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I have long
appreciated the Fram Auto Filter ad: “You can pay me now OR you can pay
me later.” The wisdom in that ad is equally valuable in dealing with
loss and bereavement.
The funeral
rituals moved me for the Queen Mother. No five minute “generic” service
that could have been done for anyone, instead a highly crafted ritual
extravaganza which celebrated Elizabeth’s relationship with her family,
with her country, and with her God.
We need
rituals
Unfortunately, some have missed the opportunity to do appropriate
rituals immediately after the loss. In a sense, however, it is never too
late to ritual a loss. Terese Rando says that “Rituals give form,
structure, and meaning to our feelings. They are unique opportunities
for communication, ventilation, and appropriate acting out.” Nothing in
the definition implies a time limit.
Rabbi Michael
Zedek has identified four purposes of rituals.
To help us
acknowledge what has happened.
To help us
know what we are when something has happened.
To help us
proceed when something has happened.
To help us
act our way into right thinking.
Three
millennia ago Jewish exiles asked, “How do we sing the Lord’s song in a
strange land?” (Psalm 137: 4). Today, loss, particularly grief, makes
us, too, feel like exiles––exiles from the familiar, from the secure.
How do we “ritual” thoroughly in a culture impatient for us to move on?
Rabbi Zedek’s
use of the plural, “to help us” is significant. In a me-centric culture,
while you are reading this article, someone will snarl, “When I die just
take me out and dump me . . .” or conclude “We do not want any
rituals. She was old. Who would come?”
I would add a
fifth reality for rituals.
To help us
know we are not alone. Rituals provide venues for others to respond to
and share feelings.
Many reading
the article are long past “the ritual opportunity”. That’s what Meredith
thought as she coordinated arrangements for the Grief Gathering I led in
her church. Meredith had not planned to participate in the sessions
since she disenfranchised her feelings, “my loss happened so long ago”.
Meredith had
a handicapped brother. In those days, it was something of a stigma.
Meredith’s mother’s life was organized around David’s care. When David
had to be hospitalized with pneumonia, Meredith looked after the other
children. Then one day her mother came home and announced, “Your brother
died. I am going to bed. Take care of the children.”
Meredith
became Mom, Jr. Her mother walked into her bedroom, shut the door, and
emotionally disappeared for six months. Since her mother was an atheist,
no rituals were held. I am not sure what I said in opening that grief
gathering but something captured Meredith’s unresolved grief for her
brother. At the end of the six weeks, she requested a ritual for her
brother. Fortunately, she belonged to a church that has a rich tradition
of “making special”. In some congregations she might have been told,
“For heaven’s sake, your brother died fifty years ago!” On a Wednesday
night, friends gathered in the chapel for a ritual for David and for
Meredith.
Something
old; something new
You know the
guidance, “Something old, something new; something borrowed, something
blue”. As I have researched ritual observance, I have concluded those
four guidelines are applicable in planning funeral and memorial
celebrations.
Something old
As I
conducted my mother’s funeral––although she was not Episcopal––I used
words from The Book of Common Prayer. I took comfort that millions of
sons grieving mothers had heard these time-tested words. Recently, as I
watched the Queen Mum’s funeral, I recognized the words. Queen Elizabeth
II and I both had heard something “old” at our mother’s funerals.
Unfortunately, we ritual in a culture that has elements that have thrown
out the baby with the bathwater. Tragically, generic rituals never name
or honor the deceased. I was in one mega-church recently where the
senior minister does seven minute funerals. In an age of “one minute”
management, I suppose the one-minute funeral is inevitable.
However, in
reading Dennis Robert’s Report from Ground Zero, I was moved by the use
of old liturgical and fire department traditions in these funerals and
memorial services for September 11th victims—even when there was very
little “body” in the casket. While some firemen kept digging, other
firemen found emotional grace in the familiarity of rituals.
Families and
friends expected something old to comfort them just as other fire
families had been comforted for generations. Firemen sat in that service
knowing “someday” this is what my funeral ritual will sound and look
like.
Something new
A funeral
ritual is a ceremony for a particular person. In the Appalachian
folksongs, Will the Circle Be Unbroken, the lyrics sing, “Undertaker,
undertaker. Please drive slowly, for this passenger that you’re carryin’
is my mother.” Not just any mother––my mother.
Too many
settle for rote generic “by the book” funeral rituals. I wanted, in the
words of the University of Washington anthropologist, Ellen Dissanayake,
to “make special” for my mother. Did you ever respond to someone who
wanted to do something for you, “Oh, don’t go to any trouble on my
part?” Fortunate are those who hear, “Oh, it’s no trouble.”
Increasingly, these days we hear, “Okay, I won’t.”
Dissanayake
urges us to take advantage of every opportunity to make special. Take
the ordinary and “make special”. Be intentional. Be ritual. My mother’s
favorite gospel song was And When the Battle’s Over We Shall Wear a
Crown, in the New Jerusalem. She had a great belief that God had invited
her to spend eternity with him. So, we symbolized that belief by placing
a gold crown on the pink-rosed casket spray.
As I
concluded the homily, I called attention to the crown. All her life, my
mother sang that song––confident in her faith that in some distant
moment, she would wear a crown. Stepping to the casket, I lifted the
crown: “Mom, this isn’t much of a crown. It’s just a symbol. I am
confident that today you are wearing the crown you sang about.” Then I
laid the crown over her folded hands.
When I asked
the director to remove the floral spray from the casket, people shifted
nervously. What was going on? The spray always stayed on the casket. I
polished the
lower lid of the casket. Then I faced the mourners. “You know my mother
was quite a handshaker. She should have been a politician. So, as you
come by the casket before you leave, place your hand on the casket and
leave your fingerprints so Momma will know you were here.” Heads turned
and eyes asked, “Did I hear correctly?”
As the
organist played, we followed the old tradition of walking by the open
casket. Some lightly touch the casket as if it were “hot”. Ralph Ferren,
my mother’s Sunday school teacher for a number of years, tears streaming
down his face, placed both hands on the casket. My Aunt Ellen lovingly
stroked the casket, “I’ll see you soon, Mary.” With the first notes of
Onward Christian Soldiers, the director closed the casket and the
bearers took their places and we proceeded to the hearse.
“You know,”
the director said as we drove toward the cemetery, “I’ve seen lots of
things but I’ve never thought to ask people to leave their fingerprints
on the casket. Would you mind if I suggest that to families?”
That ritual
innovation of placing hands on the casket cost nothing. But the comfort
it brought us may, in turn, through the funeral director’s
recommendation, bring comfort to others. Something you create may become
the next innovation and comfort gift to a family. Your creativity could
give another individual or family permission to “make special”.
Sometimes, we
need to “stretch” an old tradition. In part of Kentucky, bearing a
casket is “men’s work”. My brother did a double-take when I suggested
that we have some female pallbearers. He had never seen such a thing (I
had only once at the funeral of Cardinal Bernardin in Chicago).
As I
concluded the funeral, I told the grievers, “Now keep your eyes open.”
Many were stunned and pleased to see the grandsons and granddaughters
carry their “Mam-Maw” to the waiting hearse. Again we took the old and
tweaked it.
Something
borrowed
Innovation is
a big theme in weddings; innovation should be borrowed freely in funeral
rituals. I attended the funeral for John William Perry, a New York City
policeman who died in the World Trade Center. As soon as I heard the
first notes of the bagpiper’s Amazing Grace, I thought, when I die, I
want a bagpiper!
My friend,
Dot Culver, was a Purdue Boilermaker. For ninety of her ninety-three
years. She lived within blocks of the campus and was an enthusiastic
alumnus. As I talked with her daughter, Nancy, about the funeral and
committal, she told me that she really wanted the Purdue Fight Song for
the recessional.
“But?” I
questioned, noticing the hesitation in her voice. “Well, it’s probably
not appropriate for a church funeral.”
“Sure it is,”
I said.
So, Nancy
“borrowed” the fight song. At the end of a wonderful celebration of the
life and faith of Dorothy Culver, the organist broke into a spirited
playing of The Purdue Fight Song! A Boilermaker was going home.
Something
blue
At an
increasing number of funerals, planners try to avoid anything that might
make someone cry. Indeed, many funerals are labeled “celebrations”.
Well, some grievers need funerals. Some ritual elements might not only
cause someone to cry but cause lots of people to cry.
Do it now! It
is never too late to have a ritual. In working with grievers, I have
learned that many have only snippets of memory of the rituals of their
loved one.
I applaud the
efforts of funeral directors to install state-of-the-art video equipment
in their chapels so that individuals can have video memories to boot-up,
refresh, or replace, their memories. I wish we had videotaped my
mother’s funeral. I was so busy doing the ritual that, in a sense, I
missed out on my mother’s funeral.
Many are so
emotionally distressed that they remember nothing. That is why we do
re-rituals at Saint Luke’s. We close each six-week group with a “Naming
of the Name” service that lasts about 30 minutes. It is designed to give
opportunity, repeatedly, to say the name of the loved one.
Anniversaries
offer excellent opportunities to re-ritual. Recently, I counseled a
family that had never purchased a marker for their mother’s grave. I
counseled them to make it a grand meaningful gathering of the clan. The
ritual you create could be a great model for another. Do yourself a
favor: ritual or re-ritual. Make special.
Harold Ivan
Smith leads Grief Gatherings at Saint Luke’s Hospital in Kansas City and
speaks to groups across the country on issues related to dying, death,
and bereavement. The author of
A December
Grief, When You Don’t Know What to Say, and When Your
Friend Dies, he is a member of the Association for Death Education
and Counseling.
Printed
with permission. This article was written for the Summer 2002 issue of
Wings by Harold Ivan Smith.
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