The Funeral Singer

Once upon a time, I was the girl behind the piano at funerals—even for strangers. Now that I’m in the pews more often, I realize those years taught me how music holds what words can’t.

I used to be the one behind the piano, smoothing my black skirt and flipping through the binder of glossy page protectors filled with a collection of songs and hymns I kept ready. I was the funeral singer for more services than I can count before midlife even hit me. Many times, I knew the family but not the dearly departed one. Other times, I didn’t know a soul there.

Photo by David Holifield on Unsplash

The Funeral Singer

My role was to show up early and play quietly on the piano until I got the signal from the pastor that the family was about to come in. Then at the appropriate time I would either lead the congregation or sing a solo of a song selected by the family—or sometimes ones planned out in advance by someone before they passed away. (Some people tuck notes in their Bibles with instructions.)

I still know most of the words by heart. Lyrics to “In the Garden,” “Amazing Grace,” “How Great Thou Art,” and “On Eagle’s Wings.” I’ve transposed the key on songs like “His Eye Is on the Sparrow” to ensure I wasn’t squawking like a chicken at the end. Some of those old hymns take the notes right up to heaven on multiple octaves.

There were times I held back a sneeze induced by the brimming baskets of flowers surrounding the piano. Those lilies and the lilacs get me every time.

Somewhere along the way, I started keeping a private list of songs you don’t sing at funerals—ones I jotted down when dark humor got the best of me. I didn’t keep those in the binder or share them with anyone. But yes, I’m going to share what I have collected, as long as you promise not to judge me. It was my way of coping with emotions I didn’t want to feel. And sometimes laughter is our survival.

Songs You Don’t Sing at a Funeral

Another One Bites the Dust
Highway to Hell
Ding Dong the Witch Is Dead
Ring of Fire – Johnny Cash
Friends in Low Places – Garth Brooks
The Hokey Pokey
Wake Me Up Before You Go Go
Pop Goes the Weasel
If You’re Happy and You Know it
You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me Lucille
Hit the Road, Jack
Great Balls of Fire
The Song that Doesn’t End
Dry Bones
Bye Bye Miss American Pie
Movin’ On Up
“Hello Dolly, yes Hello Dolly! So nice to see you back where you belong!”
Happy – Pharrell Williams
Happy Days Are Here Again
Dancing with the Devil
I Fought the Law (and the Law Won)
Prop Me Up Beside the Juke Box When I’m Gone
I Just Died in Your Arms Tonight
Hello – Adele
Tonight’s Gonna Be a Good Night – Black Eyed Peas
Light My Fire – The Doors
The Devil Went Down to Georgia
Keep on the Sunny Side
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
Wipeout
Celebrate Good Times
This Girl Is on Fire
Smoke Gets in Your Eyes
Roll Out the Barrel
Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer
Shake, Rattle and Roll
She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain
Let it Go
Hallelujah Chorus
Staying Alive
Here’s a Quarter, Call Someone Who Cares
Let’s Get This Party Started
Everybody Wang Chung Tonight
A Whiter Shade of Pale
Who’s Crying Now
People in a Box
I’m So Excited
Send in the Clowns
She’s as Cold as Ice
Seventy-Six Trombones
Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door
I Will Survive
Don’t Fear the Reaper (please, no cowbell)

Giving My Voice a Rest

I haven’t had that binder out in years. Eventually, we moved, and then we ended up in a new church, where no one knew me as the funeral singer. And I decided to keep it that way.

Saying yes to a request always came on short notice with only a day or two to practice. It meant using whatever equipment they provided, and I can certify that the portable keyboard at one funeral home surely was meant to be a child’s toy. I’ve sung from the front, from the choir loft, from the back—from wherever the piano was at a given location.

I haven’t always said yes to the requests either. My own grandmother had something in her funeral planning notes about having me sing her favorite hymn. I couldn’t do it. First, I wanted to sit with my family, not be sequestered up in the balcony with the organist next to the pipe organ (NO ONE used a piano for a funeral in that church). And second, I knew there was no way I could get through it without falling to pieces. A soloist from her church did it beautifully.

This is why funeral singers are so important. They can detach in ways the grieving ones cannot and force notes through their vocal cords where others would choke up.

These days, I find myself at more funerals again, but I’m not behind the piano anymore. I’m in the pew, singing along quietly, grieving over the growing number of loved ones we’ve lost. And grateful for the people I once sang for and now for those I sing with.

Music, it turns out, doesn’t just fill silence. It carries us through it.