FUNERALS

      Recently my wife and I attended two funerals. One was for the husband of one of her former colleagues; the other, a friend from a church where I had been minister for nine years and whom my wife had known all her life. Their services reflected that each of the deceased was a "good man", a kind person, a person of strong religious faith and practice. Other similarities -- both were older men with strong family ties, both had a love of Bluegrass music that  was  expressed in their respective funerals.  The ministers conveyed both the dignity and the humanity of the departed.

     In the years that I was a parish minister, I conducted many funerals.  Occasionally I was asked  whether it were more difficult doing that for someone with whom I felt close or for someone whom I knew only marginally, if at all.  Having done all of those, I replied that there is no 'easy answer' . . . each presenting its own challenges and opportunities.

     In 1963, Jessica Mitford wrote The American Way of Death, a critique of many of the practices of the 'funeral industry', as well as   some of the customs surrounding death and funerals.  Over the course of my life, I have noticed several changes in customs, as well as several constants. . . at least among my own cultural cohort. Among the 'constants' has been the custom of friends and neighbors bringing in lots of food for the family and their guests.  Floral tributes have likewise continued as a mainstay though now many families request that instead of flowers,  memorials be directed to specified charities or causes.  Cremation followed by a Memorial Service also seems to be becoming a more common practice.

   Gratefully, the custom of bringing the body back to the residence and there being persons to 'sit up with the dead' through the night has being largely replaced by the 'Wake' or 'Visitation', usually at the Funeral Home on the evening prior to the service.  Even that can sometimes feel oppressive.  Sometimes a family will 'receive friends' for a specified time just before the actual funeral. At the wake we attended, a full fifty minutes passed between our arrival in line and actually reaching the family, such was the outpouring. 

     Also, largely gone is the practice of having an open casket during the service, frequently accompanied by loud wailings.  A friend told me of his uncle's funeral in another state :  the first of three ministers recognized that he had a captive audience and launched into a 'come to Jesus tirade' that lasted 20-30 minutes.  The second speaker, not to be outdone, duplicated that performance.  When the third man began his comments, the daughter of the deceased stood and directed him to 'shut up and sit down', whereupon, my friend related, the funeral "came to a screeching halt".

   It is difficult, of course, to speak of 'funerals' without also speaking of 'death', few persons' favorite conversation topic.
The French writer, La Bruyere, wrote that "we hope to grow old, yet we fear old age.  We are willing to live and afraid to die."  Somewhere on my office shelf is the book, The Denial of Death.
I haven't yet read it.  Woody Allen perhaps caught the sentiment of many when he quipped something to the effect, 'I don't fear death; I just don't want to be there when it happens.'

    Joan Chittister whose writings on aging I have found helpful, sagely observed that "I have no idea what the moment will be like. I only know that I will be alone. . . . It is the moment of absolute surrender. . . . But not until I have sucked every minute out of life I can."  For persons of religious faith, she further noted, "whatever our questions about God, about Life, about the End, we have a certain confidence in our lack of confidence in the unknown.  We are not sure who God is, of course, but we are confidently sure of who or what God is not." ("Faith", in The Gift of Years, p. 212)
I just realized that I am writing this on the 22nd Anniversary of my dad's death.  Beginning in his mid-40's, Dad had been a representative of Metropolitan Life Insurance Company.  A man of quiet faith, he told me in his later years, "I have delivered too many death benefit checks to families to deny the certainty of death.  I do not fear it but I am not walking out to greet it."

     These reflections then have arisen primarily from having attended Lynn and Odell's funerals.  The music gave strong affirmation of their faith.  In Lynn's service,  Come, Angel Band, sung by the minister and two other men bespoke his bedrock belief.

    As a musician, Odell  had for many years  "made music" with several groups and individuals.  I had primarily known him as the Bassist in the Maple Springs Strings, our church's home-grown talented musicians.  His son, Stan, is a world-class banjoist, having once played with Bluegrass legend, Bill Monroe.  Stan's wife, Julie, is a classically trained artist as well. (Appropriately, it was Odell who had first introduced them several years ago.) They and their friends sang what I had known as Odell's 'signature song',  Not Afraid to Close My Eyes and Die.  At the conclusion of the service, the minister invited any musician in the congregation who had ever played or sung with Odell to come to the podium, whereupon they offered the classic, Will the Circle Be Unbroken.  Never have I heard Stan play with such energy, force, conviction.  While at no point was the grief of loss denied,  my dear friend, Billy, summarized the proceedings as we were exiting the church: "That's the way it should be . . . a celebration."

   RIP,  Lynn and Odell.

       Satchel