No kidding

Here’s what seems to me to be an extraordinary story from the US. It’s a blog post by a mum of four (8, 7, 4, 7 months) about her family field trip to a funeral director. Here’s an extract:

When I set up the appointment, the funeral director said, “How much do you want to see?” and I said, “Whatever you’ll be willing to show us!”

It’s against the law for them to show any dead bodies… but they were there, alright. We weren’t allowed to see what was inside the big refrigerator (which can comfortably fit up to 6 bodies) or open the lid of a casket sitting in the back room. The kids weren’t the LEAST bit freaked out by anything.

I don’t think you could get away with that in the UK, could you? What does that say about us?

Read it all here.

Communard in the community

There was a nice piece in yesterday’s Mirror about Richard Coles. In the eighties he was one half of the Communards; now he’s a Church of England priest.

In an age in which churchpeople are customarily pelted with derision, it’s worth calling to mind some of the virtuous deeds that Coles and his kind perform daily. Whatever you think of the theology, there has to be admiration for the heroic humility. And recognition.

“For example, this morning a naked man turned up at my door. He’s a regular caller and sometimes forgets to put his clothes on. I barely blink when I see him in the buff now. Welcoming him into the church is part of my job.

“As a priest I offer something to anyone who knocks at my door. A listening ear, some food, a sleeping bag or, in this man’s case, trousers.

“And that, in a nutshell, is why clergymen and women matter. We offer people something everyone needs and no one else gives.

“Ok, many get by without ever beating a path to our door. But we’re still here, trying our best to look after the weak and vulnerable.”

Coles has, of course, performed many funerals, not all of them noneventful:

“At another funeral, minutes before the service, the widow of the deceased handed me a note she had found among her dead husband’s belongings. She said he had wanted it to be read out.

“I had a brief glance at it beforehand, but when I started reading it I realised his note was apportioning blame for the things that had gone wrong in his life to people who were in the congregation. I had to hastily edit as I went along. It was ghastly.

“But nothing is as bad as my colleague’s disastrous first burial. The gravediggers forgot to dig the grave and he didn’t know what to do – so ended up covering the coffin with a sheet of artificial grass.

“Then there are the nearly-but-not quite funerals. I was called out to visit an old lady in a nursing home because she was dying. I was shown to her room and she was sleeping.

“As I anointed her, she opened one eye and said: “You’re a bit early, me duck.” She made a full recovery.”

Read it all here.

The Good Funeral Guide
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