How do I write a eulogy?

In Sikhism, the death of someone we love is understood not as a moment of tragedy to be resisted, but as a return. The soul, which has journeyed through many forms of existence, is finally moving back toward Waheguru, the Wondrous Creator. This shapes everything about how Sikhs approach grief and remembrance. When you sit down to write a eulogy, the Sikh tradition gently invites you to hold two things at once: honest human sorrow, and a quiet trust that this person has not been lost but has moved on. A eulogy written from within this understanding is not about performing comfort for the room. It is about bearing truthful witness to a life, while rooting that witness in something larger than loss.

The Guru Granth Sahib, the living scripture of Sikhism, speaks at length about the nature of the soul and its relationship with the divine. One of the central ideas is that every human life is an opportunity, a rare and precious chance to practise devotion, service, and remembrance of Waheguru. When you write about the person who has died, you are in a sense tracing how they used that opportunity. What did they love? How did they serve others? What quality of character did they bring into the world? These are not sentimental questions. In Sikh terms, they are spiritual ones. The way someone lived, the warmth they showed, the work they did with integrity, the kindness they extended without calculation, all of this reflects the divine light, or jot, that Sikhs believe resides in every person. Your eulogy can honour that light as it shone through this particular, irreplaceable individual.

The tradition of Kirtan Sohila, the evening prayer recited at the time of death, and the Antam Sanskar, the Sikh funeral rites, are deliberately oriented toward gratitude and peace rather than lamentation. This does not mean your eulogy must be cheerful or that grief should be suppressed. Sikh scripture is honest about the pain of separation. But the overall movement of the ceremony, and of the tradition, is toward acceptance and even celebration. So when you write, try not to reach for words that fight against what has happened. Instead, find the details that feel true and alive. A specific memory, a habit the person had, a phrase they used, the way they made people feel welcome. These particulars matter enormously. They are how we honour the uniqueness of a soul, rather than offering only general sentiments that could apply to anyone.

The concept of Seva, selfless service, is central to Sikh life. Many people live it quietly, without fanfare, in the way they look after family, contribute to their community, or simply show up consistently for others. As you think about what to include in your eulogy, it is worth asking: where did this person give of themselves? It does not have to be grand or public. A parent who cooked endlessly, a friend who listened without judgment, a colleague who shared their knowledge freely. In Sikh thought, these acts of service are not separate from spiritual life. They are spiritual life. Naming them in a eulogy gives them the dignity they deserve, and it reminds those listening of something important: that ordinary love, practised faithfully, is sacred.

Writing a eulogy is difficult not only because grief makes thinking hard, but because you are trying to put language around something that resists it. The Sikh tradition would perhaps remind you that you do not have to be perfect in this task. You are not writing a definitive account of a life. You are offering a perspective, your perspective, shaped by what this person meant to you. Speak from that place. If your voice breaks, that is not a failure. It is the sound of attachment, and Sikh theology understands attachment deeply, even as it also gently points beyond it. You are allowed to grieve. You are also allowed to find, somewhere in the writing, a note of gratitude that this person existed at all, that their light passed through your life and left it changed.