This feels a bit confessional.....
I grew up in a village which had a paper mill and a psychiatric hospital. This has given me a fairly relaxed attitude to mental health and a love of stationery. But not much else.
(The village also had five pubs and three social clubs but, thankfully, I didn’t grow up with a drink problem).
Much as I try to be PC, open-minded and terribly right-on, old prejudices are still in my brain. Take a recent ceremony. My “bit” was followed by a semi-druid ceremony (I’m calling it “semi”, because, as far as I could tell, none of the people were actual druid priests and the folks seemed to have quite a mix of beliefs and ideas, rather than being committed to one particular approach – I think that’s what was getting to me, as much as anything).
It is, perhaps, unusual to have this with a humanist ceremony. Again, it was all a bit of a mish-mash; the deceased had been raised within a faith, but moved away from it. I think I was chosen as somewhere near “neutral” – a blank canvas, if you will, and also because the FD (correctly) guessed that although I wouldn’t lead anything pagan/new age/“alternative”, I wouldn’t object to it either. The friends of the deceased were also a mixed bunch who had developed their own belief systems, taking bits here and there.
I genuinely and truly respect all of this.
But I still wanted to laugh at the first sight of a robe.
Especially when the man wearing it was talking on a mobile and carrying all of his stuff in a Tesco’s bag (although I was pleased to see that it was a “bag for life”).
Was this nervousness on my part? Hysteria caused by the unfamiliarity of it all? Or am I just a bit of a pleb?
There were bits of the ceremony that I liked very much – the sharing of bread and wine (mmm – sound familiar?), with the wish that those present would never be hungry or thirsty. But some of it, calling on spirits, gods and goddesses just wasn’t my cup of English Breakfast.
Of course, as with all ceremonies, my opinions are unimportant; I am there for facilitate which, I hope I did, paying a tribute to the deceased before handing over to the family members who wanted this variation on a ritual. Had there been anything that I was really unhappy about, I would have tactfully suggested that another person might be better at leading their ceremony.
And, of course, all things are relative. There were two pieces of music played. One was a track from the eighties that I knew well, but was considered experimental in its day. The other was a more modern chant, which I thought was just a bit weird and tree-hugging. I played them both to someone younger than me – she thought the chant was fine, but didn’t like the eighties thing – thought it was a bit weird and tree-hugging.....
Perhaps (as many times in life) the music that has taught me the lesson - things are only weird to those experiencing them for the first time. When they are familiar, they become part of our normal.
Ultimately, the family and friends had the ceremony that they wanted; a tribute, time for prayer and their ritual and that’s all that matters.
For me? It was an interesting experience to observe, and taught me a little about myself. Mainly, I learnt that although it’s not big or clever, robes make me smile.
I am a woman with many hidden shallows.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
It can be very dangerous if are too close to the furnace. If you are using a electrical furnace then it can be more dangerous. Because the gas furnace is safer than the electrical furnace.
Unwitting comedy award of the year goes to - XPiry. Your blog's name has clearly attracted the attention of a furnace salesman!
What an interesting post. You don't fool me with your professions of shallow waters!
I guess the prob is that new, unfamiliar ritual can look funny or silly, because there is no base for it in our experience, no shared background of belief.
Seems to me we all have to walk a line between open-mindedness, and rational common sense. If ritual (robes and all) works, it bypasses reason, and maybe it can only do that if its familiar. Looked at for the first time and rationally, one might well snigger.
Here's a scenario. On the nearest Sunday to 11 November, important people in very sombre, dreary and probably uncomfortable clothes stand around a large vertical stone in the middle of a usually busy street in London and lay circles of artificial red roses in front of the stone. They then tend to salute the stone.
????
But if your Dad was a soldier who died in action, or more simply, if you'd watched the same behaviour every year since young, then it's full of profound meaning.
Still and all, I loved the Tesco bag!
Hi Gloria,
Thanks for your comment and, as ever, your commense sense approach.
I think your suggestion of a scenario is very convincing - it is just familiarity and that sense of ritual that gives us meaning (why else to we bow our heads to coffins or close curtains around them).
Cheers for your insight.
XP.
xx
ps - I know where to go if I ever need a furnace!
As a onetime and future inhabitant of the Isle and Royal Manor of Portland I object in the strongest terms to GM's characterisation of the Cenotaph. I feel a very personal connection with that stone; it is the stuff I live atop. I can show you where that stone was quarried. Portland stone is not just any old stone -- which is why there's so little of us left. All I ask is a little respec'.
I have a friend who's turned all druidical. I entirely share your initial prejudice; a lot of it looks pretty half baked and much of it seems to have to do with ill-made garbs and accessories sewn with beads and feathers and other such gew-gaws. I now find myself regarding it all with benign indulgence - all part of la comedie humaine.
I entirely share your first commenter's opinion of electrical furnaces. Gas every time for me, please!
Post a Comment