The Cost Of Dying While Black: Inside A Southern Funeral Home Where Tradition, Poverty, And Profit Collide

At just 18 years old, James Ray Lewis walked into a profession most people spend their lives avoiding. Now, decades later, the veteran funeral director in Goldsboro, North Carolina, has buried generations of Black families, watching not only their grief, but the business of death itself, change in ways that trouble him.

“It used to be about helping people,” Lewis says in a quiet, steady voice. “Now, it’s collecting the money.”

His words land heavy because they are not just about his funeral home. They reflect a broader shift unfolding across Black communities in the South, where tradition, rising costs, and economic inequality are colliding in one of the most unavoidable industries there is: death.

For much of American history, Black funeral homes have been more than businesses. They were among the first stable institutions Black families could build after slavery, offering not only burial services but dignity in a society that denied it in life. These spaces became cultural anchors preserving rituals of care, community, and what many call a proper “homegoing.” 

But today, that legacy is under strain.

The price of dying in America has surged. A traditional funeral with burial now costs an average of $8,300, and nearly $10,000 when additional services like vaults are included. At the same time, nearly 60 percent of Americans say they would have to go into debt just to afford a funeral. 

In Black communities, those numbers hit differently.

Funerals are not just logistical events. They are cultural obligations. They are communal gatherings, spiritual transitions, and public affirmations of a life lived. They often include viewings, elaborate services, and repasts, traditions rooted in both African and Christian practices that emphasize honoring the body and the journey beyond. That matters when you look at how people choose to be laid to rest.

While cremation has become the dominant choice across the United States, now accounting for more than 60% of deaths, Black Americans are significantly more likely to prefer traditional burial. Cultural values, religious beliefs, and historical traditions all play a role in that preference, reinforcing the importance of caring for the body physically. But burial is expensive, and when families cannot afford it, the consequences ripple, and in recent years, more Black families are choosing cremation.

Unlike cremation, which can cost a few thousand dollars, burial requires land, caskets, embalming, and multiple service fees, often pushing families into financial strain or forcing them to rely on donations, loans, or crowdfunding. In some cases, Black families are even less likely to receive state assistance for funeral costs, facing systemic disparities in access to support. 

For funeral directors like Lewis, the tension is constant. On one hand, he is part of a business that must survive. On the other hand, he is serving a community where many families are already struggling, and finding help to run the business is hard.

“You can’t find nobody to work. Prices are high,” he says. “It’s really something.”

Labor shortages are now a growing issue across the funeral industry, with workforce gaps and rising operational costs reshaping how services are delivered. At the same time, large corporate funeral chains have expanded their reach and introduced more standardized pricing structures that often clash with the community-centered model of Black-owned funeral homes.

Lewis describes a generation gap in which younger funeral professionals, in his view, are less connected to the relational aspects of the work. Where older directors sat with families, prayed with them, and treated each service as sacred, he now sees a system increasingly driven by transactions.

“The only thing they know now is collecting the money,” he says.

His critique echoes a larger concern about what happens when care becomes commodified, especially in communities where death has always been deeply tied to identity, memory, and survival. Beneath all of this is a quieter, more unsettling question. If burial remains the cultural preference, and costs continue to rise, what happens to the bodies of those who cannot afford it?

The answer is often invisible. Funerals are delayed, and families face financial strain that lingers for years. Black families are being forced to make decisions that conflict with their beliefs. At the end of the day, grief becomes a long-term economic hardship.

Lewis’ story is more than just a personal reflection on his own career. It is a window into an industry where economics, culture, and race intersect in ways rarely discussed yet deeply felt. After decades in the business, Lewis does not measure his work in profit margins or expansion. He measures it in the families he has served, the bodies he has prepared, and the dignity he has tried to preserve.

For him, the work has always been about more than death. But as the cost of dying continues to rise, and the structure of the funeral industry shifts, the question is no longer just how we honor the dead. It is whether Black people can still afford to do it the way we always have, without cutting corners.

Jody Ham is a junior journalism major at Howard University.  She is interested in sports reporting. You can follow her on LinkedIn.

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