Eliminate the negatives

The hearse pulled up, the conductor opened up the back and one of the mourners whipped out a camera. Something gave her pause. She turned to me (I was the celebrant) and said, “Is this not good in your country?” She was German. I told her that convention counted for nothing, but… Then I got some nods from the others so I told her to go ahead. She got some good pics, and I am sure they all cherish them.

We snap away from dawn to dusk but we stop when we get to a funeral. Why so? Because we want it to leave no visible trace? Perhaps. If you want to shut your eyes tight to something, why on earth would you want to take photographs of it?

If you engage with a funeral you’re bound to want to commemorate it, and take away visible and material reminders. What better than photos?

I’m really pleased when I see cameras at a funeral. It doesn’t happen nearly enough. How many professional photographers out there specialise in it? Well, there isn’t the demand, is there?

I don’t know about that. I think that supply can create demand. Give people the idea, show them the way, and they’ll run with it.

I hope that’ll be true of In Our Hearts Images. Here’s a brave new venture. Remembrance photography, they call it. I like it. Good luck to you, Esther and David. I hope you will soon be flattered by many imitators – none near you, of course.

Open air funerals are go!

In the light of yesterday’s Court of Appeal judgement in favour of Davender Ghai and anyone else who wants to be cremated on a funeral pyre, Rupert Callender of the Green Funeral Company, and a Trustee of the Natural Death Centre, has this to say:

The verdict this Wednesday from the High Court accepting the legal arguments presented by The Anglo-Asian Friendship Society and supported by The Natural Death Centre in favour of outdoor funeral pyres is as cheering as it is unexpected. It seems that underneath its musty periwigs and robes, British justice can still feel its way to the spirit of an issue and move radically in favour of the individual.

Of course, this is only a battle that has been won, not the war. The next impenetrable ring of defence, our Orwellian and inscrutable planning system and our perversely selective Environmental Health department will no doubt dig in for a long siege. For those of us who dream of blazing hilltops lighting up the night sky and illuminating dancing crowds, we still have miles to go before we sleep.

The media have predictably missed the point, with all of the major papers failing to grasp the concept that this is a right won for us all, not just those whose religious edicts prescribe it.

The strength of feeling on this matter that I have encountered from ordinary middle class Devonshire folk is incredible. It seems our ancestral memory has been stirred and will not lie down. Only this morning I encountered a woman who railed against not being able to cremate her mother in this way, and the spiritual paucity of what she had to settle for, the ubiquitous twenty minutes in a council run crem.

This is what has really cracked today, the one-size-fits-all funeral box that we have been squeezed into for so long. The people who manage our death rituals, particularly big funeral chains and crematorium consortiums, can be left in no doubt that the fundamental template no longer fits. Convenience can no longer dictate the ritual.

It is of course the crematoriums that are best placed to effect any changes; they solve many of the planning issues by existing already. Crematoriums are divided into those that are privately run, some by big players, and those that are managed by the council. Despite being heavily subsidised with our council taxes, it is the municipal ones that are shabby and run down. In one of our local urban ones, you are locked into a Victorian chapel for twenty minutes, so woe betide any latecomers, and the end of the service is marked by a noise reminiscent of the opening scenes of “Porridge.” The privately run ones, while still being deep in the belly of the capitalist beast at least are open to the whiff of consumer concern. We at the NDC have done our best to tempt them with new technologies, specifically Cryomation and Resomation, but we have also tried to sow seeds of change about how the ritual itself is managed, not just the mechanics of body disposal.

Integrating an area for outdoor cremations would be easy in a practical sense, and show that they do indeed “get it.” It is not quite the showy druidical theatrics of Dr Price that so many of us long for, but it is the beginning of something profound.

Ed’s note: Quoting the Press Association story: “the judgment goes on to state that the difficulties which may be thrown up by planning and public health legislation, should an application be submitted, have not been considered as part of this judgement.

 

“Furthermore, the method of burning associated with funeral pyres is not covered by any regulations which currently only apply to cremators powered by gas or electricity which are designed to maintain environmental standards, in particular air quality.

 

“Following the judgment, all local authorities will await further guidance from the Home Office and Defra as regards any proposed regulations or legislation which may control the proposed manner of cremation to ensure environmental standards and public health are protected.”

Use this land for the dead!

Cremationists have always been proud to boast that what they do saves land for the living. It’s true. That more than 70 per cent of Brits opt for the burning fiery furnace saves around 200 acres a year.

Having said which, and having visited a number of natural burial grounds, I find myself seeing natural burial potential almost everywhere, these days. There is a great deal of land which presently does nothing but look after vegetation, birds and insects. Let’s use it!

Here in Redditch we have a New Town built by seriously socialist planners. It was created to house overspill Brummie working folk in bucolic surroundings. There is a road system which looked great on paper. It incorporates the UK’s only clover-leaf road junction, of which we are overweeningly proud. Our roads constitute a nightmare of featurelessness and dementedly speeding vehicles, with ne-er an enforced speed restriction to be seen. That’s a downside (don’t get me started). But we also have a People’s Park, in the midst of which, dug out of virgin farmland, we have a people’s lake with lakeside parking, lakeside cafe, lakeside visitor centre, lakeside play area and even a tarmac lakeside path. Here, of a Sunday afternoon, we, the good people of Redditch, like to take the air. The shade of Joe Stalin surveys our jostling prams and Staffies, and he smiles.

In the middle of our lake we have islands. I can never gaze at them without thinking what excellent natural burial grounds they would make. There’s a problem with accessibility, of course, and this is what makes them such excellent habitats, but it may daunt those who wish to visit a grave frequently. They could wave and call out from the lake’s edge, of course; it’s only 50 metres away. Would the good people of Redditch settle for a boat trip on, say, four appointed days a year to lay flowers and join in a ceremony of remembrance? I wonder… You could call the islands names like Avalon, Lyonesse, Shambhala. Shall I put this to the town council?

No, I don’t think I have the requisite number of days left in my life. But that has not quelled the notion.

World without East Ender?

 

 
From the Independent on Sunday, 07 01 10:
 

Eagle-eyed viewers of EastEnders have been left scratching their heads after spotting Archie Mitchell standing at the back of his own funeral. Archie’s murder on Christmas Day – he was bludgeoned, quaintly, with a bust of Queen Victoria – has been the source of much buy cialis in riyadh excitement but maybe he’s not as dead as we thought. A BBC spokesman explains: “It’s true that he was there. Sadly we can’t claim it was a sophisticated Hitchcockian joke. Larry just happened to be on set that day and joined in as an extra.”

Final turn of the screw

Here’s a bit of fun, for which I thank my excellent friend Tony Piper. It’s a self-boring coffin, hermetically sealed, with built-in flower and flag receptacle. Two people can (er, theoretically) screw it into place like a capstan. It was patented in 2007, since when there seems to have been little uptake (wrong noun, surely?).

Like all the best ideas, it is limpidly beautiful. Contemplate the detailed plans here.

Words, words, words

Following my post about the ineptitude and ineffectiveness of words, I stumbled on this piece in the Sydney Morning Herald. It’s actually about citizenship ceremonies, but you’d never guess it from the way I’ve plucked the extracts:

Traditionally, ritual, including rites of passage, is embedded in our religious culture. And it is true that religion seems to have a competitive advantage when it comes to this stuff. Religions have been practising their liturgy for a long time. The godly are very good at all of the non-verbal aspects of ritual from bells and smells to crazy cozies to speaking in tongues. Great ceremony is about an absence of speeches and many faiths get this.

Moreover, the godly have the advantage that they feel that they are consecrating their rites in the presence of their transcendent God. That ineluctably gives an ineffable power to the ceremony. The godless will obviously struggle to match that attribute of faith. And we need to get better at the non-verbal stuff. We atheists can talk the leg off a chair but we can’t sing or chant or dance the leg off an amputee.

Now a real rite of passage doesn’t just rejoice in change. It is the change. A ceremony which merely celebrates but doesn’t cause the change is not strictly a rite of passage. Graduation ceremonies from university are rites of passage because you don’t get the damned piece of paper without enduring the ceremony. On this definition, school graduations strictly aren’t rites of passage because the exam marks after the ceremony are the life-changing event, not the school graduation or valedictory service. So funerals aren’t strictly rites of passage because unless you’re a time traveller, your funeral won’t end your life, just celebrate it.

We, of the secular world, often fail to employ those non-verbal rituals that make a ceremony. You can easily cock up even the most moving event by speeches. During my days of municipal service, these ceremonies meandered between inspirational and pedestrian. The pedestrian bits were inevitably the speeches. The best bits were non-verbal – the Mayoral handshake, the familial hugging, the singing of the national anthem, the presentation of the symbolic wattle and the giving of certificate. All of these had no words merely music or actions.

Religions don’t have a monopoly on rites of passage but they do them better than us. The secular world needs to learn more about celebrating without speeches. We need to have rituals we perform together and not passively watch. I think we are still a century or so away from really learning these skills.

At the heart of great ceremony is performance that is not normal. Normal is pedestrian. Words are dull. We need transforming ceremony and that requires anything but speeches.

Read the whole article here.

Norm

I don’t know if you have ever discovered Norm, humane, genial and wise, over at either of his blogs, Extraordinary Expectations or When Death Breaks in… The latter is suspended, now, or fulfilled. On EE, be sure to click all three tabs at the top.

Here’s a taste of Norm. I hope he won’t mind. These are some beautiful words he spoke at the funeral of a man with Down’s Syndrome:

He helped us understand in new ways.

He gave people a new view of patience.

He helped us feel compassion for others.

He made people rethink their priorities.

He helped us realize God’s love for the overlooked.

He reminded people of their frailties.

He cautioned us of our pride and dependence on material things.

He taught people how to love simply and unconditionally.

And now, he has taught us the truth of “ . . . the last shall be first.”

The ineptitude and ineffectiveness of words

Interesting, thought provoking piece about Irish funerals in today’s Irish Times. The writer, Marie Murray, makes this observation: The extent of funeral attendance in Ireland often bemuses our neighbours in England.

She says: Funeral attendance is a statement of connection, care, compassion and support. It encircles those who grieve and enriches those who attend because it connects each person there to the profundity of living and the inevitability of death. Funeral attendees witness the raw emotions of grief and the extraordinary capacity of the human spirit to love.

And: Traditional Irish funerals have their own tone, history and vocabulary well documented in Irish literature, verse, story and song. They have their past and present rituals. They are comforting in their predictability.

And: There is consciousness in that line of sympathisers of the ineptitude and ineffectiveness of words.

I like that bit about the ineffectiveness of words. So many of our secular ceremonies are wall-to-wall words.

And: The funeral is the place where the details of the death are recounted, where memories are revived and connections made.

Lastly, There is psychological reason, social solidarity and cultural cohesion in funeral attendance

Read the entire piece here.

My Way sucks? No, it KILLS!

 

I am indebted to Pat McNally for this. And while I might have added it to my post about My Way, I feel it’s too good to bury.

Over in the Philippines, it seems, karaoke is a popular pastime. According to the New York Times, after a hard day’s work, there’s nothing a weary person likes more than to find a bar, glug a beer and belt out a classic or two.

This is not a matter of audience indifference. You’ve got to be good or you get stabbed: In the past two years alone, a Malaysian man was fatally stabbed for hogging the microphone at a bar and a Thai man killed eight of his neighbors in a rage after they sang John Denver’s Take Me Home, Country Roads.

One song is strictly off limits everywhere. Simply too dangerous. My Way. The authorities do not know exactly how many people have been killed warbling My Way in karaoke bars over the years in the Philippines, or how many fatal fights it has fueled. But the news media have recorded at least half a dozen victims in the past decade and includes them in a subcategory of crime dubbed the “My Way Killings.”

Why?

Butch Albarracin, the owner of Center for Pop, a Manila-based singing school that has propelled the careers of many famous singers, was partial to what he called the “existential explanation.”

“‘I did it my way’ — it’s so arrogant,” Mr. Albarracin said. “The lyrics evoke feelings of pride and arrogance in the singer, as if you’re somebody when you’re really nobody. It covers up your failures. That’s why it leads to fights.”

The song never leads to carnage at polite British funeral. But I wonder if it leaves a subliminal bad taste in the mouth?

Read the entire New York Times piece here.

Stand up, speak up, shut up

Here’s a nice, to-the-point eulogy:

My 91 year old Dad died on the morning of January 9th, 2010. Prior to his death, we had many discussions about the funeral arrangements, eulogy and his final interment. He wanted to be cremated and have his ashes scattered along the Charles River in Newton, but my Mother was very uncomfortable with that and preferred the more conventional path of a funeral service and burial. So it was to the 80 people gathered at the funeral home that I was able to deliver the last words that my father, Albert Kramer, wanted spoken on his behalf. He had told me…”Just tell them: To those of you that knew me, well, you knew me. To those of you that didn’t, you missed something.” I knew him, and I miss him.

From a Weekend Competition in the New York Times. See the rest of the entries here.

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