I had delivered my sandwiches to the venue where the
drinks and refreshments were going to be served a little earlier in the
evening. The original plan had been to
leave the car there, have a meal in town and walk to the funeral parlour afterwards. The car park was a 24 hour affair, £1 for
each hour. It had the potential to be
costly, so I drove home, left the car, read my book for an hour (it was a page
turner) and then left to walk into town.
On the way into town I passed a friend walking in the
opposite direction. She told me that I
was going the wrong way. School and the
prize giving ceremony were obviously not my destination. Prize giving?
I knew there was something on, other than the funeral but hadn’t been
able to identify what it was.
Prize giving! I have to confess that getting a prize for Religious and
Moral Education doesn’t carry much street cred with the young people that I
deal with. It doesn’t rank very highly. Speeches
at prize giving ceremonies don’t seem to be as stirring as they could be. It would seem from listening to some of my friends
who were there that this year was no different.
I arrived at the funeral home in good time.
There are few funerals that I have attended where I haven’t
really had an emotional investment in the person who has died. The recent ones over the last few years have
been family funerals where I have shared poems or done the eulogy. They have been painful affairs. This funeral was a relatively painless one
but still carried with it a sense of loss.
The photo on the front of my mum’s order of a service was
one that summed up so much about her.
She was, for the most part, cheerful.
She laughed a lot. The photo
captured joy on her face. She was
wearing a hat with red, white and blue flowers – something Jubilee orientated. She suited hats did my mum.
The photo on the front of Sheena’s order of service
looked perhaps a little bit severe. I
didn’t really know her very well. I know
her son better. There were readings read
by friends from her church, and poems, and someone spoke about Sheena’s courage
in the face of challenges.
Somewhere along the way I stopped thinking about Sheena
and started to think about my mum’s funeral not so many weeks ago. I thought about what was said about my mum by
me in my eulogy and by the church minister.
She had been part of that church family for thirty years or more.
There is something particularly distressing about a
mother’s funeral. It tends to be the
mothers rather than the fathers that are the heart of a family. It feels like just for a while everyone in
the family becomes just a little bit unmoored.
It’s as if the pontoon that all the boats were all tied up to has gone
and they are left bobbing about in the water.
They regroup eventually and find another family member to be the pontoon
and start tying up.
There are always assurances In Christian funerals about
the next life. Sometimes it’s just part
of the liturgy and what is said.
Sometimes you know that the promises of an afterlife have become a
reality for the person who has died.
They knew Jesus and Jesus knew them and there was a party going on in
heaven. It was true for Sheena. She had become a Christian at the age of
12. She knew her Saviour.
It talks about prizes in heaven. It doesn’t talk about boring speeches or
certain prizes that you almost have to bribe people to accept. It talks about crowns being handed out to the
righteous, and just as swiftly handed back to the one who has made them
righteous.
I didn’t go to the prize giving ceremony at the school. I went to a funeral of a friend.
My friend was not really at the funeral - she was
attending a prize giving ceremony in the heavenlies.
Having received her crown of righteousness she would
have, being Sheena, worn it just for a short time. Then she would have placed it at the feet of
the one who is the only crown wearer – Jesus.
