Impressions from a Funeral

A funeral

Last week Laura and I attended funeral rites for a man who had died at age 102.

When a person lives that long, he draws a large crowd when he dies. This particular man has a voluminous and devoted family.

Hence it was necessary to borrow a large venue in order to comfortably seat everyone who might wish to pay his or her last respects.

The event took place an Assembly of God church on 16th Street west of the hospital in Greeley.

In the ten years since we’ve been Catholics, we haven’t attended Catholic churches exclusively. Laura and I have attended funerals or weddings or Sunday “services” in various Protestant churches.

It’s always a shock to me. I came out of Protestantism as a child, so I should be accustomed to it. Instead, it’s a shock.

This most recent visit to the Assembly of God edifice was no different.

The place was barren. Sterile. A study in neutrality. An architect’s interpretation of the idea that no one shall be offended.

Oh, the padded pews were comfy enough. But there were no kneelers. The arena was antiseptic. Cold. Vacuous. Bland. No flowers. No trace of incense here! No way.

There were no paintings, no banners, no posters, no nothing.

Laura said she saw a Christian flag at the front of the auditorium. I’m not sure it was a Christian flag, but I did see a yellow and white cloth object hanging on a short pole at the right of the stage. (Stage? Yes, a stage. As in, “Entertainment is presented here.”)

If I’m not mistaken, that particular Assembly of God church does feature a small cross atop its majestic steeple. But I could find no other visible link to Christ or Christianity inside or outside the building.

Now please. I know there’s good reason for austerity. I even grasp the intellectual concept of simplicity; I understand the historic sources of the trend toward austerity.

But plush padded seats in an auditorium that will seat 400? That doesn’t spell austerity to me.

It spells emptiness. Asceticism gone wild. Spiritual paucity.

In the area of the auditorium where Catholic churches would have an altar and quite often a tabernacle (we call it the sanctuary, not the stage) the Assembly had . . . you try to guess what.

Was it a table of sacrifice? A crucifix? A statue of the Blessed Mother? A painting of Jesus? A copy of the Bible on a lectern? A plain old symbolic wooden cross? Not on yer tintype, Buddy.

They had a trap set. A set of drums. All chrome and transparent plastic. A drum set like you’d find at a rock and roll concert. A drum set to help the “band” entertain the congregation. A drum set in the sanctuary. Fr. Bud is probably rolling over in his grave. Did I say it seemed sacrilegious?

So do they worship God there? It is likely that many do. Gotta give ‘em that.

Others, however, sit in their soft cushioned pews simply being entertained. Ratta tatta, ratta tatta, ah, that spiritual snare drum, boomada, boomada, boomada, that prayerful kettle drum. Can’t you just hear it?

With our media-driven lives in front of us, there are undoubtedly lots of Catholics who simply go to Mass and just sit there, being entertained.

But that isn’t the way the Church wants it to be. The Church asks each of us to be participants in the Eucharist, participants in the sacrifice, laypeople active in prayer and worship. The Church wants us all to sing along with the choir.

Several family members of our deceased friend were speakers, eulogists. They presented enlightening and humorous anecdotes about a solid, good-hearted man.

They did a good job of describing the unique fellow who was their father and grandfather, crediting him with the fact that their huge family is also a close family. Abundant photos of numerous family picnics proved it.

But as for Christianity, it was hard to find in that venue. (There’s that word again. But it was a “venue,” not a church, to me.)

My mother would agree: Mr. Tommy needs lots of visual aids. I learn with my eyes. I refer repeatedly to the crucifix. I treasure my antique print of the Blessed Mother and Child. I see a statue of Mary and my mind takes me to a view of her when she was on earth.

Actually, the more elaborate the setting, the more comfortable I feel and the more I learn. Stained glass windows have meaning if they depict Biblical scenes. Panel after panel of seafoam green and lemon yellow glass? Does nothing for me.

They never played the drums during that funeral – but the percussion equipment is there for some reason. They play the damn drums during Sunday Meetin’, for crying out loud. I know they do.

And as for the kneelers, it says right there in the Bible that “at the name of Jesus, every knee shall bend.”

Wake-up call for Catholics

Here’s something I heard at that funeral that has haunted me since:

A young man describing the good traits of his grandfather said, and I quote: “He was a Catholic all his life until he became a Christian two years ago.”

This says to me that there is a wholesale cultural migration from Catholicism to Protestantism, and the migration is due primarily to a lack of teaching or understanding of the teaching.

As hard as we Catholics try to do our part, the catechesis is never intense enough, never concerted enough.

Catholic all his life until he turned Christian. That’s just plain scary.

-0-

Word of the week: Xenophobe. It’s from Modern Latin, Xeno, stranger, and phobe, fear. Fear of strangers. Is there a stranger in your town? Are you aphraid?

Next week’s word: Tabernacle.

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