Ten-Finger Exercises

Outstanding, in the sun

The sun was determined to keep everyone on the hill hot, a reminder of fifty years of wheat harvests. A newly threshed field, its stubble the color of my old blond cocker spaniel, was background for the cemetery, rising at a precarious angle from the solemn green. A hundred people gathered, some breathing heavily from the steep hike up to the canopy that covered the family and the grave. Two wagons, pulled by mules, came up the dirt road, one carrying the casket. The other held a tub of ice and bottles of water that were handed out to the waiting crowd.

Each mule wore six brass bells mounted on a bar a foot above their necks, attached to the harness somehow. A barbershop quartet sang the opening hymn, The Old Rugged Cross. A neighborhood dog barked through the whole performance, but too far away to disrupt anything. Someone's car alarm went off for awhile. An old man behind me, who probably couldn't hear, talked in loud stage whispers. "Those people are talking more about themselves than about Junior," he said. It all felt honest and good.

Okay, those were all the cool parts. The rest was just funeral, with too many long-winded speakers, and some teenagers singing a sentimental, popular Christian song, not quite in tune. I reminded myself that they were somebody's grandchildren, and hoped they were family, given the quality of the performance.

Here's why I'm sharing yet another funeral with you.

Many young people have never been to a funeral, in this day and age. More and more people elect not to have one, and the ones I see most often (given the nature of my job as a hospice chaplain-- not just for the fun of it!)-- are pretty predictable. Frequently, the pastor has never met the deceased, and the deceased had no favorite hymns to choose from.

That's the kind of funeral (or memorial service) that, if it's your only experience, you may well choose not to go to another, or have one for someone you love or for yourself. And that would be a pity. It is a shame not to honor people's lives with some sort of tribute, and to gather people to comfort the family when it's over. The man whose life was celebrated today would have loved it. He would have been proud, and his family was able to share their pride as well as their sorrow.

Funerals are for the families and friends, of course, not the deceased. I've talked several dying people out of telling their families they don't want anything. When people do that, families sometimes feel guilty about going against their will. Just slipping away, unheralded, doesn't save anybody any pain.

Okay, I'll get off my soapbox for now.

We have another BIG funeral to go to this Saturday, but this time it's personal, not business. It's a friend and co-worker of Bill's, a man in his 50's who died an unexpected death from a sudden stroke. I'll try to spare you from the details though, unless there's something really unusual.

Now I'm ready for my gin and tonic. Cheers!