From the second row, I had a pretty good view of the chancel or whatever that area in the front of a Roman Catholic church is called. The casket was more obscured as it sat in the middle of the floor and on the same level as the congregants. But after several hours in the funeral home the evening before and a few minutes there that morning, I didn’t really need to see the casket.
Grant Karl Anderson
I wanted to see the action. I’m a bit of a student of funerals not just because I had a vested (no pun intended) interest in funerals as an ordained minister, but because over the years I’ve found myself attending them sometimes frequently and sometimes with years intervening. I’m always fascinated by how ministers and priests conduct a funeral, the rite itself and what is required of it in various denominations and by tradition within churches of a particular denomination.
This priest presented himself as caring and warm. While much of the service was, as in many denominations, determined by liturgy often written sometime well in the past, he made the effort to personalize the funeral as much as could be expected. I was especially impressed by his order of worship which, I learned later in talking with him, he had some leeway in determining. There were the usual elements one would expect including music, scripture, a homily, and, in the Roman Catholic Church, communion. But this priest saved what many people think is the best for last: the eulogy.
Now, I was taught the importance of separating the homily or sermon from the eulogy so that it is clear that God works in the lives of those who are grieving, helping them to begin to heal and to move on. But many ministers I know – too many – combine the eulogy and the sermon so that it gets all muddled up – as if the deceased himself or herself is singularly responsible for the blessings he has experienced and the rest of us can look to him as an example. Too often that just isn’t true. Too often we know the deceased has made incredible mistakes (as we all do), so to put the emphasis on the dearly departed rather than on God’s grace brings everything down to just a human level rather than on God’s superlative grace and unconditional love.
I felt God’s superlative grace and unconditional love on Monday morning.
It was the funeral for my brother-in-law, Terry’s brother. I know I met Grant and his wife Kathy early on in our relationship or marriage. I had the privilege of meeting and holding his children on my lap when they were wee ones. Now that boy and that girl are grown, married, and have burgeoning families of their own. Through the last 35 years or so, we’ve gotten together a few times and those family gatherings have always been fun. The last time we saw Grant and Kathy in person was last summer when we all attended a Twins/Cubs baseball game in the Twin Cities rooting for our respective teams. The day culminated with a gathering at our niece’s house with dinner and good conversation. A good memory to have.
I’ve witnessed “leftover” flowers from funerals toted over to nursing homes for the residents to “enjoy.” I’ve always thought it a rather ignorant thing to do; as if the residents don’t know from where the flowers came; and just another reminder of their impending mortality. But there was something special about this bouquet that we wanted to have in our house, reminding us of people who care about us, who made an extra effort to “be there” even when they were miles away. Plus, this bouquet was particularly gorgeous. We are grateful to our sister-in-law who allowed us to take it.
But we weren’t expecting Grant to die. It’s true he hadn’t been in the best of health for several years, but as we were taking a long-planned vacation to Florida, his daughter called to convey the news. The family waited to schedule the funeral so that we could not only complete our vacation but make the long journey back home by car, unload and repack, and then head to Minnesota.
That’s how I found myself on the second row of the church that morning, not so much critiquing the service, but learning from it and finding my own way to grieve while supporting my husband in his own sorrow.
So many people don’t go to funerals these days. There must have been hundreds of people who attended the visitation the night before – so many people that Terry remarked, “Gee. Grant should have run for something.” Clearly Grant was highly regarded by his friends and colleagues and the host of students he taught and coached through the years. But of all those who attended the visitation, only a small percentage attended the funeral.
To be fair, it was on a Monday morning and people had to work. But I know from my experience that most folks prefer to avoid that time in church if there’s a way around it. Perhaps it is because funerals can be so impersonal. More likely, I think, it is because people are uncomfortable with the silent reflection and meditation that is part and parcel of the funeral service. And the tears. The public display of tears. A lot of people don’t want to be seen in such a vulnerable state.
There is a camaraderie to be found at visitations, especially when they are held in funeral homes. Stories are shared. Laughter erupts. Surprising tidbits are learned. Grant was seven years older than Terry and those seven years account for a lot of time in and out of the family farmhouse and a lot of distance between the brothers. When there are so many intervening years, siblings can’t help but have questions about one another that either are never asked or never answered. But at the funeral home the night before Grant’s funeral, Terry learned a lot about his older brother and got some answers he never expected – answers that came from older and more distant relatives and from Grant’s friends and family.
All of that is great. But there is something about the time that is shared at the funeral, at the cemetery, and during the lunch following the service that goes beyond, is somehow of a higher order, not from a human standpoint but from that of the Divine. This cloud of witnesses that surround the family and friends in the context of the church or the synagogue share a spiritual experience. It’s not that we all shared the same spiritual experience, but those of us who were present were drawn together in a spiritual way that most of us would be unable to really define. In our shared sorrow, we became one with God.
This “funeral plant” from my brother-in-law’s visitation at the funeral home will bring fresher air to my home office for years to come and it will be a reminder of a time when people gathered to honor Grant and to share a multitude of surprising stories about my brother-in-law.
Early in the service, I could not help but key in on the blonde altar boy. It wasn’t the yawn I noticed first, but because I was looking at him, I could not help but witness the mouth open wide and uncovered as he struggled to pay attention to what was going on around him. At different points in the service, I could see the priest quietly and calmly bend over and give him directions about how to do this or that. Between that huge yawn and the ruby red athletic shoes prominently poking out from under his robe, I couldn’t help but smile. The young man reminded me that he had other things to do that day, not the least of which was getting back to school.
Life goes on for altar boys and for those of us who lose a loved one. And it must go on even when we’re not just sure how to proceed. That’s reason enough to gather together for a funeral.
1 The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
2 He makes me lie down in green pastures;
he leads me beside still waters;
3 he restores my soul.
He leads me in right paths
for his name’s sake.
4 Even though I walk through the darkest valley,
I fear no evil;
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff—
they comfort me.
5 You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
my whole life long. – Psalm 23
14 “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. 2 In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? 3 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. 4 And you know the way to the place where I am going.” 5 Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” 6 Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. 7 If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.” – John 14:1-7
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