We pray. We bury. We remember.
When an Orthodox Christian dies, the Church surrounds that person and their family with prayer from the first moment until long after the funeral is over. Death isn’t something we handle alone or rush past. It’s something we walk through together as the Body of Christ.
Right After Death
The priest should be called immediately. He’ll come to the home or hospital to serve the Trisagion, a short service of prayers and hymns asking God to give rest to the soul of the one who has died. The name comes from the “Thrice-Holy” hymn we sing: “Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us.”
Family members or church members prepare the body, washing and dressing it in clean clothes. This isn’t morbid. It’s an act of love and honor, recognizing that this body was a temple of the Holy Spirit and will be raised on the last day.
The Funeral
The funeral happens in the church, not a funeral home chapel. The body is present in an open casket. If possible, we celebrate the Divine Liturgy first, then the funeral service itself.
The service is full of Scripture, hymns, and prayers. We’re not just comforting ourselves. We’re praying for the person who died, asking God to forgive their sins and grant them rest “in a place of light, a place of refreshment, a place of repose, where all sickness, sighing, and sorrow have fled away.” We sing the same resurrection hymns we sing at Pascha because Christ has trampled down death by death.
At one point the priest anoints the body with oil in the sign of the cross, or sprinkles it with earth, saying the words from Genesis: “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Then we sing “Memory eternal” over and over. It’s one of the most moving moments you’ll ever experience in church.
Burial, Not Cremation
Orthodox Christians are buried, never cremated. This isn’t just tradition. It’s theology. We believe in the resurrection of the body. Christ was buried, and so are we. Our bodies matter. They’re not disposable shells we’re done with. They’ll be raised and glorified on the last day, and we treat them accordingly even in death.
At the graveside, the priest chants the Trisagion again as the body is lowered into the earth. We’re committing our loved one to the ground to await the Lord’s return.
Memorial Services
Death doesn’t end our prayers. The Church serves memorial services on the Sunday after the funeral, around the fortieth day after death, at six months, at one year, and then annually on the anniversary of the death. These aren’t sad occasions, exactly. We’re still asking God to grant rest to the departed, but we’re also expressing confidence that our prayers matter, that the living and the dead are still connected in Christ.
Some families bring kollyva to these services. It’s boiled wheat mixed with sugar, nuts, and spices. The wheat symbolizes resurrection: “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”
What This Looks Like Here
If you’ve grown up Baptist or non-denominational in Southeast Texas, some of this will feel familiar and some won’t. You’ll recognize the visitation, the funeral, the burial, the meal afterward where everyone brings casseroles. But you might not be used to the idea that we’re praying for the dead person, not just about them. You might not have seen a priest at the graveside or heard “Memory eternal” sung in that haunting, ancient melody.
And the memorials will be new. Most Protestant churches have a funeral and that’s it. We keep praying. We keep remembering. We don’t believe death is the end of our relationship with those we love, and we don’t believe our prayers stop mattering once someone has died.
The Community Carries You
When someone dies, the parish family shows up. People bring food. They attend the funeral and memorials. They pray the departed person’s name in the Divine Liturgy for weeks and months afterward. If you’re used to handling grief privately, this can feel overwhelming at first. But it’s also a gift. You don’t have to be strong or have it together. The Church carries you when you can’t carry yourself.
Death is real and we don’t pretend otherwise. We look at the body. We say the hard words. We weep. But we also sing about resurrection and light and the place where sorrow has fled away. Both things are true. The grief is real and Christ has conquered death. We hold both at once, and the Church’s funeral services let us do exactly that without choosing between honest sorrow and Christian hope.
