The best part of my Dad's funeral was that we had 'Walkin' to New Orleans' by Fats Domino played as the coffin was being carried out. Strangely that was one of the couple of Fats Domino tracks I already had clattering around in my collection: now it'll always be associated with my Dad. It was also good that the undertakers took us a long, windy route through Parkstone on the way to the church, past his parents' house, the recreation ground where he and Mum first met, and other places. I thought it was a bit gruelling at the time, but looking back on it is actually rather comforting.
The worst part was the minister. At least he wasn't the 'crem cowboy' who'd taken my uncle's funeral, but he was cracking on a bit then and may well not be around himself now. The chap who performed my Dad's obsequies was a somewhat offhand Ulsterman who preached not on the Bible text that I'd chosen but on The Lord Is My Shepherd which was one of the hymns. The argument was: the Psalm that hymn was based on was written by King David. King David was a great sinner. He found peace and hope in his relationship with the Good Shepherd, and so must we. 'We must do business with the Good Shepherd', he said several times, having come up with a line he liked. This makes it sound all very reasonable, but a) it was a disquisition on substitutionary atonement which is dodgy ground when you're taking a funeral service for somebody who never 'made a commitment to Jesus as their personal Lord and Saviour' in their earthly life, b) it was something he'd clearly learned long ago, c) he hadn't got it written down and so wasn't entirely careful about phraseology ('If you're past your sell-by date you'll know what I mean'; 'David committed adultery. David was a murderer'), d) it was utterly impersonal and e) it was awfully long. The whole demeanour was of someone who didn't want to be there and thought he was basically wasting his breath exhorting his audience to repentance, but thought he had to.
As indeed he was really. In the limousine on the way back Mum asked me what I thought and I said I wouldn't have been so preachy. 'I thought that', said my sister, 'But I have to admit I'd turned off after a couple of minutes'. 'Some of them', put in the undertaker from the front passenger seat, 'do like the sound of their own voices'. We were surprised she could hear us.
I don't know, perhaps I do it all wrong - perhaps I should be completely ignoring the deceased and whatever the bereaved might be feeling, and trying to convert people by making them feel bad rather than loved. You may detect a degree of scepticism in my tone. Thank God for Fats Domino or I would have been left thinking I'd prefer a secular funeral. Perhaps I still would.
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You are right on this one.
ReplyDeleteMopsus, you are doing it right. I'm a secular celebrant, and some of us, too, prefer the sound of our own voices to the real effort of addressing these people's grief in this place on this day, by talking about this person. It's bloody hard work, isn't it, and a huge privilege. Thanks for these insights and truths.
ReplyDelete'Carping'? Hardly, in my opinion! Seems a very legitimate beef - and strikes a particular chord with me, as the unwitting participant in a peremptory disposal service for my own father, 30+ years ago. Not preached at, just ignored, as was he. 12 minutes of flannel, with hardly a nod to the fine man who brought us up and summoned us there, and would have craved a little warmth for us - and for himself - at this time.
ReplyDeleteAs it was for James so was it for me, and like him, I feel "carping" is being hard on yourself. "Numbed, and underneath, increasingly furious" would have covered it for me.
ReplyDeleteI was so sad to read this James as you conducted my mother Queenie's funeral so beautifully, using all the information about her life and times we'd provided you with without any ego, add-ons or preaching... Unlike the man who took Dad's funeral some year's earlier who put himself fully at the centre of things. We should have sent him off before the event - he turned up at Mum's house in his tennis gear and sat crossing and uncrossing his fat little legs and not taking her deafness into account. My father would never in his life have been so disrespectful! It would have upset Mum to rock the boat but we did ask the Undertakers to report him to the Bishop when they said there had been other comments about his behaviour. Mind you they weren't much better, delivered Dad's casket in a carrier bag on the day I travelled to the Isle of Wight to collect them, without waiting for my phone-call...
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