The Good Funeral Guide

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Some reflections here by Guardian commenter StoPeriyali on the way we do cremation in the UK:

Having been to several (far too many) crematorium services, I have always felt the moment when the curtain closes and they start to hoosh you all out ready for the next one, is utterly dismal, flat, anti-climactic, unsatisfying. You have to leave knowing the box is still just right there, behind a bit off curtain, and it feels like you’re abandoning the person right at the last bitter moment, and doesn’t feel any kind of closure, unlike if you could see the white heat and the coffin ignite.

When it’s me I would like to be put in old family dinghy with all my favourite treats and sentimentally valued stuff, set alight with something spectacularly flammable, and pushed off with sails set towards the Western horizon at sunset.”

This dismal process was what was putting me off cremating one of my late cats. Belize, a splendid Siamese, was the cat of my prime but she finally died during weather like the present and I couldn’t face digging a grave in the slushy mud. I took her to pets’ crematorium and the experience was quite the opposite from the standard human crematorium. I got to lay her out as if she were asleep – all curled up – and surrounded her with flowers. Then she was placed on a sheet of metal and slid into the cremation area (not so much an oven, more open). And then – by now H and S kicked in and this was being seen on a screen – she was seen to burst into flames. It was magnificent and I thought of Patroclus’ funeral pyre in the Iliad. She went to glory!

The kindness of the crematorium staff towards the owners of the pets was exemplary and the day which started out so sadly ended with the feeling I’d done the right thing by a well-loved pet. I think we probably need to actually see flames consuming the coffin to achieve the sense of closure (can’t think of a better expression but appreciate it’s become hackneyed )

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The Natural Death Handbook, Fifth Edition

A thoroughly updated and revised edition of the Natural Death Centre‘s celebrated handbook. Now presented alongside a new collection of essays on death, dying and funeral practices by doctors, historians, authors, poets, theologians and artists including Richard Barnett, David Jay Brown, Dr Sheila Cassidy, Charles Cowling, Bill Drummond, Stephen Grasso, Maggi Hambling, Graham Harvey, Gary Lachman, Nick Reynolds, and Dignity in Dying.

It’s out in May 2012!

Since it went offline in 1983 a number of developers have strategised and sunk under the burden of putting Battersea Power Station to profitable use. It can’t be knocked down because it’s Grade 2 listed. Given its rapid rate of deterioration it’ll fall down of its own accord soon anyway.

A robust proposal for life after leccy was proposed by reader John Buckingham in a letter published in this week’s Spectator magazine:

“… The Victorians would have had no such scruples, had the opportunity been presented to them. With its four wonderful chimneys, it is splendidly set up as a central crematorium. The walls would provide ample storage space for urns, and the customers could be brought in by barge, obviating the wasteful need for travel to Golders Green and other distant parts.”

We like it. 

From This Is Bristol:

I WANT to share a distressing experience with your readers. Last Monday(12th) was my Mum’s funeral it was at 12.30 at Canford Crematorium.

We were waiting for the hearse to come to our house and at about 12.10 it had still not arrived I rang the funeral company in case they had gone straight to Canford by mistake. I could hardly believe it when they told me the hearse had been delayed because the driveway was blocked by a van delivering to a kebab shop nearby.

Apparently the lady directing the funeral, one of the staff from the funeral parlour and even a rag man collecting from another shop in the rank had all asked the van driver and/ or staff in the kebab shop to move the van to no avail.

Because we were late everyone rushed in to the crematorium and my poor husband who relies on a mobility scooter was still trying to park it up and sit in a pew as the opening address ended. Everyone was very upset because it was obvious we were late and the service was rushed, though the funeral company and minister tried very hard to minimise the impact this had on those of us who were mourning the loss of my Mum.

For the dead, time stands still. For the living, awareness of time, on funeral day, is never more acute. Damn you, kebab shop. Damn you, crem timetable. This is the way we do things, and there’s absolutely no need for it, idiot kebab shops or no.

Source

Obviously, any building created by the state at the behest of its citizens should be faith-neutral. It’s a given, it goes without saying, so why say it?

Because the Co-op seems to have fallen foul of an unholy alliance of some townspeople of Shrewsbury in the matter of its £1.7 million refurb of the town’s crematorium.

Built in unenlightened times, Shrewsbury crem is distinguished, as you can see from the photo, by a large cross on its steeply pitched front gable, and another on its chimney of all places.

Reading between the lines of the newspaper report it looks as if the Co-op had quite properly resolved to get rid of the crosses until local vicar Revd Murray McBride assembled a posse of, I don’t know, Christian conservationists or somesuch, and, by means which are not described, corrupted the moral fibre of the Co-op and caused it to backtrack. Said a Co-op spokesperson, “The Co-operative Group is not altering the crematorium in any other way so we are able to confirm that the chimney and crosses will remain.”

We don’t question the earnest wellmeaningness of the Revd McBride, but sorry, mate, you don’t speak for everyone. A cross can only ever be an opt-in.

McBride asserts that “From a design point of view [the crematorium] is a great example of a building from the 1950s or 60s and the crosses form an integral part of that.”

What do you think?

Story in the Shropshire Star here

Two interesting crematorium stories for you.

The Sydney Morning Herald, in a story colourfully titled Crematoriums add corpse power to electricity grid, reports that Durham (Eng) crematorium is planning to “use the heat generated during cremation to provide enough electricity to power 1500 televisions. A third burner is to be used to heat the site’s chapel and offices.” How the Grid sorts exclusive use for tellies is not described. But it’s an eminently pragmatic re-use of energy and we can only hope the commonsensical, channel-hopping folk of Durham go with it. Intriguing, isn’t it, how cremation is closing the gap on its greener competitors, Resomation and Promession?

Meanwhile, in the Midlands, there’s a naming tussle going on concerning the new crem being built midway between Stourport and Kidderminster. Wyre Forest District Council wants to call it Wyre Forest crematorium but, in a heartwringing plea, the burghers of Stourport have begged for it to be named after their town. Civic pride is involved, and the izzat of Stourport. Councillor Gary Talbot has issued this (rather foot-stamping?) entreaty: “It is in Stourport so I think it should be named after Stourport. The town deserves more recognition and respect. We get hit time and time again. If it was in Kidderminster, I don’t think it would be named after Wyre Forest.”

We had no idea that civic pride involves having a facility for incinerating the dead named after you. 

Source 1  Source 2

“A crematorium would stink up the neighborhood. Essentially, we would be breathing dead people.” 

Stephen Thorburn of Las Vegas in response to a proposed crematorium in his neighbourhood. 

Posted by Richard Rawlinson, religious correspondent

The excerpt above is from a funeral sermon by a US Catholic priest in which he berates those members of the congregation who are only in church because it’s a loved one’s funeral, but whose own souls are in mortal danger after skipping Mass on a regular basis.

Some might be appalled by this opportunistic sabotage of a ceremony where the bereaved are bidding farewell to the deceased. A secular equivalent might be a British Humanist Association celebrant choosing a civil funeral to evangelise atheism by refusing to condone religious hymns, declaring that if the bereaved insist on such quasi-theist practices, he/she will declare that, ‘as a humanist I will not be taking part’.

To those celebrants flexible enough to tailor funerals to varying tastes, criticism of lapsed or half-baked faith or pick ‘n’ mix agnosticism might seem inappropriate. What’s more important for them is to do one’s best to show respect and sensitivity, accepting some will want frills of different hues, others will want the least fuss possible, allowing more time to laugh and cry over a booze-up at the main event, the post-committal party.

But where are more individualistic belief systems leading society – whether atheistic or ‘designer faiths’ cut to suit personal preferences? In some ways, both the stern shepherd priest and the bossy BHA militant are clear and decisive, but only if preaching to the converted. In the ‘consumer is king’ world, they’re arrogant prigs.

In his book, Futurecast, US religion statistics expert George Barna says the one-person-one-religion trend is a rejection of the boring services of organised religion. But he notes individualism is causing fracture. If everyone is pretty much on their own, you lose some of the capacity to make connections. It’s also triggering hostility towards institutions; government and industry, as well as organised religion and inflexible BHA God-haters.

All this makes it challenging to devise formulaic, communal rituals that are relevant to the individualism forming today’s civil funerals. Perhaps it simply isn’t possible, and we should be grateful that existing practices do indeed already unite those involved through personalised eulogies, songs and readings in the presence of the deceased. Symbolic acts such as liberating doves, ringing bells or assigning time to silent contemplation are an added ritualistic bonus but are unlikely to achieve the resonance of faith ritual.

It might be useful to study the Church’s way further. Churches are at an advantage as they’re beloved, familiar places of communal bonding that offer pastoral care before and after the funeral, as well in everyday life whether grieving or not. The rituals are not deemed extraordinary because they’re familiar by virtue of their weekly repetition.

To develop this point, allow me to briefly digress: while uncomfortable with the aforesaid priest’s modu operandi, the saying ‘Get yourself to Mass and your brain will follow’ resonates with me. The sacrament works because I’m open to the peace-giving and inspirational qualities of the Catholic faith. We eat when hungry, sleep when tired, work in order to earn money and gain spiritual nourishment from the Holy Eucharist. To those not receptive to the joyful mysteries of the Mass, its communal liturgy might seem far from an integral part of life, more pointless and dull in fact.

Living in London, I’m a member of a vibrant parish community participating in traditional Masses in a beautiful church with warm, erudite priests and an excellent master of music and choir. I’ve often wondered guiltily if I’d be so receptive if my local church was an edge-of-town bungalow with budget ceremony. I’ve been to such Masses and can honestly say – with or without lace, vestments, bells and smells; in spite of banal homilies, guitars in the sanctuary, and screaming kids in the pews – the Holy Eucharist remains a manna that brings miraculously a purer love, awe, gratitude, humility and inner peace than anything else on Earth. It’s familiar but extraordinary because of its meaning, not its ‘physical’ parts.

Crematoria as a backdrop for ritual are not ideal, strange, one-off places visited under duress in order to dispose of loved ones in a furnace. In a previous blog, I mentioned the North Texas Church of Freethought, a kind of community centre for atheists attempting to offer ‘all the educational, inspirational, and social and emotional benefits of traditional faith-based churches’. This extreme and most likely financially unviable option is perhaps more likely to be overrun by the didacts than the anything-goes liberals. Members of both camps might also find the concept too close for comfort to organised religion. So what are the alternatives for those seeking to escape the clock-watching charmlessness of the crematorium, and perhaps develop rituals that resonate?

Is there sufficient demand for two separate venues, church substitute for ceremony, crematorium for committal? And what are the options for church substitutes: hotels, homes, hilltops for alfresco funeral pyres? A ballroom in the former offers seating space and hospitality services but may be expensive and impersonal even if the manager found a way of sneaking in coffins without upsetting the guests. Homes may be too small for big turn-outs and outdoor funeral pyres are, I believe, currently illegal (good luck with your campaign, Rupert).

Wherever civil funerals are held and however much communal ritual is included, there’s conflict between individualism and commune, free-spirited ego and membership of a ‘club’ greater than its individual parts.

Posted by Charles

When East Staffordshire Borough and South Derbyshire District Council sold Bretby crematorium to Midlands Co-op there were those who said no good would come of it. It’s been just a few weeks and the doomsayers are already feeling grimly vindicated. 

The Co-op has been refurbing the car park with this consequence to a mourner: 

“I was attending a funeral last Tuesday (August 23) and was standing outside the entrance to the crematorium at 10.30am with about a dozen other people and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“It was just disgraceful. The workers were shouting at each other over the machines and using foul language, right in front of the mourners with absolutely no thought for them. The people I was standing with were just as disgusted as me. 

“People are paying their last respects and saying their last goodbyes so they shouldn’t be expected to put up with this behaviour. It is disgraceful that mourners have to witness this.” 

Full story in the Burton Mail here.

Posted by Gloriamundi

Health warning: this will be opinionated – it’s only my view

1. Ask yourself why you want to do it, and listen to the answers. The motivations of celebrants are varied, and not necessarily clear to themselves at first. It’s a role that reveals yourself to yourself. That can be quite a tough process. You’ll want to feel happy with some robust, clear non-financial reasons for doing it.

2. Another income stream is essential; it is all but impossible to earn a sensible living. The demand for your services will be unreliable and unpredictable. There may be a very few people who can take enough ceremonies each week to earn a very modest living, but they must be super-efficient, emotionally and spiritually tough, and have a fade-proof capacity for empathy.

 3. There are probably some people who should never try to be teachers or airline pilots or…celebrants. You need a basic toolkit:

*   empathy and patience to deal with the bewildering variety of responses you’ll come across amongst bereaved people (they can even be startlingly rude sometimes!) 

*   a reasonably wide knowledge of the ways of the world – you meet all sorts of people, and you’ll want to pick up very quickly on cultural signals, work references, social contexts 

*   an understanding of, preferably a gift for, ceremony and ritual

*   the ability to write and speak in a way that creates enhanced meaning, and draws people towards you rather than keeping them at a stiff distance.

Some but not all of these things can be improved with training – provided they are there to begin with. (Fair enough, I couldn’t fly an Airbus if I trained for ten years…)

 4. Here’s the big stuff: for the bereaved people you work with, you need to be able feel and show some love. Not the sentimental version, the real, unselfish, compassionate thing. You’re not there just to take efficient notes about someone’s life, stick some philosophical niceties fore and aft, and play a CD or two. You need to be able to enter a circle of grief and share a little of it without being knocked over yourself. You’re on a journey with these people. They’ve not been on it before, nor have you, and you can’t know your final destination when you start the journey.

 5. Obvious enough: you have to put your own preferences and beliefs at a working distance, while you help people explore what they need. This sometimes means letting go whilst family members do something you may think you could do better yourself. A funeral isn’t an artifact, it’s an event; your control over it won’t be total.

 6. You need to stay calm if unexpected things happen (mostly they don’t.) In fact, reducing tension without being superficial is something important you always need to do, so people can feel what they feel, not what they might think they are expected to feel.

 7. If you’re good, you’ll find a sense of balance, constantly shifting as you read people’s responses and tune your voice, your gaze, your stance; you need what people usually call presence, and yet it’s not about you. The ceremony needs to belong to them; it’s not a showcase for your erudition and eloquence. You’re sharing the floor with them, even if yours is the only voice heard.

 8. OK, so:

*  being a celebrant is badly paid (at many funerals, the flowers cost more than the celebrant’s fee) and the training is expensive

*  some crems are dreary, some undertakers can be difficult

*  it can be nerve wracking (at the first one or two, nerves are predictable, but things can go wrong however well-experienced you are)

*  it is sometimes deeply upsetting; a tragedy that has resulted in a phone call to you from a funeral director you’ve met twice and don’t much like, asking you to visit a family you have never met – who are in pieces

*  even with traditional British levels of self-control, raw grief is a difficult thing to share a room with. The only guide is your compassion, the only help is your skill.

 9. If you are being honest with yourself, (if you’re not, you’ll never be a convincing celebrant) if you still want to do it, welcome – it’s a deeply fulfilling job that may overturn your preconceptions about your own mortality. If you wonder why you feel elated as you leave the crematorium. It’s because you’ve been privileged enough to help people with a unique event at a major crisis in their lives.