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Friends United
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September/October 2009
Two Funerals and a Party
By Tom Mullen
After age 60, we attend a lot of funerals. Some of them, even, are for people younger than we are. In addition to services for relatives, after 60 the natural order prevails, and we attend funerals for favorite teachers, leaders in our churches and older colleagues. The older we are, the more aware of death we become.
I often reflect on what I hope will be true of my own memorial service. Having preached at many funerals and attended countless others, I have strong feelings about how the whole event should be observed. I prefer a memorial service which doesn’t require a corpse to be present and allows time for the initial shock to be absorbed.
Most of us hope a large crowd will show up, although attendance at funerals, even of famous people, depends mostly on the weather. We also hope that some of those who come will be sad, illustrated by the man who resolutely carried no life insurance because he wanted no one to be glad he had died.
Memorial services are communal events. They are times of mourning but also celebrating. When my teacher, Elton Trueblood, died, many persons spoke out of the silence about his 94 years of life. His family, colleagues, students and friends remembered him in a wide variety of ways — some comments bringing tears, others hearty laughter. His rich life and ministry made it easy to remember both our loss and moments of joy. Afterwards, we gathered for refreshments and trading stories and memories. Friendships were renewed. Hugging, laughter and tears were the emotions of the day. Elton, who loved a good party, would have been pleased.
His memorial service was larger in scope but similar in character to the funeral for my favorite aunt. Only about 25 people attended Aunt Helen’s service, mostly relatives and members of her church. Like Elton’s, her gathering was also full of sadness and happy memories. Her pastor told how Aunt Helen, who had no children of her own, invested her life as a school teacher for other people’s sons and daughters. He helped us become, for a few moments, a fellowship of persons gathered because of a common relationship. It felt just right, and afterwards most of the attenders went out to lunch together.
For me and my house, I hope the memorial service will be a happy religious event. I want people to sing hymns, and I hope friends will recall some happy moments. If they don’t, much of my life will have been wasted. The service shouldn’t go on too long, as refreshments will be served afterwards. A memorial service reminds us that, at death, we leave behind all that we have but celebrate all that we are. Without defining what a really good life is, at least we can say it is one so full that even the funeral director is sorry to see us go.
What is said at a funeral should be reasonably honest. Grief has a way of clouding our memories, and some services leave the impression that mean and useless people never die. This much is true: Perfect people never die, and when we gather to remember someone, telling the truth helps the healing. Once I heard a daughter, while speaking at her father’s memorial service, say this: “He was often hard to live with and, at times, a real grouch. But he was my Dad, and I loved him.”
When I go, if someone remembers me as patient, a case of mistaken identity has occurred. I pray, but no one who knows me would confuse me with St. Francis of Assisi.
Being remembered as we really were and still loved frees mourners from vague feelings of guilt. God’s Grace is what allows us to celebrate the lives of people who die, not our ranking in Who’s Who or a listing in the most recent volume of The Best People Who Ever Lived.
In short, when we die, it’s best to let our lives speak for themselves. If we are fortunate enough to be part of a faith community, words of resurrection and hope can be embraced and claimed. We can laugh together and weep together because the joke is ultimately on the Grim Reaper. That’s why he’s so grim.
The final gathering can be a party. As I think about death — as lots of people my age do — this is what I’d like: A party, and you are all invited. Refreshments will be served.
This article is a shortened version of the final chapter in Tom’s book, Living Longer & Other Sobering Possibilities, published by Friends United Press in 1996. At Tom’s memorial service, we did, in fact, sing hymns, recall happy moments and share refreshments. His was a full life and one worthy of celebration.