InsaneJournal

Current location:	Irwin House
Current mood:	melancholy
Current music:	Foo Fighters - The Pretender
Entry tags:	bagpipes, christian, funeral services

My thoughts on Christian funerals...
I have only two really in my recollection. I attended my uncle's just today. It was kind of sad to see only a few people there to remember him, but I had a strange feeling that my Uncle Bill wanted it that way.

The service was Catholic, as my uncle had converted. But thankfully it wasn't a full-fledged one... I think so at least. 'Cause it was shorter than what I've been told. The priest guy was decked in robes and had two attendants; an older woman and an older man. There was an organist with a sidekick girl. The guy sounded beautiful. The girl, not so much. Every time someone approached the small stage thingy (which I liked all of the corny decorations 'n at, it seemed very homely), they had to bow. They bowed to the priest every time he handed them something. They bowed before they approached him. They bowed when they went to sit! I had to suppress a laugh at one point, 'cause it just honestly looked like they were his servants or something (and with all of my knowledge of the Christian faith 'n at, they could've been. I don't know).

The priest dude had a really nice speech. I liked how he focused on celebrating someone's death rather than mourning it. He was a fantastic speaker and several times I found that he greatly reminded me of Uncle Bill and how he spoke, despite the two having never met. Uncle Bill mostly lived in New Hampshire, and so his church and the "official" service had gone up there. He came down to Johnstown to be buried. Well, his ashes at least. He wanted to be cremated, which I found kinda neat 'cause that's what I want too.

Now, before I continue, don't get me wrong. I respect other religions and the people who choose to follow it. But I'm an opinionated person. I had only mentioned what I'm about to write to my father and siblings, since all of us kind of share the same view on Christian weddings. I know that funerals are something entirely different, but still...



Why is everything so gosh-darned focused on servitude? I mean, damn. At a wedding, it felt that all talk of God and how it was HIS will was suffocating. At a Catholic-Christian funeral? It felt like an infomercial. The way he was saying, "And a good Christian does not have to fear the afterlife, because they chose to stay with God," and I was fully expecting him to go, "And you don't have to either, if you JUST take up Jesus on his offer of eternal love. Act now!" The wording and the feeling of it made me feel like he was a priest admist horrible "sinners" and trying to advertise how great his god was.

I agree with celebration. I don't agree with Christian services. When I get married, I don't want a church. I don't want some preacher telling me that I'm marrying the love of my life because GOD deemed it so and GOD wanted us together and together with GOD we'll make babies and live how HE wants us to live. When I die, I want to be burned and want my funeral at Kennywood. No services, people can say something here and there for me. But otherwise; I want lots of laughs, people to have fun, and to spread my ashes around the park. I love Kennywood. It's one of the most happiest places I've ever been to. Every memory of that place is cherished to me.

I also want bagpipes. Mom says it has to be the Scotsman in me, 'cause I was perfectly fine until we got to the burial site. The bagpipe was playing "Amazing Grace" (which, coincidentally, I kinda like the tune) and a lady handed us roses. The priest said something, but I wasn't paying attention. Eventually the people murmured "And God be with you" or something and we started forward with our roses.

Against a clouded sky and with a soft breeze against our backs, we stared at the golden urn. First, Aunt Jane stepped forward with an awkward smile and placed her rose down. Mom said she had never been an emotional woman, always able to keep herself together. After Aunt Jane, Betsy and Mom placed their roses by his urn. With the music swelling into the chorus, I felt a lump in my throat.

Mom was the last. In this small group composed half of friends, half of family, Mom was the last of her clan. Her mother and father had died and now her only brother. She had plenty of relatives, but none of them will be from the original household. It made me so upset to think about that, I started tearing up. I heard someone giving little gasps and figured it was perhaps Betsy or another relative.

It was my sister. She was moved by the music and had the same thought as I did; Mom was the last. Mom smiled as she let out a sympathetic laugh and walked over to Katie, cupping her face and promising her that it would be fine.

I think Mom has an inkling about what Katie and I feel. But she didn't let us know about it that moment as we headed back to the cars. The solemn tune played out and as we drove away, we heard a few notes of an old Scottish jig, upbeat and jolly. It made me smile and think about my future in the ground, a long, long time from now. I want that kind of music. I want something of my heritage at my funeral. Nothing would be more fitting than a bagpipe. It might sound annoying to most, but to me, it's a beautiful melody.

In moderation, of course.


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