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Friends United Meeting |
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April 2000
WHEN FRIENDS SAY GOODBYE
Tom Mullen
Quaker ways of practicing the Christian faith are always imperfect and frequently discombobulating. Show me a Friend who has never been driven to the edge of exasperation by our slow ways of decision-making, and I will introduce you to a newcomer to the Religious Society of Friends. Or we value independence of judgment so much that many secretly long for "real leaders" who speak with authority and tell us when and how, if not where, to go.
In one area, however, Friends consistently "get it right," and it happens at a time when "getting it right" is essential. I refer to the way Quakers say "goodbye" at the time of death. Having a memorial meeting after the manner of Friends usually reveals Quaker faith and practice at their best and most helpful.
I say this out of two levels of experience: One many readers of Quaker Life share, namely, having attended in their life-times memorial meetings for a wide variety of persons-young and old, famous and virtually unknown, people of deep faith and some with little evidence that faith was significant in their lives at all.
The other experience is based on what our family felt and treasured at the time Nancy died the week before Christmas in 1998. The memorial meeting held for her honored Nancy as a special human being, spoke to the grief and loss our family shared, and was a testimony to the faith and support of West Richmond Friends Meeting. Again and again, I have witnessed other Friends as they were sustained and blessed by the way Quakers say goodbye to their loved ones.
Traditional funerals help, to be sure, but they are handicapped by certain inherent limitations. Years ago I attended the funeral service for the father of a close friend. He was a man I knew well and admired, a leader in his congregation, and a man whose passing saddened many. The pastor, fairly new to the community, barely knew him, and the sermon he preached was full of generalities and clichés. It was orthodox and stated clearly basic Christian beliefs about hope and resurrection. But it could have been preached about a thousand other persons with my friend's father's name merely inserted in the blanks. As such, the sermon and service of which it was a part did no harm. (I've heard a few which did some harm, especially those when the occasion of death is used to scare relatives into joining a church!) But the service did little to help the mourners because the burden to do so was mostly on the shoulders of a conscientious but unprepared pastor.
Memorial meetings after the manner of Friends have a better opportunity to help loved ones through a dark night of their lives. Its essential component-time set aside for silence out of which persons who are led can speak or pray or sing-is a theological reminder that meetings for worship are intended to be led by the Living Christ. But because the silence can be surrounded by other worship forms, music, scripture readings, and prayers can be included that connect to the deceased. Instead of the burden being placed on one person-the pastor-the entire faith community gathers to pool life experiences, love, and insights in an effort to help those who mourn.
At Nancy's memorial meeting, neighbors and close friends sat on the facing bench along with the pastor-who was also a close friend. We sang "On Eagle's Wings" that captured Nancy's belief in its chorus: "And he will raise you up on eagle's wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of His hand." We read I Corinthians 13, the so-called "love chapter" of the New Testament, and the reader recalled that Nancy and I used to read it every night before we went to sleep when we were in seminary. He also recalled my telling him that we stopped doing so after learning our next-door neighbor had been listening to us-and hearing who-knows-what-else-through the paper thin wall that separated our apartments. The meeting closed with all of us singing "Let There Be Peace on Earth," the song Nancy and I had sung with the audience at the Indianapolis Symphony Christmas concert the night on which she suffered the stroke that took her life.
And how the ministry out of the silence helped us move through our grief! Those who spoke were mostly eloquent, but some were not. But eloquent or not, love for Nancy, appreciation for her life, and memories old and new marked their words. A remarkable blending of tears and laughter flowed in response. And when, near the end of the unprogrammed worship, a colleague came forward and played "Amazing Grace" on the piano, all of us felt God's Grace washing over us. Our daughter, Martha, spoke for all of us afterwards when she said, "Dad, I didn't want it to end."
Was our experience unique? Yes and no. It was so clearly connected to Nancy's life and those who spoke, sang, and prayed knew her so well that the service could never be "uncanned" and used for someone else. In that sense, it was unique. But what we experienced was like what other Friends have felt during the free-flowing, open and tender sharing that happens in Quaker memorial meetings. The sense of Christ's Presence, the faithfulness of the community, the supportive love of others were known experientially. That can also happen when a minister does a good job in the sermon, scripture lessons are carefully selected, and good choices of hymns are made. When, however, the corporate body centers down to remember a loved member and draws on the spiritual resources available to itself, we expect the Presence of Christ to be experienced.
Paul Irion in The Funeral and Mourners says that for funeral or memorial services to be effective, certain criteria must be met. Among them are:
They must deal with death realistically, i.e. not gloss over the loss and deprivation mourners feel. A vision of God must be presented which comforts and allows mourners to grieve. A funeral or memorial service should help us see the deceased as an individual of worth, i.e. someone whose life has value regardless of shortcomings or lack of social status. When we come to say goodbye, the Christian faith is a resource which enables us to mourn rather than feel pressured to appear "strong" by repressing our feelings. And an effective memorial service allows us to remember and recall who and how she or he was.
Friends were holding memorial meetings a long time before Irion wrote his book, but his analysis helps explain why mourners are helped by memorial meetings. As Friends speak from the heart, their voices may tremble and tears flow. Death and the separation it represents are felt in the words mourners share. Yet a God of comfort and strength is seen, shared, and expressed by other Friends who speak out of the silence. A loved one lost to death is valued as her friends remember her, and we can weep together as we recall times and events that defined a relationship.
Yes, the practice of Friends has its risks. Sometimes people say words that are not helpful. One Friend said, "I personally dislike the practice of declaring we ought not grieve for a person because he or she is in a better place. I would love still to have my grandparents here with me, so that isn't much consolation." Others recalled a well-meaning Friend saying words to the effect that "God took your mother because another rose was needed for heaven's garden." The words themselves do not help mourners, but we can honor the intent, and the fact that good-hearted persons are trying to be supportive carries a positive message.
Even when the "theology" is better stated, what is said by non-clergy often lacks the coherence and polish that an experienced pastor's sermon has. Ironically, it is sometimes the "polish" or the carefully guarded phrase that drains humanity from a funeral sermon. In contrast, I still recall years later a daughter speaking out of the silence at her father's funeral: "My Dad could be an awful grouch, and I sometimes resented him for it. But he loved me and I loved him, and that's what I remember best." No pastor would have had the right to say such words. "If we speak with the tongues of men and angels but have not love…."
Some funeral directors dislike Quaker memorial meetings because they know emotion is close to the surface and usually no casket is present. Thus, the aesthetics of the event-the flowers, an orderly procession past the body, soft lighting-are conspicuous by their absence. Dignity, however, is best understood at the time of death by integrity of purpose and authenticity of expression. And most memorial meetings meet that standard.
One other concern some have about Quaker memorial meetings is that they do well at remembering the person and giving permission for grieving to be expressed, but they occasionally fail to lift up the great statements of faith and hope-indeed, resurrection-that traditional services, by definition, emphasize. Because unprogrammed worship has few parameters, the ministry that arises from it can sometimes neglect key Christian affirmations. Thus, memorial services under the care of the Ministry and Oversight, and a pastor in a programmed meeting, can listen carefully and offer words that remind us that "we grieve but not as those without hope."
The risks are real but worth taking. We live in community, and death should be addressed by the community of faith. When a loved one dies, we do not gather as an audience to observe a presentation. We go to weep and laugh, and to embody love and support we feel in our hearts. Quakers do this well. The principles demonstrated in a memorial meeting are gifts we can give to the rest of the Christian world.
Tom Mullen is the author of 12 books and retired professor of creative writing and preaching at Earlham School of Religion.
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