Today I have a funeral at D+1, a person whose connection to that church is so vague that no one remembers her. Her daughter is convinced that her mother went there as a child, and has asked for three hymns (all long, I've missed out a few verses here and there) to be included in the service which, if the undetaker gets their way (they won't) could only be a maximum of 20 minutes. Fortunately overruns won't be major a problem because this is a burial - in Dibley Municipal Cemetery (not that they lived anywhere near ...) and I am relieved that the early morning mist has just about cleared - a foggy burial would have a rather ethereal or even spooky feel to it, which, given the level of superstition around here would probably be judged highly significant.
What has really struck me about this, as many other funerals I've done in this area, is how little biographical information the family actually knew. They did not know how many siblings there had been, any stories of how the parents met, nothing about where she had worked or what her interests had been. This is the more sad, as they anticipate around 40 relatives coming to the funeral - there is a large extended family of cousins etc.
Most of us don't do anything terribly spectacular with our lives, and it is good to celebrate the simple roles of homemakers and child nurturers. I just find it rather sad that the dreams and aspirations, the perosnal triumphs and joys are lost forever. Further, it puzzles me - my own, quite large, family is not very close, yet we do know a lot about each other's lives, interests and aspirations. Deciding what to exclude would be difficult for our family, unlike my common experience of trying to think of creative ways of saying someone spent their life cooking and cleaning.
There are, I guess, two sources of consolation in all this. Firstly, careful listening to what the family recall and share allows me to reflect the person they choose - and presumably need - to celebrate. Secondly, even though so much is lost from human recollection, it is known unto God.
For all the struggles I have in creating eulogies ex nihilo, I do find funerals to be rewarding experiences, a place in which in some small way the love, grace and mercy of God can be extended as people face the inevitability of mortality.
I pray that today the family will find the release they seek and the assurance that God is with them as they move on into their own future.
Comments
Yep, I come away from some funerals almost elated because between us we seem to have captured something of the essence of the person we are committing to God's love and care, and in doing so have given folk the opportunity to reflect on God's love expressed in "the beauty of a human life". That link with a theology of creation surely gives us a platform for later expressing Christian hope about God's continuing grace in redemption and recreation.
Other times I come away feeling despondent about the lack of any sense that those left behind had any remaining connection with the person. Either that or there are contested versions of the person that you know you're choosing between, consciously or unconsciously. How can you sum up something as rich and complex as a person in a 5 minute sketch?
Maybe the problem with a lack of recollection can just be the result of a less wordy community, who value what is done and familiar rather than what is spoken and exotic. Flora Thompson in 'Lark Rise to Candleford' talks of an earlier rural generation who were even embarrassed and apologetic when their children did well at school or excelled in any way. Being ordinary was a virtue in their community. Are there still traces of that in Dibley?
Nevertheless someone like my mother who left school at 13 before the war in a coal-mining village and spent most of her life 'cooking and cleaning' still has an inner life and beauty that can be found if you're lucky enough to meet someone with the words to give it voice.
"like [your] mother who left school at 13 before the war in a coal-mining village and spent most of her life 'cooking and cleaning' still has an inner life and beauty that can be found if you're lucky enough to meet someone with the words to give it voice."
Absolutely. That's the challenge - and the mystery that I try to express; just not always sure how well I succeed.