Contrary to popular belief, the BHA regularly takes on new funeral celebrants.
If there is evidence to the contrary, this is because local celebrants resist someone new on their patch (but that is a post for another day).
As I’m now nearly at 200 ceremonies under my belt and I inevitably end up training, no matter what job I do, I thought I would become a trainer for the BHA.
I had to apply and go through a selection process (which was more nerve-wracking than I think that it needed to be, but a useful exercise) and I have now completed the first training sessions for the latest group.
They’re a good bunch, keen as mustard, well read, very thoughtful and keen to listen to others. Looking back, I’m not convinced that my own intake group was as strong, but hey ho. I think that the selection process has improved and so before we waste the trainees and our own time and money, more weeding is done.
The training has been great fun and, as I’ve always found in the past, one learns as much as one teaches in these situations. Candidates come up with readings, music and experiences that are new to me, as well as turns of phrase or outlooks that are refreshing.
And, of course, they send me their sample funerals to mark, so I can nick all of these lovely phrases and poems, adding to my own collections (never let it be said that I’m entirely altruistic!).
In a way, the training is a frustrating exercise – how much can we actually teach these good people? Can anyone really learn to be a funeral celebrant?
We can help with logistics and technical stuff (“this is how Wesley works”, “most FDs like to do…”) and we can share our experience. But ultimately, it is our individuality that makes us good at what we do and that cannot be trained.
And what of the non-technical side of things (“you may not want to take your holidays in February”)?
As with all things, it’s a function of getting the balance right. We are trying to develop a professional network with high standards (a rubbish humanist celebrant makes us all look bad), but how do we maintain those standards without producing “standard” funerals? And the day we start doing that, is the day I leave the network.
A good funeral is the one that the family wants; all we can do is try our hardest to give our trainees the tools, resources, guidance and mentoring to do that. And, of course, the support they need when they’re up and running.
It’s been fun and I look forward to doing more of it.
Monday 28 June 2010
Monday 14 June 2010
Standing on the shoulders of giants
Charles had a great guest post from Rupert.
Gloria, wishing to give it the full response it deserved, put a fab post on her blog.
I was going to make a comment, but found that, like Gloria, I had a lot that I wanted to say. If anyone is interested, here's my tuppence worth. Thanks for the debate. It isn't always comfortable but, my goodness, it's fascinating!
So, although Gloria wants to move on from funerals, I'm happy to stick with them for the time being, if anyone else wants to join in.
Rupert’s post was fantastic, as was Jonathan’s response (I was glad and relieved to see the “we can’t all do it the same way”). This has been extremely thought provoking and I hope that we will all produce better ceremonies on the strength of it.
1) Titles – according to my dictionary (a Collins, sorry, I was never posh) definition 6 of the word “minister” is “a person who attends to the needs of others, esp. in religious matters”. So why not be humanist/atheist/secular/free-thinking ministers? We often get called it anyway, so why not adopt it?
2) Combining celebrancy and undertaking - I too would struggle with many aspects of undertaking, and agree that not many could do both roles. Good for Rupert that he can.
3) Letting families see the words before the ceremony - When families are feeling out of control, as many are after a death, they like to have some control over what we’re doing, and viewing the words can be a way of giving that to them. I rarely send the whole script, but I often send the tribute/eulogy part. However, at the end of the meeting, I usually go back through my notes. Not only can I check that I have details correct, but the family can also understand that they have been listened to. Most find this extra ten minutes or so at the end of the meeting very reassuring.
4) How honest should we be? - I agree with GloriaMundi and Jonathan that the euphemisms can be useful. Perhaps we are colluding and I always resist turning the deceased into a saint, but the funeral doesn’t have to be the time for hanging out dirty laundry, unless the family are finding it cathartic and useful. Yes, we can observe what we see and, as others have stated, the balance is everything.
5) Humanists are Anti-theists according to Rupert. Gloria, you are so right. We’re not all Richard Bloody Dawkins! (Okay, your response was much more eloquent than this). Many humanists hate fundamentalism in all of its forms.
6) Time allowed for a ceremony - Sometimes twenty minutes is too long. Sometimes a double time slot at the end of the day is not enough. That’s one of the things that we’re there for. Getting it all in without feeling rushed; that’s the ticket. And again, some families just want the damn thing over with. “Ten minutes will be fine” they say. Who am I to pad it out with a full rendition of The Glory of the Garden and the whole of The Lark Ascending? I try to talk them through all of the options, but if they want short and sweet, it’s what they’ll have.
7) Untrained/unindoctrinated? - I agree that training helped in the initial stages. It also helps us to give FDs and families some confidence that we do know what we’re doing (otherwise the AOIC would not have spent a lot of time recently promoting their diploma). Of course, there are untrained celebrants who are brilliant, and trained ones who are sh…not. Not sure what the answer is on that one, but glad that I had something to work with and grow from. I guess it’s a bit like learning to drive. Once you’ve passed your test you’re safe to be let out there, but you really learn to drive when you’ve got a few miles under your wheels.
8) How much sorrow? – It’s a difficult one. I sometimes worry that I don’t put people “through the wringer” enough. Ultimately, as Jonathan says, we can’t feel others’ pain or know what they are feeling. My own experiences of grief have been quite private, only really allowing myself to be overwhelmed when alone. Maybe this says more about me than I would like.
8a) How much emotion should we show? I don’t think it matters if we are showing that we are hurting or saddened by the circumstances. But by the same token, we are there (and being paid) to do a job and part of that is to keep control of proceedings. Again, it’s getting the balance right that matters.
9) Public or private event? Sometimes either, sometimes both. It depends where the family members are in their grieving. We have to be able to do all three.
10) Breaking the mask to allow the grief through? – No Gloria, I don’t think that you’re being cowardly or too modest. We are there, as I said above, to conduct a ceremony. We aspire to do that with understanding of all of the above, with the sensitivity that our own personalities and experiences bring, and providing the ceremony that the family wants. We try to assess whether they want something that will have everyone howling with sorrow, crying with laughter or something in between. I admire Rupert’s stance (and would love to attend one of his ceremonies, as I am sure that they are magnificent), but I would wonder if they suit everybody? Some families want the shallow ceremony – who are we to say that we are wrong. Yes, we should always try to do more than they want, to surprise them (in a good way) by adding that something extra that helps them grieve, but we are not there to tell them how to do it.
Reading these blogs have made me feel as though I am a really crap celebrant/officiant/minister (especially after the day I've had), but I'm glad that I can read them as they are making me a better one.
Thank you
Gloria, wishing to give it the full response it deserved, put a fab post on her blog.
I was going to make a comment, but found that, like Gloria, I had a lot that I wanted to say. If anyone is interested, here's my tuppence worth. Thanks for the debate. It isn't always comfortable but, my goodness, it's fascinating!
So, although Gloria wants to move on from funerals, I'm happy to stick with them for the time being, if anyone else wants to join in.
Rupert’s post was fantastic, as was Jonathan’s response (I was glad and relieved to see the “we can’t all do it the same way”). This has been extremely thought provoking and I hope that we will all produce better ceremonies on the strength of it.
1) Titles – according to my dictionary (a Collins, sorry, I was never posh) definition 6 of the word “minister” is “a person who attends to the needs of others, esp. in religious matters”. So why not be humanist/atheist/secular/free-thinking ministers? We often get called it anyway, so why not adopt it?
2) Combining celebrancy and undertaking - I too would struggle with many aspects of undertaking, and agree that not many could do both roles. Good for Rupert that he can.
3) Letting families see the words before the ceremony - When families are feeling out of control, as many are after a death, they like to have some control over what we’re doing, and viewing the words can be a way of giving that to them. I rarely send the whole script, but I often send the tribute/eulogy part. However, at the end of the meeting, I usually go back through my notes. Not only can I check that I have details correct, but the family can also understand that they have been listened to. Most find this extra ten minutes or so at the end of the meeting very reassuring.
4) How honest should we be? - I agree with GloriaMundi and Jonathan that the euphemisms can be useful. Perhaps we are colluding and I always resist turning the deceased into a saint, but the funeral doesn’t have to be the time for hanging out dirty laundry, unless the family are finding it cathartic and useful. Yes, we can observe what we see and, as others have stated, the balance is everything.
5) Humanists are Anti-theists according to Rupert. Gloria, you are so right. We’re not all Richard Bloody Dawkins! (Okay, your response was much more eloquent than this). Many humanists hate fundamentalism in all of its forms.
6) Time allowed for a ceremony - Sometimes twenty minutes is too long. Sometimes a double time slot at the end of the day is not enough. That’s one of the things that we’re there for. Getting it all in without feeling rushed; that’s the ticket. And again, some families just want the damn thing over with. “Ten minutes will be fine” they say. Who am I to pad it out with a full rendition of The Glory of the Garden and the whole of The Lark Ascending? I try to talk them through all of the options, but if they want short and sweet, it’s what they’ll have.
7) Untrained/unindoctrinated? - I agree that training helped in the initial stages. It also helps us to give FDs and families some confidence that we do know what we’re doing (otherwise the AOIC would not have spent a lot of time recently promoting their diploma). Of course, there are untrained celebrants who are brilliant, and trained ones who are sh…not. Not sure what the answer is on that one, but glad that I had something to work with and grow from. I guess it’s a bit like learning to drive. Once you’ve passed your test you’re safe to be let out there, but you really learn to drive when you’ve got a few miles under your wheels.
8) How much sorrow? – It’s a difficult one. I sometimes worry that I don’t put people “through the wringer” enough. Ultimately, as Jonathan says, we can’t feel others’ pain or know what they are feeling. My own experiences of grief have been quite private, only really allowing myself to be overwhelmed when alone. Maybe this says more about me than I would like.
8a) How much emotion should we show? I don’t think it matters if we are showing that we are hurting or saddened by the circumstances. But by the same token, we are there (and being paid) to do a job and part of that is to keep control of proceedings. Again, it’s getting the balance right that matters.
9) Public or private event? Sometimes either, sometimes both. It depends where the family members are in their grieving. We have to be able to do all three.
10) Breaking the mask to allow the grief through? – No Gloria, I don’t think that you’re being cowardly or too modest. We are there, as I said above, to conduct a ceremony. We aspire to do that with understanding of all of the above, with the sensitivity that our own personalities and experiences bring, and providing the ceremony that the family wants. We try to assess whether they want something that will have everyone howling with sorrow, crying with laughter or something in between. I admire Rupert’s stance (and would love to attend one of his ceremonies, as I am sure that they are magnificent), but I would wonder if they suit everybody? Some families want the shallow ceremony – who are we to say that we are wrong. Yes, we should always try to do more than they want, to surprise them (in a good way) by adding that something extra that helps them grieve, but we are not there to tell them how to do it.
Reading these blogs have made me feel as though I am a really crap celebrant/officiant/minister (especially after the day I've had), but I'm glad that I can read them as they are making me a better one.
Thank you
I think I know how Rob Green feels
I'm in the middle of a bad week.
Firstly, my favourite FD has sold his business. It was a lovely, small co; he ran a place on one side of town, his partner ran a similar place on the other and they pooled a few resources between them. Of course, I wish him a long and happy retirement, but I shall miss him. He's a nice guy - one of those chaps that the families always praise when I visit them. And he and his partner have sold to a local chain; I don't yet know which one, but I have my suspicions. I'm sure that they will also do their best for their clients, but I feel the icy finger of "corporate", which worries me. I understand that my mate (who, incidentally, was the first FD to give me any work) will be around for a few months, but it still makes me sad that he'll be off after that.
Secondly, I had a weird moment. I met a family to help look after their Mum's arrangement. When I was asking how I should address Mum in the ceremony, they said a word that's not a name......except it was also my Mum's nickname! I had to explain to them why I looked so shocked when they said it, after all, I had never expected to do a ceremony with that name. It was also weird writing "I didn't have the pleasure of knowing......", and using my Mum's name because clearly, I did know her, and it's thanks to her contribution to the gene pool that I have a lifelong battle with facial hair. (TMI? Sorry, I like to share).
Thirdly, and this is the kicker, I've just come home from a nearby crem. It's taken until ceremony number 192, but I have finally reached the moment I've been expecting and dreading, the "funeral-ruining moment that's all my fault."
I had been told that the family wanted the curtains left open. When I double checked with them at the meeting, we decided that we would have the committal right at the end and, in my head, this meant close the curtains on the way out.
The ceremony went well, contributors spoke well, there was music, the eulogy was well received. Then, right at the end, as I'm saying my words of committal, I pressed the button and the curtains started to close.
"X.Piry. Can you stop the curtains" said the chief mourner. Unfortunately, on that particular lectern there is no return switch.
I apologised, of course, and as soon as I had left the chapel, the attendant went and opened them again (I now know where that particular button is), so that the family etc could have their moment with the coffin. But I felt absolutely dreadful.
In many ways, I was very lucky. This was a relatively calm family, and the gent who had died had lived a long and full life with a few months of illness at the end. If there had been people in the hysterical stages of grief, it would have been even more awful. I apologised to everyone, and folks (including the family) still said nice things about the ceremony, but I could have kicked myself.
When I make a mistake, I always try to take something positive from it, things I could do to stop it recurring and to make it better if it does happen again. Well, I can do the latter, as my final closing words were rather swallowed in the confusion. I should have read them all again to let people hear them.
But could I stop this happening again? I need to make my notes clearer; cross out for change of mind and underline for "yes, that's definitely what they want". I already check and double check, so a triple check might work, but ultimately, I'd got the idea in my head, so may not have believed my own notes, no matter how many times I'd read them.
So, all in all, I'm feeling extremely upset and cross with myself. It could have been a lot worse, but it could have been better. Ultimately, I know I've got to learn from it and move on, but I fear complacency, hence my legendary ability to beat myself up.
I think I will make a contribution to the family's collection - as an apology, rather than an attempt to right the situation with money. Apart from that, what can I do?
I must be like Robert Green, the ball went into the goal and it was my fault. But I've come home to emails about the next ceremonies and I can't let this mistake ruin more than one funeral. I've got to pick myself up, and make sure that my arm is in the right place for the save in the second half.
It's the only way I can still get picked as no 1.
Thank you for listening.
Firstly, my favourite FD has sold his business. It was a lovely, small co; he ran a place on one side of town, his partner ran a similar place on the other and they pooled a few resources between them. Of course, I wish him a long and happy retirement, but I shall miss him. He's a nice guy - one of those chaps that the families always praise when I visit them. And he and his partner have sold to a local chain; I don't yet know which one, but I have my suspicions. I'm sure that they will also do their best for their clients, but I feel the icy finger of "corporate", which worries me. I understand that my mate (who, incidentally, was the first FD to give me any work) will be around for a few months, but it still makes me sad that he'll be off after that.
Secondly, I had a weird moment. I met a family to help look after their Mum's arrangement. When I was asking how I should address Mum in the ceremony, they said a word that's not a name......except it was also my Mum's nickname! I had to explain to them why I looked so shocked when they said it, after all, I had never expected to do a ceremony with that name. It was also weird writing "I didn't have the pleasure of knowing......", and using my Mum's name because clearly, I did know her, and it's thanks to her contribution to the gene pool that I have a lifelong battle with facial hair. (TMI? Sorry, I like to share).
Thirdly, and this is the kicker, I've just come home from a nearby crem. It's taken until ceremony number 192, but I have finally reached the moment I've been expecting and dreading, the "funeral-ruining moment that's all my fault."
I had been told that the family wanted the curtains left open. When I double checked with them at the meeting, we decided that we would have the committal right at the end and, in my head, this meant close the curtains on the way out.
The ceremony went well, contributors spoke well, there was music, the eulogy was well received. Then, right at the end, as I'm saying my words of committal, I pressed the button and the curtains started to close.
"X.Piry. Can you stop the curtains" said the chief mourner. Unfortunately, on that particular lectern there is no return switch.
I apologised, of course, and as soon as I had left the chapel, the attendant went and opened them again (I now know where that particular button is), so that the family etc could have their moment with the coffin. But I felt absolutely dreadful.
In many ways, I was very lucky. This was a relatively calm family, and the gent who had died had lived a long and full life with a few months of illness at the end. If there had been people in the hysterical stages of grief, it would have been even more awful. I apologised to everyone, and folks (including the family) still said nice things about the ceremony, but I could have kicked myself.
When I make a mistake, I always try to take something positive from it, things I could do to stop it recurring and to make it better if it does happen again. Well, I can do the latter, as my final closing words were rather swallowed in the confusion. I should have read them all again to let people hear them.
But could I stop this happening again? I need to make my notes clearer; cross out for change of mind and underline for "yes, that's definitely what they want". I already check and double check, so a triple check might work, but ultimately, I'd got the idea in my head, so may not have believed my own notes, no matter how many times I'd read them.
So, all in all, I'm feeling extremely upset and cross with myself. It could have been a lot worse, but it could have been better. Ultimately, I know I've got to learn from it and move on, but I fear complacency, hence my legendary ability to beat myself up.
I think I will make a contribution to the family's collection - as an apology, rather than an attempt to right the situation with money. Apart from that, what can I do?
I must be like Robert Green, the ball went into the goal and it was my fault. But I've come home to emails about the next ceremonies and I can't let this mistake ruin more than one funeral. I've got to pick myself up, and make sure that my arm is in the right place for the save in the second half.
It's the only way I can still get picked as no 1.
Thank you for listening.
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