More than just a matter of tone
This is an interesting blog post. Here's a taster:
What I hate most at funerals is the tone used by the officiant (almost wrote: the presiding officer). No matter what the religious faith may be, the person in front of the congregation speaks as if he knew ... I think it’s the tone of voice that does me in. As if the officiant had a direct line into whatever deity resides in that particular structure. I’d rather hang around with the person’s old buddies, whoever they may be ... We’d drink to his peace of mind and ours, then we’d start working his absence into the fabric of things.
Read all of it here.
Labels: celebrants, ceremony
posted by Charles Cowling at
10:48
3 Comments:
Chimes with me. Lovely passage. Go to the whole passage, and see what an excellent memorial event this bloke would have for his friend, "working his absence into the fabric of things." Superb phrase, I may steal it...
In my ceremonies I always say something like "when I spoke to Jenghis' family, I learned of a man who was impatient with the idea of national boundaries, a man who, full of vigour..." thus making it plain, I hope, that I never met the man, but my role is to say something sensible about his life - and of course, sometimes family members will do the tribute in any case.
But then it's easier for me, because I'm almost certain (just being scientific here) that the chap isn't sitting at God's right or left hand,because that's why I'm doing non-religious ceremonies... But of course, in fairness to priests etc, people of faith don't want to hear the priest say "I don't know where he is now, who knows about this afterlife business anyway" - do they?
Yes, it's a lot more than a matter of tone, it's a profound issue.
Sometimes I think we celebrants can't win.
It all started because we were fed up with the bloke in the dog collar who hadn't a clue who he was talking about, and we had to put that right. They congratulated us on our familiarity with dead strangers. Good stuff.
But we were still a novelty then, and they began to think, he's done his homework well but it still doesn't feel really connected to Auntie Norah because he didn't actually know her, did he? Apparently, we'd already raised their expectations. And one by one, realizing how welcome they are to do it nowadays, they began to emerge from the congregation to take their rightful place, with all the circuits wired in. They're still coming up, but slowly.
(When I started writing this, I was under the misapprehension the writer was talking about celebrants, because the link to the article was broken until this moment, but it seems 'officiant' is American for 'vicar'; I'll plod on anyway.) As Gloriamundi says, we take pains to point out that we DON'T know, either who she was or who she is now, but still...
The problem is the ones who stay seated (in this case the one who's complaining, but cut the guy some slack, his mate has died). They are the ones who we're standing in for because they don't want to collapse in front of everyone, overcome by emotion. Who can blame them? Death is an intense experience, a dark and cruel and threatening spectre we cringe under like children hiding from a vengeful headteacher, and look away from in our daily lives so that when it comes it's a monstrous shock that disables us as if we never saw it coming. And the traditional frock-coat/hearse/crematorium funerals we insist on acquiescing to aren't conducive to moments of epiphany.
What we work towards (at least I do) is to undermine the stigma of death. People are grateful on the whole for the way we bring light into funerals to that end. And it seems to be working, bit by bit. But we are still a sbustitute, however well we do it. What we, what I really want is to make ourselves redundant by showing how effortlessly rewarding it could be to let go of Death, and embrace simple everyday death.
I hope I live long enough to see it, because I certainly don't want a celebrant at my funeral.
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