As promised: here is the remembrance and sermon given at the Funeral of Eleanor Farmer.
Here is the leaflet created for the liturgy.
Betsy noted that although I didn't say anything "new" in this sermon, I had said "what needed to be said." I think that pretty much encapsulates virtually all preaching. We aren't actually burdened with creating something new so much as with re-telling a story that we carry deep in our bones. Personally, I think any preacher worth his or her salt ought to be able to preach a descent funeral sermon at all times. Not because we do it particularly often, but because an Funeral sermon is really just a version of the Easter sermon, which is itself simply an account of the "hope that is within us." If you don't have a firm grasp of that hope than I suggest you spend some more time praying to the Holy Spirit! (I mean that literally--I think all preachers probably go through periods where they fall out-of-touch with the wellspring. This is a natural part of the spiritual life. My advice is: pray, pray, pray--especially to the Holy Spirit. She hasn't let me down, yet.)
Showing posts with label funerals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label funerals. Show all posts
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Expectations of the Church
It saddens me that people expect so little of the church. I got a phone call regarding Eleanor's funeral this week. The caller, who described themselves as Anglican, wanted to know what our church's fee would be for doing the funeral. I explained that Eleanor was a parishioner, and my church doesn't charge a fee for parishioners who want to have their funerals here. Access to the rites of the church is just part of the deal of belonging to Christian Community. "Well, there won't be an organist, will there?" So I went on to explain that of course there will be an organist. In fact, it actually never occurred to me that we might do this funeral without Fiona playing. Perhaps that was unfair to Fiona, but when I asked her she said, "yes," and that was that.
Eleanor was "one of ours." She was extremely faithful to the church. She showed up week after week despite her disabilities and the physical pain of moving on her old knees. Every Sunday that we offered laying on of hands she would hobble, slowly, toward the altar rail until I would walk down and anoint her however far she had managed to come. She came every week to the Saturday healing prayer service, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to be there for her now. Fee?! Sigh.
This illustrates the way consumerism has invaded the church. Even people that are in the church think of it as a set of services given in exchange for money. This makes sense. I've got to eat and pay off the loans I took in seminary. The heating and electric bills have to be paid. And this is one way in which people make ministry happen--sure. No doubt they pay gratefully and with the knowledge that they are helping God work (and they are right). But it saddens me that one of the major things people think about when it comes to the sacraments of marriage and baptism, or when it comes to funerals, is "how much is this going to cost." We need to give people some alternative ways of thinking about the "pastoral rites" and also about the nature of giving to the church. It's not an exchange! it's a gift! Both ways!
And we have no one to blame but ourselves. We, as church, have perpetuated these attitudes in a million little and not-so-little ways. And it bugs the hell out of me.
Eleanor was "one of ours." She was extremely faithful to the church. She showed up week after week despite her disabilities and the physical pain of moving on her old knees. Every Sunday that we offered laying on of hands she would hobble, slowly, toward the altar rail until I would walk down and anoint her however far she had managed to come. She came every week to the Saturday healing prayer service, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to be there for her now. Fee?! Sigh.
This illustrates the way consumerism has invaded the church. Even people that are in the church think of it as a set of services given in exchange for money. This makes sense. I've got to eat and pay off the loans I took in seminary. The heating and electric bills have to be paid. And this is one way in which people make ministry happen--sure. No doubt they pay gratefully and with the knowledge that they are helping God work (and they are right). But it saddens me that one of the major things people think about when it comes to the sacraments of marriage and baptism, or when it comes to funerals, is "how much is this going to cost." We need to give people some alternative ways of thinking about the "pastoral rites" and also about the nature of giving to the church. It's not an exchange! it's a gift! Both ways!
And we have no one to blame but ourselves. We, as church, have perpetuated these attitudes in a million little and not-so-little ways. And it bugs the hell out of me.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Funeral II
Saturday there was another funeral. Although it was a member of my church, the family had a colleague from another parish do the funeral at a local funeral home. It was all rather strangely handled, but at the end of day I can't really go against the family's wishes. Still, I was invited to preach, at least. The service only lasted 20 minutes (the family didn't want any hymns or tributes/eulogies)--and liturgically was the diametric opposite of the funeral service we did for Daphne the week before.
It's quite remarkable to reflect on how varied funeral liturgies can be. They are probably the most contingent of all the liturgies we do regularly in church. Contingent on the family, contingent on the timing, contingent of the presider, contingent even on the weather! So much of what we do around death betrays our cultural location.
It was a pleasant enough funeral and the turnout from Church of The Messiah was strong. It was fine. My colleague was professional and polished, as was the funeral home staff (mostly).
I say mostly because of this odd thing that happened... After the reception Betsy and Henry and were poking around the showroom at the funeral home. We were looking at the caskets (yes, death is expensive) and the urns. Some of these are so cheesy I swear they are there as a kind of negative example to swing people towards a moderate, rather than budget, priced item. Anyway, we were poking around in there for a minute and one of the funeral directors walked in. "And who is this?" he asked looking at Henry.
"This is Henry," I said.
"Henry! Does Henry want to be a funeral director someday? Henry, do you want to see the basement? We have an operating room down there. But it's not very pretty, it's kind of old and yucky, actually...."
Betsy and I agreed, in the car, that this guy was just creepy. I had heard before that the "operating room" at this particular funeral home is a positively medieval affair that hasn't been modernized since the 1950's. Morgues and places like that are frankly creepier in person than they are in the movies and TV, and old ones are triply so.
Sidebar. Morgue sets are expensive to build, so a lot of the police shows you see on TV actually shoot those scenes in real morgues. Also, the morgues in the hospitals I've worked at aren't marked "morgue." Instead they usually have some innocuous title on the door like "Storage" or "Room B204." You could write an interesting paper about how the hospital architecture denies death.
Sidebar #2. Here is a counter example, however. At Yale-New Haven Hospital we also a "Bereavement Room" near the ER. When someone died up in the regular hospital rooms we would do viewings with the families up there, but if someone died in the ER we would move them to this room. The Emergency Department is a busy place with little privacy, and the hospital administrators would just as soon turn around the beds as fast as possible, anyway, and a proper viewing can take an hour or two. So YNHH had a special room where we could put the deceased and their families. It was great, we loved it. They something similar in Newborn ICU. This an example of a hospital really understanding how to handle death in a healthy way.
Anyway, that was the second Messiah funeral in as many weeks. I've told some of my leaders that I think we should have some notes set aside for each of our older members, just in case. We should have a list of whom to call, for instance.
After the funeral I visited a Messiah kid who is in the hospital. I found it more difficult than I usually do. Hard to see a kid in the hospital. My mind wanted to picture what I would do if Henry was in that bed. Ah, "Transference!" learning to deal with transference is a critical skill in pastoral care. Anyway, it was a good visit.
On Sunday I was struggling a bit. I was just off my game and making all kinds of mistakes. For example, I failed to remember or notice that this is the one Sunday a month when we do Anointing for healing during Communion. The Chancel Guild hadn't noticed, either. So I had just starting giving communion to the choir and when I got to Betsy she whispered, "Anointing?"
I briefly considered in my mind whether I should perhaps skip it this Sunday. Then I thought about all the people hurting in our community right now, including me, and decided to make it work. So I signaled to a priest who attends my church. He came up and took over giving communion like a pro. Meanwhile, I went to my office to grab my anointing oil (I had taken it with me to the hospital the day before). Back in the sanctuary, I went to a side area and began anointing people as they came up and knelt. More than usual. When it seemed that they were finished, and my two theological students were just doing the ablutions (cleaning up the dishes after the Eucharist), I signaled one of them to come over. "Have you ever anointed anybody?"
"No?" she replied as I kneeled in front of her.
"Ok, I'll be your first. Just makes the sign of the cross on my forehead with the oil and pray." Then I tried to remember the formula that I use for anointings. The formula I had just said about 15 times without hesitation, and it was gone. Just not in my head. Wow, I thought, I really am hanging out on the ragged edge. "Ok, I can't remember it. Just make something up." My student laughed. She then prayed over me just fine.
I needed it. I was struggling. What a weekend.
Today I did some Christmas shopping and some other errands. Made a stew for dinner. Also made a batch of Fish House Punch and did some Christmas decorating. Henry had to come home from Daycare early because of a fever, so Betsy and spent much of the evening caring for him. It's probably just a little cold.
Tomorrow it starts again!
-t
It's quite remarkable to reflect on how varied funeral liturgies can be. They are probably the most contingent of all the liturgies we do regularly in church. Contingent on the family, contingent on the timing, contingent of the presider, contingent even on the weather! So much of what we do around death betrays our cultural location.
It was a pleasant enough funeral and the turnout from Church of The Messiah was strong. It was fine. My colleague was professional and polished, as was the funeral home staff (mostly).
I say mostly because of this odd thing that happened... After the reception Betsy and Henry and were poking around the showroom at the funeral home. We were looking at the caskets (yes, death is expensive) and the urns. Some of these are so cheesy I swear they are there as a kind of negative example to swing people towards a moderate, rather than budget, priced item. Anyway, we were poking around in there for a minute and one of the funeral directors walked in. "And who is this?" he asked looking at Henry.
"This is Henry," I said.
"Henry! Does Henry want to be a funeral director someday? Henry, do you want to see the basement? We have an operating room down there. But it's not very pretty, it's kind of old and yucky, actually...."
Betsy and I agreed, in the car, that this guy was just creepy. I had heard before that the "operating room" at this particular funeral home is a positively medieval affair that hasn't been modernized since the 1950's. Morgues and places like that are frankly creepier in person than they are in the movies and TV, and old ones are triply so.
Sidebar. Morgue sets are expensive to build, so a lot of the police shows you see on TV actually shoot those scenes in real morgues. Also, the morgues in the hospitals I've worked at aren't marked "morgue." Instead they usually have some innocuous title on the door like "Storage" or "Room B204." You could write an interesting paper about how the hospital architecture denies death.
Sidebar #2. Here is a counter example, however. At Yale-New Haven Hospital we also a "Bereavement Room" near the ER. When someone died up in the regular hospital rooms we would do viewings with the families up there, but if someone died in the ER we would move them to this room. The Emergency Department is a busy place with little privacy, and the hospital administrators would just as soon turn around the beds as fast as possible, anyway, and a proper viewing can take an hour or two. So YNHH had a special room where we could put the deceased and their families. It was great, we loved it. They something similar in Newborn ICU. This an example of a hospital really understanding how to handle death in a healthy way.
Anyway, that was the second Messiah funeral in as many weeks. I've told some of my leaders that I think we should have some notes set aside for each of our older members, just in case. We should have a list of whom to call, for instance.
After the funeral I visited a Messiah kid who is in the hospital. I found it more difficult than I usually do. Hard to see a kid in the hospital. My mind wanted to picture what I would do if Henry was in that bed. Ah, "Transference!" learning to deal with transference is a critical skill in pastoral care. Anyway, it was a good visit.
On Sunday I was struggling a bit. I was just off my game and making all kinds of mistakes. For example, I failed to remember or notice that this is the one Sunday a month when we do Anointing for healing during Communion. The Chancel Guild hadn't noticed, either. So I had just starting giving communion to the choir and when I got to Betsy she whispered, "Anointing?"
I briefly considered in my mind whether I should perhaps skip it this Sunday. Then I thought about all the people hurting in our community right now, including me, and decided to make it work. So I signaled to a priest who attends my church. He came up and took over giving communion like a pro. Meanwhile, I went to my office to grab my anointing oil (I had taken it with me to the hospital the day before). Back in the sanctuary, I went to a side area and began anointing people as they came up and knelt. More than usual. When it seemed that they were finished, and my two theological students were just doing the ablutions (cleaning up the dishes after the Eucharist), I signaled one of them to come over. "Have you ever anointed anybody?"
"No?" she replied as I kneeled in front of her.
"Ok, I'll be your first. Just makes the sign of the cross on my forehead with the oil and pray." Then I tried to remember the formula that I use for anointings. The formula I had just said about 15 times without hesitation, and it was gone. Just not in my head. Wow, I thought, I really am hanging out on the ragged edge. "Ok, I can't remember it. Just make something up." My student laughed. She then prayed over me just fine.
I needed it. I was struggling. What a weekend.
Today I did some Christmas shopping and some other errands. Made a stew for dinner. Also made a batch of Fish House Punch and did some Christmas decorating. Henry had to come home from Daycare early because of a fever, so Betsy and spent much of the evening caring for him. It's probably just a little cold.
Tomorrow it starts again!
-t
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Funerals
Saturday was the funeral of a dearly beloved member of our congregation, Daphne Archer. Daphne was a spry 84 year old who loved to ring the church bell and tell anyone in ear shot what's-what. She had a thick accent betraying her Barbados roots, and loved to talk. She was surprisingly strong for her age, so it was a surprise when she died suddenly at home.
Everyone who thinks of Daphne thinks of her faithfulness, to family, to her work, and (naturally) to the church as well. So mother church returned the favour with a proper Anglican send-off. Funeral Mass and grave-side committal with lots of music and some high-church touches she would have appreciated.
I arranged the chairs "choir-style" in the church, rows facing each other across the nave. This has several advantages for a funeral. For one thing, people can see everything (particularly the coffin). Second, it provides more place for the coffin, whereas in many churches the chancel or crossing gets a little crowded when you put a casket in the space and gives the impression of imbalance. Third, because people are facing each other (across the casket, no less), it feels very warm.
The casket was processed into the centre of the space (sacred ministers leading the way). The Pascal Candle burned proudly by the her head. Moving liturgically-east is the ambo and then the altar. The sacred ministers sat behind the altar an bend set on a platform one step high. Because we had to accommodate so many (112), we put more chair rows on the open end of the rectangle, but these were angled in at 45 degrees. It was a nice, balance, comfortable affect over all.
When the casket first arrived I coordinated a few details with the funeral director. Then I met the body at the hearse and escorted it in while saying some prayers and psalms to the church lounge for a time of visitation.
I feel strongly, for myself, that I want to see the actual body of every person I bury. Part of this comes from the old-fashioned notion that you, as the presiding minister of the burial, are responsible for making sure the correct body is being buried. These days funeral homes rarely make that kind of mistake anymore, but it's not totally unheard of.
But the real reason I want to see the body is more existential or spiritual in character. One of the roles of the priest is to be the "secret keeper" for the congregation. And if the ceremony has a closed casket, then you have established a certain mystery or secret in the community. It's not a bad thing, but it is a power thing. The closed casket has a kind of gravity and power that functions. By peering into that mystery, you become a kind of witness on behalf of the community. I can assure anyone that we buried Daphne because I saw here, with my own eyes.
That said, this kind of approach isn't necessary. I certainly wouldn't tell a colleague or student that they must or even should view the body, merely that it is something to consider in developing one's pastoral ministry around death.
When I told the Funeral Director that I wanted to the see the body, he advised me against it. "I recommend that you remember her the way she was." That's funeral parlor code for, "It isn't pretty." I assured him that I had seen many dead bodies, even attended an autopsy once, and that I was okay with whatever might be in there. He was looking at my very straight... no doubt trying to assess what sort of man I am. He became a little more direct. "She had been dead a long time." "Yes," I said, "I realize that. But I feel that it is my responsibility to look at her before the funeral." Realizing that I was not to be dissuaded, the Funeral Director said that he would leave this up to the family.
That was fine with me. In fact, I had mentioned my desire to view the body during my planning meeting with the family. So they quickly gave permission without hesitation.
We created some privacy by closing the doors to the lounge. Then the Funeral Director opened the casket. It was Daphne, of course. And I could see that they had placed a prayerbook in with her. I would have asked them to place one inside if it hadn't been there already.
I only needed to give her a solid look, then I asked them to close it again. After that they opened the doors to the lounge and people came in to pay their respects. When it was time for the service itself, I met the coffin and the back of the church (which is also where the lounge is) and led the pall bearers down the aisle.
There were three sacred ministers for the service; myself, Father Mark from St. Thomas', and Rev'd Catherine, a Deacon who is also a Theological Intern assigned to be one of my students. The service itself was pretty much straight out of the BAS, with only a few minor variations. After a reading from Revelations and the singing of Psalm 23 and the Gospel reading ("I am the Good Shepherd"), a member of Daphne's family gave the Eulogy.
Eulogies at funerals are tricky. Many families wish to have a great many people come up and praise the deceased. But in my experience, it is far better to limit the number of eulogies. The problem with eulogies are, first off, that most people that give them aren't actually experienced with public speaking and the second problem is that eulogies often make a fond remembrance of the deceased, but don't really bring religion much into it. Susan, the eulogist for Daphne, however, was actually strong on both counts. She was a good speaker with a well written text, and she did bring in some nice spiritual content. It was one of the better funeral Eulogies I've ever heard, in fact, and I've heard quite a few!
My turn, next. The congregation wanted to applaud Susan, but restrained themselves. I understand their impulse to thank her, so I began my sermon by saying, "Let the people say, 'Amen.'" This being a mostly black congregation, I got an immediate and heart-felt "Amen!" Then I launched into my sermon.
A number of people have told that it was an excellent sermon. Certainly I felt "in the groove." It was mostly improvised based on a couple of land marks I knew I wanted to hit. But as I went along new rhetorical and theological avenues opened up to me. This is the most satisfying part of preaching extemporaneously, when you both know where you are going, are feeling your way to that place without labouring, and are also superbly aware that your congregation is with you all the way. I could feel the people with me. I looked at those I knew well, my parishioners, and I could tell they were listening with close attention. I looked at the people visiting and I could see them nodding and listening, as well. I even got a few muttered, "Amens" and "That's rights" that assured me that I was on the right track. I began by talking about Daphne's faithfulness and how it shows us a glimpse of God's faithfulness. But my real zinger was when when I said, "With Daphne, the conversation never stopped." Lots of nods. "She couldn't stop talking to us because she loved us." Then I talked about how with God, the conversation also continues, even through death. I felt great about that sermon, but the end of it my voice, already strained from a cold and several days of non-stop talking, was pretty much gone completely.
Luckily, I had already asked Mark to celebrate the Eucharist. Catherine and I deaconed for him. As Betsy said, "Mark gives a good Mass." Indeed, he was articulate in both word and gesture. Nice and clear and rich without being fussy at all. Perfect. It was also rewarding for me to note how my training of Catherine had paid off with her assisting another priest at the altar with high skill.
Many more people came up for communion than I expected. And after "the dishes were done," we had a liturgical dance piece done by one of Daphne's cousins. Originally the family had suggested we play the music for this dance over the speakers, but with Eric on piano and our cantor as vocal it was a far richer experience. The composition they chose started with Amazing Grace, but then added a few verses in a related, but different, melody composed by Chris Tomlin.
We took our places for the Commendation and listened the choir sing a Russian setting of the Kontakion ("Give rest, O Christ, to your servant with your saints..."). More prayers, then we led the body out of the church. Fr. Mark and Catherine said their goodbyes. We shared a few comments of the sort priests and deacons share. "Good sermon." "Very nice sung preface." Thanks all around. I got a ride with the Funeral Director, and we had a nice talk on the way to the cemetery.
The worker at the Cemetery told me that although he was Roman Catholic, he had been to my church a few times as part of some ecumenical work he was doing at the time. It's a small world.
It was cold and very windy at the grave. They lowered the coffin and I said the committal service, which is blessedly brief. The Funeral Director kept trying to get me to use the little vial of sand he had for the ceremonial tossing of dirt on the grave. White sand. I'm not sure what that has to do with death. Dirt. A handful of dirt has a substance that is more than mere metaphor. We are actually burying this woman, not just making a gesture towards it.
While we sang favourite hymns from hymn sheets my music minister had helpfully prepared ahead of time, the workers prepared the grave and then people took turns with a real shovel putting real dirt on top of the coffin. When people had taken enough turns, a backhoe was brought in to complete the burial. By this time I was quite cold despite the Capa Negra (black cope) I borrowed from Fr. Mark. Capa Negras are a really great vestment to have, I must get one if I keep doing funerals in winter! The family, like Daphne, were from Barbados, and had no intention of leaving the grave until it was completely filled in. I appreciate this. In fact, I make it my custom to stay behind at committals until the grave it completely filled even when the family has gone on to the reception.
By this time my voice was completely shot. I sounded like a frog that had swallowed gravel. Nonetheless, I made a brief appearance at the reception and then accepted a ride from one of the funeral home's drivers. Before we parted company, the Funeral Director shook my hand and said, "You're a good man." I flashed back to his evaluative gaze a few hours before. Apparently I had passed his test.
As I relaxed on the car ride home I thanked my lucky stars, or perhaps God, that I had scheduled one of my parishioners to preach on Sunday many weeks before Daphne's death. Surely I could have preached today, but in all honesty I didn't have a lot left to give, and Brendan's sermon was excellent.
After I got home I spent some time with Betsy and Henry and baked up 200 chocolate chip cookies for the church's bake sale. Yeah, 200! Supper, a few pages of a Patrick O'Brien novel set in the 19th Century English Navy, then sleep. Blessed sleep. I dreamed about church, but they weren't anxious dreams. Just me working on different projects with different people. I would have rather dreamed of being on a Frigate in Indian Ocean chasing a French Squadron, but one doesn't get to choose one's dreams!
Woke up this morning feeling pretty good. Church went well--and now I'm going home to watch football!
-t
Everyone who thinks of Daphne thinks of her faithfulness, to family, to her work, and (naturally) to the church as well. So mother church returned the favour with a proper Anglican send-off. Funeral Mass and grave-side committal with lots of music and some high-church touches she would have appreciated.
I arranged the chairs "choir-style" in the church, rows facing each other across the nave. This has several advantages for a funeral. For one thing, people can see everything (particularly the coffin). Second, it provides more place for the coffin, whereas in many churches the chancel or crossing gets a little crowded when you put a casket in the space and gives the impression of imbalance. Third, because people are facing each other (across the casket, no less), it feels very warm.
The casket was processed into the centre of the space (sacred ministers leading the way). The Pascal Candle burned proudly by the her head. Moving liturgically-east is the ambo and then the altar. The sacred ministers sat behind the altar an bend set on a platform one step high. Because we had to accommodate so many (112), we put more chair rows on the open end of the rectangle, but these were angled in at 45 degrees. It was a nice, balance, comfortable affect over all.
When the casket first arrived I coordinated a few details with the funeral director. Then I met the body at the hearse and escorted it in while saying some prayers and psalms to the church lounge for a time of visitation.
I feel strongly, for myself, that I want to see the actual body of every person I bury. Part of this comes from the old-fashioned notion that you, as the presiding minister of the burial, are responsible for making sure the correct body is being buried. These days funeral homes rarely make that kind of mistake anymore, but it's not totally unheard of.
But the real reason I want to see the body is more existential or spiritual in character. One of the roles of the priest is to be the "secret keeper" for the congregation. And if the ceremony has a closed casket, then you have established a certain mystery or secret in the community. It's not a bad thing, but it is a power thing. The closed casket has a kind of gravity and power that functions. By peering into that mystery, you become a kind of witness on behalf of the community. I can assure anyone that we buried Daphne because I saw here, with my own eyes.
That said, this kind of approach isn't necessary. I certainly wouldn't tell a colleague or student that they must or even should view the body, merely that it is something to consider in developing one's pastoral ministry around death.
When I told the Funeral Director that I wanted to the see the body, he advised me against it. "I recommend that you remember her the way she was." That's funeral parlor code for, "It isn't pretty." I assured him that I had seen many dead bodies, even attended an autopsy once, and that I was okay with whatever might be in there. He was looking at my very straight... no doubt trying to assess what sort of man I am. He became a little more direct. "She had been dead a long time." "Yes," I said, "I realize that. But I feel that it is my responsibility to look at her before the funeral." Realizing that I was not to be dissuaded, the Funeral Director said that he would leave this up to the family.
That was fine with me. In fact, I had mentioned my desire to view the body during my planning meeting with the family. So they quickly gave permission without hesitation.
We created some privacy by closing the doors to the lounge. Then the Funeral Director opened the casket. It was Daphne, of course. And I could see that they had placed a prayerbook in with her. I would have asked them to place one inside if it hadn't been there already.
I only needed to give her a solid look, then I asked them to close it again. After that they opened the doors to the lounge and people came in to pay their respects. When it was time for the service itself, I met the coffin and the back of the church (which is also where the lounge is) and led the pall bearers down the aisle.
There were three sacred ministers for the service; myself, Father Mark from St. Thomas', and Rev'd Catherine, a Deacon who is also a Theological Intern assigned to be one of my students. The service itself was pretty much straight out of the BAS, with only a few minor variations. After a reading from Revelations and the singing of Psalm 23 and the Gospel reading ("I am the Good Shepherd"), a member of Daphne's family gave the Eulogy.
Eulogies at funerals are tricky. Many families wish to have a great many people come up and praise the deceased. But in my experience, it is far better to limit the number of eulogies. The problem with eulogies are, first off, that most people that give them aren't actually experienced with public speaking and the second problem is that eulogies often make a fond remembrance of the deceased, but don't really bring religion much into it. Susan, the eulogist for Daphne, however, was actually strong on both counts. She was a good speaker with a well written text, and she did bring in some nice spiritual content. It was one of the better funeral Eulogies I've ever heard, in fact, and I've heard quite a few!
My turn, next. The congregation wanted to applaud Susan, but restrained themselves. I understand their impulse to thank her, so I began my sermon by saying, "Let the people say, 'Amen.'" This being a mostly black congregation, I got an immediate and heart-felt "Amen!" Then I launched into my sermon.
A number of people have told that it was an excellent sermon. Certainly I felt "in the groove." It was mostly improvised based on a couple of land marks I knew I wanted to hit. But as I went along new rhetorical and theological avenues opened up to me. This is the most satisfying part of preaching extemporaneously, when you both know where you are going, are feeling your way to that place without labouring, and are also superbly aware that your congregation is with you all the way. I could feel the people with me. I looked at those I knew well, my parishioners, and I could tell they were listening with close attention. I looked at the people visiting and I could see them nodding and listening, as well. I even got a few muttered, "Amens" and "That's rights" that assured me that I was on the right track. I began by talking about Daphne's faithfulness and how it shows us a glimpse of God's faithfulness. But my real zinger was when when I said, "With Daphne, the conversation never stopped." Lots of nods. "She couldn't stop talking to us because she loved us." Then I talked about how with God, the conversation also continues, even through death. I felt great about that sermon, but the end of it my voice, already strained from a cold and several days of non-stop talking, was pretty much gone completely.
Luckily, I had already asked Mark to celebrate the Eucharist. Catherine and I deaconed for him. As Betsy said, "Mark gives a good Mass." Indeed, he was articulate in both word and gesture. Nice and clear and rich without being fussy at all. Perfect. It was also rewarding for me to note how my training of Catherine had paid off with her assisting another priest at the altar with high skill.
Many more people came up for communion than I expected. And after "the dishes were done," we had a liturgical dance piece done by one of Daphne's cousins. Originally the family had suggested we play the music for this dance over the speakers, but with Eric on piano and our cantor as vocal it was a far richer experience. The composition they chose started with Amazing Grace, but then added a few verses in a related, but different, melody composed by Chris Tomlin.
We took our places for the Commendation and listened the choir sing a Russian setting of the Kontakion ("Give rest, O Christ, to your servant with your saints..."). More prayers, then we led the body out of the church. Fr. Mark and Catherine said their goodbyes. We shared a few comments of the sort priests and deacons share. "Good sermon." "Very nice sung preface." Thanks all around. I got a ride with the Funeral Director, and we had a nice talk on the way to the cemetery.
The worker at the Cemetery told me that although he was Roman Catholic, he had been to my church a few times as part of some ecumenical work he was doing at the time. It's a small world.
It was cold and very windy at the grave. They lowered the coffin and I said the committal service, which is blessedly brief. The Funeral Director kept trying to get me to use the little vial of sand he had for the ceremonial tossing of dirt on the grave. White sand. I'm not sure what that has to do with death. Dirt. A handful of dirt has a substance that is more than mere metaphor. We are actually burying this woman, not just making a gesture towards it.
While we sang favourite hymns from hymn sheets my music minister had helpfully prepared ahead of time, the workers prepared the grave and then people took turns with a real shovel putting real dirt on top of the coffin. When people had taken enough turns, a backhoe was brought in to complete the burial. By this time I was quite cold despite the Capa Negra (black cope) I borrowed from Fr. Mark. Capa Negras are a really great vestment to have, I must get one if I keep doing funerals in winter! The family, like Daphne, were from Barbados, and had no intention of leaving the grave until it was completely filled in. I appreciate this. In fact, I make it my custom to stay behind at committals until the grave it completely filled even when the family has gone on to the reception.
By this time my voice was completely shot. I sounded like a frog that had swallowed gravel. Nonetheless, I made a brief appearance at the reception and then accepted a ride from one of the funeral home's drivers. Before we parted company, the Funeral Director shook my hand and said, "You're a good man." I flashed back to his evaluative gaze a few hours before. Apparently I had passed his test.
As I relaxed on the car ride home I thanked my lucky stars, or perhaps God, that I had scheduled one of my parishioners to preach on Sunday many weeks before Daphne's death. Surely I could have preached today, but in all honesty I didn't have a lot left to give, and Brendan's sermon was excellent.
After I got home I spent some time with Betsy and Henry and baked up 200 chocolate chip cookies for the church's bake sale. Yeah, 200! Supper, a few pages of a Patrick O'Brien novel set in the 19th Century English Navy, then sleep. Blessed sleep. I dreamed about church, but they weren't anxious dreams. Just me working on different projects with different people. I would have rather dreamed of being on a Frigate in Indian Ocean chasing a French Squadron, but one doesn't get to choose one's dreams!
Woke up this morning feeling pretty good. Church went well--and now I'm going home to watch football!
-t
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Back in the Saddle
I officially started back to work yesterday. Lots and lots of phone calls and e-mails to return, but the most important thing to do yesterday was have a monster staff meeting: 5 1/2 hours worth! But in that time we were able to accomplish a huge amount of planning. Most of the calendar through Christmas is now drafted as far as church program go. We also made a lot of other decisions about various projects. The neat thing for me, as the leader, was how everyone came to the table with great new ideas. The summer break gave time for stuff to ferment and the results are just great. I'm especially thrilled about some of the stuff we have lined up for kids and youth!
This morning was Clive Foster's funeral. It went extremely well and I'm sure that the family were pleased with the turnout (nearly a hundred even though it was the middle of a work day). The reflections that the family gave were excellent and I thought my sermon was strong. The liturgy was smooth and powerful in the right ways. The staff at Humphrey Funeral Home were excellent--I would recommend them to others. They know exactly what clergy need and provide it before you can even ask. I think it was a really great way to send off a former COTM Warden.
The mural looks fantastic--there is only about a week of work left on the mural itself. Today we made some critical decisions about what to do with the lighting. The only other substantial piece (so far as actual renovation goes) is selecting the new carpet. In terms of promotional work, our current thinking is to make a big push in October with local press and perhaps a dedication/consecration service of some kind. Stay tuned!
-t
This morning was Clive Foster's funeral. It went extremely well and I'm sure that the family were pleased with the turnout (nearly a hundred even though it was the middle of a work day). The reflections that the family gave were excellent and I thought my sermon was strong. The liturgy was smooth and powerful in the right ways. The staff at Humphrey Funeral Home were excellent--I would recommend them to others. They know exactly what clergy need and provide it before you can even ask. I think it was a really great way to send off a former COTM Warden.
The mural looks fantastic--there is only about a week of work left on the mural itself. Today we made some critical decisions about what to do with the lighting. The only other substantial piece (so far as actual renovation goes) is selecting the new carpet. In terms of promotional work, our current thinking is to make a big push in October with local press and perhaps a dedication/consecration service of some kind. Stay tuned!
-t
Monday, October 15, 2007
Back
I'm back. The funerals went well. Very Episcopalian in style: elegant but simple--in very good taste. Lots of people there to remember my Aunt. Good things were said, and I could observe a noticeable shift in the feeling before and after the services that indicated, to me, that they did their jobs.
Drove back after the reception. It took about eight and a half hours. It seemed even shorter than the drive down, probably because I was by myself and could get lost in my own thoughts. Long drives like this are great for the imagination. Arrived home around 12:45 AM Sunday morning.
Slept restlessly. Church was fine. Attendance a bit low because many downtown streets were blocked for the marathon. lots of projects waiting for my attention. After the service we went to a nearby parish, St. Augustine's, to look at their chairs and the arrangement of the sanctuary furniture. the chairs are very nice. Exactly what we are looking for. More on that later.
Came home, met up with Betsy. Ate a snack, then hung out with one of our Yale friends in town for the Byzantine Studies Conference. Went to bed early.
This morning woke up and started watching DVR'd football, etc. Reheated thanksgiving leftovers and made gravy from scratch (using chicken stock) and steamed veggies for Betsy and Anna. Hard to go wrong with gravy.
Traditional Communion tomorrow. Lots of other things to tend to....
-t
Drove back after the reception. It took about eight and a half hours. It seemed even shorter than the drive down, probably because I was by myself and could get lost in my own thoughts. Long drives like this are great for the imagination. Arrived home around 12:45 AM Sunday morning.
Slept restlessly. Church was fine. Attendance a bit low because many downtown streets were blocked for the marathon. lots of projects waiting for my attention. After the service we went to a nearby parish, St. Augustine's, to look at their chairs and the arrangement of the sanctuary furniture. the chairs are very nice. Exactly what we are looking for. More on that later.
Came home, met up with Betsy. Ate a snack, then hung out with one of our Yale friends in town for the Byzantine Studies Conference. Went to bed early.
This morning woke up and started watching DVR'd football, etc. Reheated thanksgiving leftovers and made gravy from scratch (using chicken stock) and steamed veggies for Betsy and Anna. Hard to go wrong with gravy.
Traditional Communion tomorrow. Lots of other things to tend to....
-t
Sunday, October 7, 2007
RIP Aunt Dee
We heard last night that my Aunt-Dee Johnson--passed away surrounded by her family. She had been diagnosed with cancer 7 weeks before and declined rapidly. It's disturbing how fast things can change. Life is uncertain.
I'm probably going to drive to Stowe, Vermont, for two of the funerals. She was well loved in the church and community, so we are having three worship services: two in Stowe and one in Madison, NJ, where she and my Uncle lived for many years.
My mom is with us this weekend and was planning to fly back on Tuesday, but now she may just ride with me to Stowe and get a ride from there back to NJ (where she lives). We are still figuring out the details, obviously.
Since the Stowe funeral is on Saturday, I may have to find a priest to cover for me this Sunday. I'm planning to ask Merv (the interim at COTM before I arrived). He may have another commitment, however. So I'll see what happens.
I'm sad about Aunt Dee--someone said, "She was everyone's mother." Indeed, she did overflow motherly care. She loved to cook and take care of people. I'll miss her.
-t
I'm probably going to drive to Stowe, Vermont, for two of the funerals. She was well loved in the church and community, so we are having three worship services: two in Stowe and one in Madison, NJ, where she and my Uncle lived for many years.
My mom is with us this weekend and was planning to fly back on Tuesday, but now she may just ride with me to Stowe and get a ride from there back to NJ (where she lives). We are still figuring out the details, obviously.
Since the Stowe funeral is on Saturday, I may have to find a priest to cover for me this Sunday. I'm planning to ask Merv (the interim at COTM before I arrived). He may have another commitment, however. So I'll see what happens.
I'm sad about Aunt Dee--someone said, "She was everyone's mother." Indeed, she did overflow motherly care. She loved to cook and take care of people. I'll miss her.
-t
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
RIP Father Belway
Father Belway, a grand old retired priest in the Diocese and a member of SMM died this morning. I first got to know him at the 7.15 AM Masses on Tuesdays and Thursdays. While I was preparing to say just such a Mass, he passed away peacefully at his retirement home. Fr. Brinton, Vicar of the Cathedral, was taking the lead on pastoral care to Fr. Belway as his health declined. He called me this morning to tell me of Donald's passing and to ask that I attend to the body with appropriate prayers--he himself was traveling to Ottawa for the day and wouldn't back until the evening. Fr. Harold had just arrived back from vacation (though he's not back "officially" until Saturday), but I figured correctly that he would want to come with me as we paid respects to the kind priest.
I was aware that Fr. Brinton had already given Donald "last rites" (actually, Anointing of the Sick and Ministration at the Time of Death), so the purpose of our ministry this morning was to mark the passing with prayer, to commend Donald's soul to God, and to comfort the caregivers and friends who joined us in the small room. As we were going about the retirement home preparing to do this, a number of people on seeing me in my collar spoke of Fr. Belway's kindness and good humor. He was a charming man and well liked for his gentle sense of humor and sharp wit.
I'll never forget the time over breakfast some months ago when Fr. Belway was commenting on our new music director of the time, Kevin K. "We're so lucky to have him; he's a fantastic musician. (pause) But I wish someone could explain why he dresses the way he does."
"Father, have you ever heard of 'Metrosexuals'?" He laughed over his soft-boiled egg (Professor Blisset's specialty) while I explained the fashion movement reflected in Kevin's Sunday best. He always found these kinds of surprises delightful and was ready to laugh.
In his room this morning, looking over his pale body, Harold and I lead a little service with some of the nurses and nurses' aids that looked over him in his last days. I brought a BAS with me, but I took two more off of Donald's desk and handed them around to the group.
A big portion of the mini-liturgy we did was the Litany at the Time of Death. Interestingly, this is precisely what I had prayed over Donald a few days earlier when he was still alive, but barely arousable. I was sitting alone with him as he slept and decided that I should pray for him. I didn't have a BAS, but borrowed one from the desk next to his bed as I did again after his death. First I read some Psalms picked randomly. Then I prayed the litany. It's a patient prayer that mysteriously combines a sense of progression with timelessness. You can pray a litany forever, marching through the lists of heavenly beings and spiritual virtues and every manner of distress from which one ought to be delivered. It's a holy thing to sit in a chair next to the dying and quietly bid in turn all manner of grace to comfort them.
Donald was extremely happy for as long as I knew him. He liked to say that he was "blessed." Indeed he was.
-t
I was aware that Fr. Brinton had already given Donald "last rites" (actually, Anointing of the Sick and Ministration at the Time of Death), so the purpose of our ministry this morning was to mark the passing with prayer, to commend Donald's soul to God, and to comfort the caregivers and friends who joined us in the small room. As we were going about the retirement home preparing to do this, a number of people on seeing me in my collar spoke of Fr. Belway's kindness and good humor. He was a charming man and well liked for his gentle sense of humor and sharp wit.
I'll never forget the time over breakfast some months ago when Fr. Belway was commenting on our new music director of the time, Kevin K. "We're so lucky to have him; he's a fantastic musician. (pause) But I wish someone could explain why he dresses the way he does."
"Father, have you ever heard of 'Metrosexuals'?" He laughed over his soft-boiled egg (Professor Blisset's specialty) while I explained the fashion movement reflected in Kevin's Sunday best. He always found these kinds of surprises delightful and was ready to laugh.
In his room this morning, looking over his pale body, Harold and I lead a little service with some of the nurses and nurses' aids that looked over him in his last days. I brought a BAS with me, but I took two more off of Donald's desk and handed them around to the group.
A big portion of the mini-liturgy we did was the Litany at the Time of Death. Interestingly, this is precisely what I had prayed over Donald a few days earlier when he was still alive, but barely arousable. I was sitting alone with him as he slept and decided that I should pray for him. I didn't have a BAS, but borrowed one from the desk next to his bed as I did again after his death. First I read some Psalms picked randomly. Then I prayed the litany. It's a patient prayer that mysteriously combines a sense of progression with timelessness. You can pray a litany forever, marching through the lists of heavenly beings and spiritual virtues and every manner of distress from which one ought to be delivered. It's a holy thing to sit in a chair next to the dying and quietly bid in turn all manner of grace to comfort them.
Donald was extremely happy for as long as I knew him. He liked to say that he was "blessed." Indeed he was.
Rest eternal grant unto him, O Lord,
And let light perpetual shine upon him.
May his soul, and the soul of all the departed ever rest in peace. Amen.
-t
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