I cannot imagine beginning a funeral service thus:

"Good day, my name is Catriona, I am am ordained Baptist minister accredited by the BUS and BUGB.  This service will include religion and is explicitly Christian so there will be hymns, prayers... Christians believe that..."

I can't imagine it, but it is exactly the way the two Humanist funerals I've attended began.  Don't get me wrong, I have no opposition to such 'ceremonies', indeed I think it it vital that 'non-religious' (which is actually not the same as Humanist) options are available to those who desire them.  And I am not criticising the way the services were conducted, each was carefully and sensitively delivered, included space for private reflection, a eulogy, some readings and some music.  Both of them were meaningful and positive experiences.

So, no religion - hmm.  In each funeral the celebrant used these words:

To everything there is a season...

A time to be born and a time to die.

Hmm, so not Ecclesiates 3:1 - 2 then.  No, not much.

No scared words - well no, except in poems that spoke of a Master and songs about the Arms of an Angel.

But beyond all of this what, for me, is lacking, is the assurance of hope that faith offers.  The promise that whilst death is a mystery and we cannot prove there is life beyond it, yet we trust that it might be so... not might as 'just about maybe' but might as in 'will'.  What is missing is the reassurance that we do not return to the world and live out our days - as best we can - ultimately with no eternal meaning or purpose.  What is missing is the promise that in the end it'll be alright.

I would not wish to inflict my faith-position on any grieving family, would not want to deny anyone the right to the kind of funeral that for them holds meaning.  For me though, however wonderful the eulogy, however beautiful the floral tributes, however moving the music, unless I am given both "strength for today and birhgt hope for tomorrow" I feel short -changed.

I was glad to be at my friends' funerals, glad to learn more about their lives BC, privileged to meet their families and life-long friends.  I was pleased to add my 'farewell' to those of others.  And I guess, if I am honest, that it has been good to reflect again on what a funeral is trying to achieve.

Today I was at the funeral of another of my younger bc friends - another young woman unfortunate enough to have aggressive triple negative breast cancer, which ran its course in less than two years.  It was the second humanist 'ceremony' I've attended in recent weeks, and I am not a fan, for reasons I will post in a separate reflection, but I did appreciate this poem, new to me, which was read out, called The Dash:

The Dash

by Linda Ellis copyright 1996

I read of a man who stood to speak
at the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on her tombstone,
from the beginning…to the end.

He noted that first came the date of her birth
and spoke of the following date with tears,
but he said what mattered most of all
was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time
that she spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved her
know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own,
the cars…the house…the cash.
What matters is how we live and love
and how we spend our dash.

So, think about this long and hard.
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left
that can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough
to consider what’s true and real
and always try to understand
the way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger
and show appreciation more
and love the people in our lives
like we’ve never loved before. 

If we treat each other with respect
and more often wear a smile,
remembering that this special dash
might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy is being read,
with your life’s actions to rehash…
would you be proud of the things they say
about how you spent YOUR dash?

Copyright Linda Ellis
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

From http://lindaellis.net/the-dash/the-dash-poem-by-linda-ellis/

I do not believe the 'dash' is all we have, but nonetheless, I like the sentiment that we maximise its worth.

RIP Caroline, free from pain, held safe in everlasting love.

... and sometimes I let him/her carry on sleeping.  Boom, boom, tish! 

As I look back over this week, I know I have been somewhat grumpy in what I've said or how I've said it.  I could make excuses, or even identify reasons, but that's not the point, I have been grumpy and some people will have felt the impact of that.

So, to any readers who feel they have been grumped at, I am sorry.  I will try harder not to let my grumpiness flow out into public prose or private conversations.  And I will also seek to address the sources of grumpiness so that I don't get so grumpy!

My sabbatical research into 'public faith and private pain' has now gone 'live' and responses are coming in, for which I am very grateful.  Already two separate people have alerted me to a newly published book called Soul Pain: Priests Reflect on Personal Experience of Serious and Terminal Illness, Edited by Jennifer Tann pub. Canterbury Press 2013.  As the title suggests, it relates to pretty much the same the same interface/question but is approached via a collection of essays in which Anglican priests reflect on their experiences.

A decade ago when I did my undergrad research on single people's experiences of church, a book was published about two weeks before my submission date that covered almost identical ground, and I had frantically to amend my work to note its existence and to explain why I had not included it in my reflections.

Sometimes I wonder if I am always one step behind God's Spirit (as distinct from keeping in step with God's Spirit) or is it maybe that the ripples need time to spread and I am always a little way from the epicentre?  Either way, the book will be a valuable input to my thinking and serves as confirmation that the time is ripe for these questions to be explored.

This morning's PAYG centred on the healing of Bartimaeus, a blind man who asked Jesus to restore his sight.  So he was man whose sight had failed, not a man born blind; he knew what he had lost and he wanted it back.  One of the things the listener was invited to do was to reflect on areas of spiritual blindness they would like Jesus to heal, and it struck me that you could actually only ask for restoration of 'spiritual sight' you had once had and now lost, or the gift of 'spiritual sight' you had become aware of in others... you had to know your blindness in order to ask for it to be removed.  This brought to kind mind the once very popular (maybe it still is) Johari Window:

There may be aspects of my spiritual sight (or health) that are I am aware of and others I am not aware of; likewise areas of spiritual blindness.  There are some that others are aware of and others they aren't aware of.  So long as I or others are aware of them, then work to 'open the eyes of the heart (or mind)' is possible.  But there is the unknown unknown - the spiritual blindness (or sight) of which I am unaware and so are others... only God is aware of it.  Prayer then becomes 'please give me the sight I don't know I lack'... but how will I know whether or when I have it?  It's a conundrum!!  But it does seem like the crucial prayer.

God who sees what none can see,

Who knows what non can know

Give me sight, where I do not know I am blind

Wisdom, where I do not know I am unwise

Love, where I do not know my emptiness

Open the Johari Window of my soul

To receive your life-giving light

Amen