Last night was the visitation and funeral for my wife’s cousin Pam. There were so many beautiful things about the service, and I heard so many people afterwards say “it was so Pam” – which is in some ways remarkable, given that she died so very suddenly and unexpectedly at the age of 57, having not ever made any plans for her funeral (understandably) at least that anybody knew about. But she was someone whose Bible did not sit on the shelf, gathering dust – and one sure guide for her family was in looking at the verses which she had underlined or beside which she had written comments. In many ways this was what served as the framework around which her service was constructed – and I am so glad that what emerged was something that helped all of us to know even better who Pam was and what was most important to her. I think that was also the case back in 1988 when my mom died suddenly at nearly the same age as Pam (my mom was actually 58) with no specific funeral plans left behind her. But all of us knew her favorite hymns and her favorite scriptures and what she most cherished in her life and I love that her service reflected who she was so powerfully – even as it also gave the glory to God. And nobody who attended Daniel Conner’s funeral last summer will ever forget how powerfully that service was infused by the spirit and the personality of this gifted young man so tragically killed in an automobile accident. So I guess that even when death comes as a sudden and unexpected guest, it is still possible to craft a funeral service which (one hopes) comes close to reflecting not only the wishes of the deceased, but also what made them unique and irreplacable.
As Kathy and I were driving around later, I asked her a question or two about what she would want for her own funeral (an occasion I hope and is a long way off in the future, but her cousin’s death reminds us not to make those sorts of sunny assumptions too blithely) but that turned out to be a rather short conversation, the details of which I won’t divulge here. (Even I’m not that dumb.) But it got me thinking about what I would want and not want at my funeral, which in turn made me ponder what is of bedrock importance to me and what is mere window dressing in my life. It got me thinking about who have been especially important people in my life and who have contributed most richly to who I am. And it got me thinking about who funerals are really for- not so much for the deceased as they are for those who are left behind, grieving. Towards that end, I have a couple of requests:
*Let there be Grief: It is difficult to find a funeral bulletin that doesn’t swing way over to the side of “Celebrating the Life of so-and-so” or “Rejoicing in the Resurrection of so-and-so” – and I don’t disagree with any of that at all. But whether I’m 49 or 99 when I die, I hope someone will be sad that I’m gone . . . and I hope the service will allow them to be sad. The most meaningful funerals I have attended were those services in which grief was not dismissed or pushed away but was fully and unapologetically embraced. But having said that. . .
*Let there be Color: and the brighter the better. Yes, I know that there is deep meaning attached to the color White, but I think most people know me well enough to know that bright colors ought to be the order of the day, and that the very best thing with which to cover my casket would be a multi colored Crazy Quilt, which would serve as a rather nice metaphor for the life I’ve been privileged to live. And avoid reticent pastel shades on the bulletin cover. Make it bold. I guess this is another way of saying “Let there be Joy” or “Let there be laughter” because one of the central themes of a funeral should be “We are so glad we had this person with us for awhile.” (I’ve often thought that my funeral would be especially memorable if every male guest were encouraged to walk around with his shirt tail hanging out in the back – or encouraged to wear the most obnoxiously bright necktie they could find – but I leave that to the imagination of my friends.)
*Let there be Music: and make sure that all of the hymns are hymns that people can really sing. And make sure there are a lot of hymns, because I’m pretty sure there will be a couple of people there who really know how to sing. And make them vigorous, life-affirming hymns like “My hope is built on nothing less” (the closing hymn for my mom’s funeral) or “A mighty Fortress is our God.” And a song or two by Greg Berg would be okay with me- especially “Caleb’s Song” and “Mercy and Love.” And I must reiterate something that I have crabbed about for years and years: I do not like it when the casket and relatives are escorted out during the last hymn. I want every single person to sing every single syllable of every hymn, including the last one- It’s not traveling music. At my mom’s funeral, I laid down the law about that. The closing hymn was “My hope is built on nothing less” and there was no way I was going to have us walking out during that hymn, when we needed to sing those words and embrace them as much as anyone in the congregation that day. (The funny thing is that when the bishop who presided at the funeral made his way to the front of the middle aisle, to escort the casket and relatives out as is usually done, the funeral home director shook his head at him. “Let’s go,” whispered the bishop, to which the funeral home director whispered back “Not until the hymn is over.” And when the bishop asked “why?” and back came the answer “the oldest son says so!” So there.)
I think that instead of a hymn being sung as the casket comes out, I would be much more inclined to use a bit of recorded music – something that I loved and would reflect the moment well. It brings to mind the beautiful funeral of the beloved Ralph Houghton, a giant here in the local music community. As his casket was gently escorted out of the sanctuary, the congregation heard a recording of Ralph’s favorite piece of music: “The Stars and Stripes Forever.” For me, I would probably opt for “Nimrod” from Elgar’s Enigma Variations – or maybe “Visitor from Heaven” by Twyla Paris – although part of me thinks it would also be cool for “Auld lang syne” with the Kenosha Pops Band to be played. A bad idea, on the other hand, would be to use anything with either Diana Ross and the Supremes or Dame Joan Sutherland, despite how big a fan I am.
*Let there be Food: although this is one of those cases when it seems really dumb for the food to be what I liked to eat, since I won’t be there to enjoy it. So let’s forget about ordering in Rocky Rococo’s or a big party sub from Subway, unless people want that. But since it is the luncheon for my funeral, I should be able to forbid a couple of things: no egg salad sandwiches allowed! No tuna salad sandwiches either! Anything else is fine. Just make it comfortable and fun so people will want to stick around a long time.
There’s a lot of other things to think about but they don’t belong here – matters like where should it be, who should preach, who should sing solos, who should give the eulogy, who should be left off the list of participants – that maybe someday I’ll jot down on a sheet of paper, although the likelihood that it wouldn’t get hopelessly buried under a mountain of my other stuff are not too good. Maybe it’s more important to get on with the matter of living, and trust that when the day comes for my funeral, I will have lived in such a way that when family and friends sit in a circle and decide what to do, they will have a pretty good sense of who I was and what I valued most. That’s what Pam did, and it’s what ultimately allowed her family and friends to create a funeral that was so unmistakably “Pam.”
pictured above: a poignant sight in Dubuque at a cemetery up the road from the Shalom Retreat Center. One corner is devoted to children’s graves, and to see these markers with names and life spans of a single day or 2 or 3 days makes you so incredibly grateful for the gift of life itself.