Saturday, July 01, 2006
STRANGE FUNERAL RITES
Growing up in the 50s and 60s I often attended funerals and the calling hours that preceeded them. It was expected back then that the rosary would be led by the priest during the calling hours. It must have been at some time in the 70s or 80s when the rosary was led by a lay person. More recently the rosary has disappeared, ostensibly because no one had the time to lead it.
A relative of my husband's died this week. Apparently the priest who officiated at the funeral has extra time on his hands because he turned up at calling hours last night, but not to say the rosary. We did say the Our Father, Hail Mary, and Eternal Rest, then Father gave a short homily.
He talked mostly about the wake. Webster's defines it as "a watch held over the body of a dead person prior to burial and sometimes accompanied by festivity." Father, though, seemed to have something a bit different in mind for the definition of a wake. He said that at the wake we wake the deceased--we bring her back into our presence by telling stories about her. When we tell stories about her she is alive for us. After explaining his meaning of a wake, he asked those of us present to tell stories about the dead woman, and retreated into silence, waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
Finally a son-in-law told a story. It was a nice story about a mother-in-law who wanted her son-in-law to be present at her Christmas celebrations. When he sat down we lapsed back into waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
When Father at last concluded there would be no more stories he hastily closed the service. I braced myself for the funeral Mass itself.
Today the ceremony began in the vestibule as it always does, but instead of the funeral directors draping the casket, Father turned the white cloth over to the deceased's adult children, telling us as they draped the coffin, that it reminded us of the white garment that she wore when she was baptised, and that now it symbolized her residing in glory with the saints and angels and her loved ones who had died before her.
That was the theme of the entire funeral Mass, her entry into the glory of heaven. And what a Mass it was. In fact what a church it was.
The pews were on an angle facing the center of the church, though not necessarily the altar, since the altar was off-center. The lectern or podium or ambo, or whatever it should be called in such a place, was off-center as well, opposite the altar. Glancing around the church for some indication that this was in fact a Catholic Church and not some other denomination, I found the stations on the wall, and a strange black statue in the back, opposite the baptismal fountain. There were no holy water fonts. There was no tabernacle that I could discover anywhere. The crucifix was small--the processional crucifix--which was placed in a stand next to the podium thingy. There were lots of green plants. The windows had patterns in the glass, but nothing recognizably Catholic in the patterns. They emitted plenty of clear light. There were no kneelers. The altar servers were two middle-aged women.
The Mass was a wonder in staging, though not recognizably Catholic for the most part. Once we were standing in our pew, a woman who was part of the choir sang solo the verses of "On Eagle's Wings." According to the program we were given, that was the Responsorial. The entire event was lovely as a performance though at no time did I have any sense of God being present. The priest and several elderly ladies took turns chanting back and forth a variety of the canon that may or may not have included a proper consecration. It just didn't sound familiar. At one point a host the size of a dinner plate was held aloft. The Our Father, at least, I did recognize. We said that instead of singing it, and exchanged a recognizable sign of peace.
At communion, since I really didn't believe we were receiving anything more than bread, I refrained from bowing and felt awful about saying "Amen" to "The Body of Christ" since I didn't think it really was. The thing I was given was a perfect white, thick, square of odd-textured substance that reminded me of a shredded wheat cracker more than anything else. I couldn't see Father do it, but heard the sounds of breaking host or cracker or whatever it was. I guess it had been perforated to break apart neatly so that we each could receive a part of that round thing that had been elevated.
After being treated for an hour to the celebration of our deceased relative already in heaven, we progressed to the cemetary where Father said some prayers that sounded very much like the proper Catholic theology of praying for the dead who might be in pergutory and not already part of the heavenly choir. I so wanted to ask him why he was praying for her when he had told us that she was already all but resurrected, but didn't want to make a scene.
After the event concluded, my family and I were sitting around the livingroom talking about the funeral. We all thought the church looked normal from the outside and so probably had been renovated. My mother-in-law, who thought the funeral service was beautiful, pointed out right away that purgatory had been dispensed with. My sister-in-law brought up the fact that there might have been something Wiccan about the whole thing, though she has given up on Catholicism long ago. My husband just thought it had been very strange, and said that he could tell already from the vestibule that we were in for it. He also warned me that if I'm arranging his funeral I was not to allow anyone to suggest telling stories about him to everyone present because he figured they'd just be bad ones.
And so another aging relative has been consigned to the earth and to whatever God has in store for her, and I'm one more person closer to my own grave. What a shame that a true Catholic Mass was not a part of her funeral in spite of the fact that she was a faithful Catholic all of her life. Or at least she tried to be in spite of what she was stuck with for a church.
Incidentally, I looked up the church online and discovered that it has been the object of protests by Save Our Church.
Our Lady of Fatima, pray for us!
