefore, nothing would do but for the Moore family to plan a funeral. We chose a burial spot near the back fence, close enough to be seen from the house. We prepared the grave—and planned the funeral . Our somber family gathered with the little gerbil, having lovingly placed it in a sarcophagus. We had carefully prepared it for for the little gerbil’s final resting place. It was time for the service to begin, I greeted the congregation (all 4 of us), said a few comforting words, prayed (yes, prayed over the gerbil), and had the benediction. After the interment we went back into our house. It was a fitting finish for our furry friend. A couple of cats, and numbers of Pembroke Welsh Corgis later, the memory of the little gerbil pretty much faded.

There are those who would deride a funeral for a pet. But after all, pets do become vital part of the family. I contend that the funeral served several basic human needs; turning aside for a formal ritual acknowledged both the feelings of a little girl, and the absence of a beloved pet—it affirmed the reality of emotions that we humans experience— even for a pet. On yet another level, acknowledging death is a basic human reality that needs expressing. I think of that little family back in Bethany; Jesus had much greater understanding and depth of humanity than did his family; however, as he stood at the grave of his dear friend Lazarus, this grown man, Jesus cried, expressing his grief and his humanity.

As my theology professor at Emory reminded us, “The death rate is 100%.” Many will make accomplishments, have healing, and become notable. But that 100% fact does not change. What we do know is, this moment is our certain moment; live it to the fullest; live, laugh, love—even love little gerbils. And little girls who cherish and play with them.

©Copyright Willis H. Moore 2024