Normally I offer a few improvised reflections on scripture at a funeral, but I woke up this morning thinking that I should prepare carefully something to say, aware that the death of a young person is going to bring into church a whole generation of contemporaries, family, friends and acquaintances. So, I spent a couple of hours writing a brief address to fit the occasion. While I was doing this, I received an email with a revised text of the eulogy, which I also needed to print off before leaving for church.
I tested my home Audio/CD player with music from my phone before the church started to fill in, and was pleased that the sound channelled through the radio hand microphone was good quality and wouldn't let me down. Nobody arrived as promised before the service with a phone containing the required downloads, however. The cortege arrived late, and I had to hunt around among the chief mourners to find out who had the device.
Eventually, someone handed this over to me, and when I asked who was going to take charge of operating it received no response, as if it was so self evident that there was no need to consider my question. The fact that it was an unfamiliar iPhone, a smaller one, difficult to read, even with reading glasses on, was disconcerting. I plugged it in, prodded what might have been the play button - I had no way of knowing - and nothing happened. Then I noticed that the phone had been set in flight mode, and clearly my injunction about the necessity of having proper downloaded tracks either not understood, not passed on, or ignored.
Just at the point of discovering this, the congregation stood up. I looked around to find that the procession of the coffin into church was already inside and ready to proceed. Rather than make a fuss about the lack of music, I led the procession in, and began the service. There was a congregation of four hundred, and half of them were under thirty. In welcoming people, I explained the unfortunate glitch and said that perhaps it was just as well, since a sudden tragic death stuns us all into silence.
The family had invited a gospel singer to give her rendering of 'Amazing Grace' unaccompanied. Familiar, and effective. I was able to work with the theme of saving grace in relation to both the readings and my prepared homily. Then, I asked the gospel singer for a repeat performance, before beginning the prayers and final farewell. As we got ready for the exit procession, someone stepped up and managed the phone, and started the music stream, a little too late for good effect, however. Despite careful planning, there was an element of mild chaos, as the family's good intentions were overwhelmed by the immediacy of their grief. Funeral directors are much more used to this than I am. Making things right despite everything tending to fall apart is their strong point. Without their calm support I'm not sure how I'd cope.
The congregation was quiet throughout and after we left the church, all seemed absorbed in grief and mutual comfort. Very few people spoke to me outside church, or at the graveside and then only a few words. I'll never know if any of them understood what I was saying to them. There was a huge crowd at Western Cemetery and the leading men took part in 'back-filling' the grave, as it's referred to in funeral jargon. Thank heavens the weather was warm and sunny with little wind. I meant that people could stand around, take their time, come out of their shells a little, before driving off to the wake. I was grateful to return home and fall asleep on the sofa after a late cooked lunch gone cold.
I'd intended to go to a Tai Chi class tonight, but the events of the day robbed me of any energy to do more than watch the final episodes of 'Rough Justice'. It concludes with closure on all the story lines, just leaving one loose end to retain the possibility of a second series, eventually or not, as the case may be.
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