Funerals

[poliphilo]

The humanist guy who'll be taking Bran's funeral took the funeral of my sister-in-law's neighbour last week. My bro-in-law didn't think he was solemn enough, but the widow thought he got it right.

What does one want from a funeral?

A reminder that we've all got it coming to us?

A dose of religious uplift?

A celebration of the life of the deceased?

Some combination of the above?

No, this isn't a quiz, but I'd be glad of your thoughts.

When I was a clergyman I prided myself on doing a good funeral. People usually congratulated me afterwards (but they would, wouldn't they?) Here's a (15 year old) poem I wrote looking back on those times..

TWO SERMONS

With time on my hands between two funerals,
Leaving the crematorium chapel,
I made a tour of the old graves.
Their ragged turf was covered with snow.

Blackened stones, the height of a woman,
They had the appearance of cowled figures.
It was a meeting of black robes
As I in my cassock moved down the rows,

Reading the names, the dates, the praise
That could have been uttered of anyone.
These made money in cotton, I thought,
And these kept shop. But try as I might

I couldn't conjure their living presence
For all my thoughts had a coal-face glitter.
I saw them stiff in their gothic houses
With puppet faces and black clothes

And the voices I gave them in my mind
Protested, "You will learn nothing here,
Patronising this underclass.
You deaden us with received ideas.

We were fickle in love, like you,
And insecure in our certainties;
How can you hope to account for us
Until you have thoroughly understood

How you are nothing? Don't bother to ask
The dead for truth. We are even less
Than any makeshift living thing.
As well interrogate drifting smoke

Or melting snow. And as for God..."
Their voices now were the rasp of the wind
On frozen snow; then they were cowls
Lined up as on a river bank

And lastly blackened stone. I turned.
This was before I ditched my love
In love's name, as Augustine did,
Saving myself; I wasn't ready

To hear their sermon. The hearse was coming.
Black tinder fell from the sky.
I wouldn't have noticed it but for the snow.
I had my own brief sermon to say.

Comments

[jackiejj.livejournal.com]

One more thing: My father's funeral began with the burial at the cemetery. The entire burial party was already in place and seated when our family arrived. There was a pall on the coffin. Our priest read the burial service, and then the family silently left the gravesite and were driven directly to the church, where there was a Eucharist for everyone.

Only at the end of the service, after everyone had had communion, did we finally speak with our friends. It was very moving, done backwards like that.

And very Episcopalian, I think: my mother can't stand great washes of emotion, and the church's beautiful and simple services helped support her need for privacy in her grieving, yet allowed her a quiet moment with her friends, too.

[poliphilo.livejournal.com]

I like that idea. The backwards funeral service.

The committal is always the most painful part. It makes a whole lot of emotional sense to have it at the beginning and then return to the church for communion.

[lblanchard.livejournal.com]

I found it comforting to have the communion in the presence of my brother's ashes.