Crimson Rambler's post hit my buttons! When she commented how frustrating it is as a priest when people tell her what to say at funerals.
Disclaimer: This post is a therapeutic outpouring of personal story and is not an overt or covert criticism of any person or priest or professional living or deceased on any planet at any time. It is a psalm of praise for the wonderful professional support we received at a vulnerable time. It just may not sound like it at first.Having relatively recently been part of a 'bereaved family' I now cringe at how bossy we were with the minister. I even told him what to put in the prayers. In fact I wanted him to use a prayer that I had written as an exemplar because it was such an excellent model. I wasn't at all certain that he would get it right! Family members did write and present one of the prayers.
And we refused to tell all Mum's life-long friends about longstanding but largely-hidden-from-public-view issues that had affected our family life. It kind of seemed a betrayal of her personal history despite the minister's best CPE stance that everything had to be put out in the open. Why should people who had known her for over 50 years suddenly, after her death, be told of something she had kept to herself through long years. Also he only seemed to pick up on the negatives of what we said and not the positives of living with a person of extremes. I still think we were right - our position was that we were not prepared to say anything about Mum after her death that we would not have said in front of her during her life.
I guess from the other side of the fence we were farewelling someone we loved very very deeply and who (for us her daughters) had known us our whole lives. And because of the circumstances we were entrusting this task to someone who had some brief associations with her in the past but who had known her mainly as a frail and rather lonely elderly woman.
It was a huge thing for us to entrust someone with this farewell. We were in the midst of really mixed up emotions. Our Mum was very particular - and idiosyncratic - about aspects of her faith and we wanted that to be respected. She had distanced herself from the institutional church for several years. Yet avidly watched religious television and talked about faith with family members. Not all of us are active churchgoers and we didn't want to force any member of the family to take part in something that was false to their personal position. Some of our family are at the evangelical end of the spectrum and were already saying things like "Hallelujah Father! Welcome your daughter home at last." It was also important not to compromise their experience and beliefs. It was so important to get it right. For everyone. Without reducing the frustrating, wonderful, generous, stubborn, innocent, loving, hurtful, hurt, family-focused, opinionated, creative mother with whom we enjoyed complex life-giving relationships. And me being an INFP control freak I placed that task of getting it right firmly on my own shoulders.
Yes I know the minister was the professional. As I write this I hear all the clergy reading it chorusing "Don't you think we know that". "We have trained for fifty zillion years and we know what we are doing." "Your family is just like the hundreds of other families we have done this for." "Just let me get on with my job."
Well perhaps that was part of it. For you it is your job. For us it was our life. It was our only chance to do this. We knew the people who would be there. Our aunties and uncles had also known us our whole lives, and our Mum had been part of their whole lives (at least the ones in her immediate family). To the professional we were one of many. We were farewelling our only mother. We had a lot invested in making sure that the farewell was good and that there was room for healing and rejoicing. And to be honest we had all attended some pretty terrible funerals over the years. As well as some amazingly good ones. We didn't know which kind this would turn out to be.
The tears are pouring down my face now. I didn't realise there was so much stuff I still had to work through. But how did it go you ask? I know my partner was surprised at how controlling we were and if he reads this he might be surprised at the persisting depth of feeling over four months later (as I am actually). If the minister blogs his post would probably read like that of Crimson Rambler. It's probably the example of difficult family he uses in CPE courses.
But for us - it was brilliant. All these people from Mum's childhood appeared, the church was absolutely packed. The singing was of the high calibre that can only come when you combine Baptist and Presbyterian traditions going back for generations. The minister must have received an extra measure of grace as he patiently and with great care held the whole assembled group together and supported participants. As well as stage-managing the non-appearance of two readers (their father tried to take a 'short-cut' to save time driving to the church and ended up running into a major obstacle that delayed them significantly), a soloist bursting into tears, a candle in a church with no matches, and a prop that didn't fit on the stand provided. And he drove me to the crematorium with grace and care. Comments afterwards reflected that
together we had achieved what we set out to achieve - a realistic but positive celebration of a life lived sincerely. There was a good balance of tears and laughter. Of course facilitated by the gentle professional management of the event. A person who had been estranged by comments from Mum reestablished a relationship with our family (and works 500 metres away from one of my sisters so they can meet for coffee or lunch). Driving along the river at the end of the day I wanted to tell Mum how good it had been and to let her know who had come to pay their respects.
Reflecting back I realise how frustrating this must have been for a person skilled and trained in pastoral care to deal with. It must have felt as if we had a basic lack of confidence in his abilities. Yet our drive to control was based on some really deep fears. That a real person would be made into some kind of plaster saint. That small parts of a life now completed would be exaggerated and be the focus of events. And some real hopes. That hurts might be healed. That understanding might grow. That someone who had found it hard to accept love might be remembered with love.
When we realised that this was understood we were able to be supported and loved through our farewell to our Mum. Thanks to CR for helping me to see just how much pastoral care was involved in bringing us to that point.
At the end of our tribute to our mother I said:
... The words we will use later today in the committal part of the service are especially apt for our Mum: "Lord, I am your servant, and now I can die in peace, because you have kept your promise to me." She had a strong sense of God’s faithfulness to her, that kept her free from harm. God had kept his promise to her. She had seen her children grow to mature adulthood. She was so proud of her grandchildren making their way in life in their own special ways, as strong caring individuals with purpose and plans for the future. The imminent arrival of her first great-grandchild gave her a sense that the clan identity was continuing on into the future. She was ready to depart in peace. We will miss her so much. We rejoice that she is released from the restrictions and limitations that made day-to-day life more difficult. We cry and express our sadness, yet we do not lose hope because we know that love is stronger than death, and that the life she has shared with us has helped us to become the people that we are.This morning I walked along the bank of the Waikato river – the river where her father chose to make his home, where Mum was born, committed her life to Christ, trained as a nurse, married, and where the three gorgeous redheads were born. The old Central Baptist Church on the banks of the river was the scene of many family weddings and other occasions. It was the river beside which we lived as a family at the Narrows, and runs through the town where each of us has lived as adults, where we farewelled our Dad eight years ago and where our Mum is now laid to rest.I made my own letter L from a piece of discarded flax, trimmed from the bush so that new shoots can grow and flourish. This L is for letting go.So depart in peace dear motherLet the current of God’s love carry you far into his heart where you are treasured foreverEnjoy fullness of life in the Saviour whose death and resurrection we celebrate this weekend And may the Holy Spirit keep your Spirit safe through all eternityWe will now have a time of quietness to remember our mother, sister, Grammy, friend. Let go of what we need to let go of, and keep deep in our hearts the things we need to remember and cherish.I still have some letting go to do. Thanks for bearing with me - those who have got this far. And thank you so much to CR for the opportunity for this therapeutic outburst. You must be such an amazing pastor to your people.
