How sweet the sound.

"Even though you die, you shall live forever." Those old familiar funeral hymns always arouse in me renewed hope in God's promise. At our parish, Holy Spirit in Columbus, Ohio the hymns were becoming fainter and fainter as the number of singers became fewer and fewer.

Then, one day, it happened. Only one person showed up to sing at a funeral. When I heard that, I was alarmed. Imagine how she felt!

At the time, I was not a member of the funeral choir even though one of the members had asked me on several occasions to join. She always stressed the need for voices, any voices.

"What if I'm busy the day a funeral comes up?" I offered as my "what if" excuse. My excuse missed the point. I was already missing every funeral by not making the commitment to make at least some of them.

Then there was that dreadful remembrance of me, a fourth-or fifth-grade student, trying to make the doily move on top of Sister Corinne's piano in the music room. Even a half-decent singer knows that proper breathing would have set that doily fluttering. My breathing, as I stood there next to Sister seated at the piano as my accompanist, produced only slight movement, if any. These futile attempts and many other honest acknowledgments eventually put an end to my voice lessons.

Was it fair, even to the dead, to offer this as a gift in ministry?

Other voices, those deep inside of me began to answer. They began their own dirge as they very peacefully put my excuses to rest, one by one. Most forceful of their strains were the ones reminding me of the beauty that the new funeral liturgy offers to the bereaved since the directives of Vatican II. The renewed liturgy--so alive, vibrant, and comforting--needs song to lift its message and enhance the words of scripture and prayer. I knew this to be true. Still, I resisted.

Other voices droned on about the reality of my circumstance. Being a burned-out parishioner, with over 30 years seniority in the parish and an acquired aversion to meetings, this was a flesh opportunity. The popular saying "Been there, done that" had infiltrated every aspect of my life. Besides, what better way to honor those who had contributed to my own faith life by their years of serving the church? What better way to comfort those who survived them and came to say their own farewells together with us?

About then, my own voices inside, and those few still showing up for funerals, burst into a mixed chorus. As I began to listen, really listen, they laid out a plan. "Why not call on other parishioners, like me, who might want to sing at funerals but were afraid?" With very little effort, I compiled a list. I jotted down those parishioners whom I have found to be faithful, reliable, and fun to be with over the years. Not necessarily superb singers, mind you, although some of them turned out to be that also.

Their response was gratifying. Oh no, it was much more than that, it was overwhelming. Unlike me, each of those I called from my list responded immediately. They said, "Yes."

Ten singers came together to lead the singing as a choir at the next funeral. As fate would have it, we were called for funerals on each of the following eight Mondays. One man in the parish who helps set up for funerals, and our self-appointed critic, was heard to exclaim, "My God, you're not that good." Anywhere from 10 to 20 singers now comprise the funeral choir, sometimes more, according to availability. We have been in existence close to a year.

Our loyal and competent organist, Lib, has been playing the organ for funerals for many years. She holds the group together, does the preliminary work with our pastor after he has met with the family, prepares the songs and responses, and makes that information available to us. We show up. We try to keep preparation and procedure as simple as possible. With 99 percent of us over 60 years old, we have learned the value of simplicity. As one of our members, Duane, reminded us one day when the question of practices came up, "If we don't know these hymns now, we never will."

Soon after we began this ministry, the mother of a faithful parishioner died and the funeral was held at our church. After the funeral, a son of the woman whose life we had celebrated came back into the church. He walked up to the front where we were folding and putting away our books and papers. In a few simple but gracious words he thanked us for being there. Then he underlined his gratitude with these words, "I know that you gain as much as you give."

He was referring to the satisfaction he has received singing for funerals in his own parish. He lived out of the city, we had never met. But we felt an immediate connection with him. He understood.

Each funeral is different, just as each person is different. But one thing remains constant. As the celebrant meets the family at the entry to the church and repeats the promises of Baptism, we know that if the deceased has remained faithful to these promises, the biggest celebration of life is about to begin.

"Even though you die, you shall live forever." The song goes on, loud and clear. We are just thrilled to be a part of it.

By Nancy Kelly, a freelance writer who resides in Columbus, Ohio and has been a member of Holy Spirit Church for 34 years.