Reflections on Playing Music at Funerals

Recently, a family asked me to perform “It Is Well with My Soul” at their loved one’s funeral. After nearly 50 years of playing the piano at such services, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve played this hymn.

It’s completely normal to feel a wave of sadness during these moments. Eventually, that feeling touches us all. It’s not a question of if suffering will come, but rather how we’ve been taught to handle it when it does.

My time with the piano offers me a unique viewpoint. Most attendees at funerals look toward the front, focusing on the pastor, flowers, family members, and the casket. But my perspective is different; I spend most of my time at the piano, facing the crowd.

I have witnessed a variety of faces—businessmen, ranchers, doctors, and even grieving children. I’ve seen estranged family members share a meal and acknowledge past wounds, if just for a short time. It’s poignant to see people cry who usually pride themselves on not showing emotion.

At a funeral, it’s hard to maintain a facade. Emotions flow through the face and eyes.

When confronted with death, life’s usual distractions take a backseat, at least momentarily. Everyone experiences a shared reality: life is fragile, time is fleeting, and decisions beyond our control determine someone’s fate.

When I offer to assist with music selection, I often ask families for their favorite hymn, and “It Is Well with My Soul” consistently emerges as a top choice.

This year celebrates 150 years since Philip Bliss set Horatio Spafford’s words to music. Grieving families have been choosing this hymn ever since.

After so many years of playing this song, I’ve become convinced that something profound strikes in the fifth measure of the first minor key where “sorrow” is mentioned.

Allow space for that moment.

When playing a hymn, I encourage taking your time. There have been times when I’ve asked music ministers for a slower pace, as rushing through doesn’t erase sadness.

It’s not just about the notes; it’s about observing reactions. I find my own head lowering, shoulders sagging, and tears forming. In such moments, the hymn conveys a truth to those who are mourning.

Emotions wash over the room.

Sometimes, when I invite the congregation to join in singing, I notice people taking deep breaths. Some sing softly, others with tears glistening in their eyes, while a few stand still, staring ahead. I have watched grieving parents and spouses raise their hands skyward in heartfelt sorrow.

Occasionally, I stop playing entirely during the final chorus and let the congregation sing alone. There’s something incredibly powerful in hearing a room of mourners lend their voices to their shared sadness.

This hymn originates from a place of deep sorrow. It allows for grief without rushing through it. There are no clichés here; we’re honest about pain.

It acknowledges grief yet chooses not to let it define the moment.

One line remains at the forefront of my mind: “Whatever my destiny is, you taught me to say…”

He taught me.

Feeling that ripple of sadness is universal. It will inevitably find each of us. We can’t avoid suffering; the challenge is knowing how to respond when it arrives.

In these unstable times, what do we reach for?

I have performed this hymn for those who sing with assurance and for others who struggle to find their voice. Some recite it as a declaration, while others treat it like a quiet prayer. It’s interesting how some fully embody its meaning, while others seek that connection.

Requests for this hymn continue to come in.

Even after five decades at the piano, I still find amazement in what happens when a group of grieving individuals stands united and sings together. It’s good for my soul.