funeral practices

[cellio]

Today while we were studying we ended up talking about funeral practices. My rabbi recently did a funeral for a member of an interfaith family, so there was also a priest or minister there and this led to some things my rabbi isn't used to, most notably the open casket and the things said to comfort the mourners. So he asked me how I feel about all that, given that my background is different from his.

I think I've always felt weird about seeing bodies at funerals and viewings. I certainly feel weird about it now. But I did as a kid, too; I was raised to never go into someone else's bedroom when that person was sleeping, and this seemed even more an invasion than that. (The analogy for death was sleep.)

The first two funerals in my life were when I was 5 (in one case) and either 5 or 6 (in the other case). One was my aunt Mary, and her death was not unexpected. (Well, it came as a surprise to me, because no one had told me the reason she kept giving things away when we visited, but it was expected by the adults.) The other was my grandfather, who died without any warning at the age of 50. (Heart attack. No prior problems. Died in his sleep.)

Now, especially in the case of my grandfather, we heard a lot of things like "he's in a better place now" (with Jesus, with the angels, etc). Christianity has a lot of focus on the afterlife, so it makes sense that these ideas would be comforting, especially when someone dies young. The religion of my childhood taught me to look forward to the afterlife -- that this time on earth is just a passing thing, vastly inferior to what awaits if we're good. (Yes, I asked the obvious question early on: if you try to hurry things along to reach that goal sooner, you won't reach it at all.)

This sort of thing never comforted me, though. I guess I was, and am, too much of a here-and-now person; especially in the case of my grandfather, I was a greedy child who wanted him back now. I didn't believe he was in a better place, and even if he was, I wanted him to wait. Five-year-olds aren't very sophisticated, but there you have it.

As an adult, I find the theology foreign. We should live good lives, of course, but because doing so makes this world a better place. God gave us this world to care for and live in, after all. An afterlife, if it exists, is a bonus; this world is certain and that one is not. So when someone dies young it's not a comfort to think about the afterlife; rather, I think about all the things that person was doing or might have done in this world and how we're the lesser for his absence.

I don't believe that death is a punishment; people don't die because they were bad and God zapped them. (Well, I suppose it can happen, but it's not the usual case.) But death is not a reward, either; it just is.

Someday, I hope a long time from now, I'm going to have to face the funerals of my parents. I'll be told lots of things by well-meaning religious people that are supposed to comfort me and that won't; fortunately, I'll also have a community that has a different approach, one that seems to resonate more for me. I'm not sure there's anything else that will produce such a sharp division between what my relatives do and what I do.

I'm not sure all this babbling has a point, really, but I found myself thinking about it after our conversation, and I wanted to write something about it.

Comments

Thoughts you sparked...

[tikvahope.livejournal.com]

I haven't been to many funerals in my life, and all of them were as an adult. Both were Roman Catholic. I had a hard time with the open casket at the one (the other one was a double funeral from a plane crash) and the whole "these sinners are going to Jesus" thing.
Then this May the wonderful woman who was going to be my mother-in-law passed away. It was expected, and we were there by her bedside. So I got to experience the Jewish mourning experience first-hand. It was amazingly different and wonderful to see how the community rallies around to support the family. The funeral is simple and tasteful and a true tribute to the person's life. And the support during the shivah was amazing. Since I was not an "official" mourner, I had the ability to help out, but everything was done for us. Meals, errands, cleaning... one woman came every morning to set out the coffee stuff before prayers. No matter how early I got up, she was there. And you know, even though we were praying twice a day, there didn't seem to be that air of well-meaning religious comforting. Everyone was more of the feeling that it was horribly sad that this life had to end, but we are all better people for having been touched by it... must get off this topic now or I'll start crying, sorry.

[alienor.livejournal.com]

Thanks for your thoughts, I'm glad to have read them (having dealt with too much death myself recently).

I just wanted to point something out.

An afterlife, if it exists, is a bonus; this world is certain and that one is not.

To those people who truly believe in those faiths that have an afterlife (I'm guessing Judism isn't one of them), that world is certain.

I think what you said about 'resonating' is the essential point. Some people find that the "well-meaning religious people" resonate with them, and it does comfort them.

I'm really just rambling now . . .

[celebrin.livejournal.com]

I've never been to a funeral with an open casket. When I was seven my Grandma Gus, my Mother's mother died. I thought it was stupid to sit around for a week mourning.

When I was fifteen my Grandma Belle died. I remember the shiva clearly. My mom had these ideas of what everyone should do, even though it was Dad's mom who passed. Grandpa went to the basement often to smoke his cigars, and mom said he shouldn't be smoking during the shiva. Dad told her that if she wanted to go to a man who had just lost his wife of 65 years and tell him how to act, then she should go ahead. Mom stayed where she was. I on the other hand went to the basement to sit with him.

I learned more about my Grandmother in that week than I knew in fifteen years. I just sat and listened to Grandpa talk about the day they met, the day they met my mother. What my father was like as a child. There were times that I wondered if grandpa was even aware that I was there...and later I realized that that was the point of shiva. To give people a chance to talk about their departed loved one.

[goljerp]

Thank you for writing this. I'd love to make more comments, but I need to go out and do some shopping before things get wet and windy here...

[psu-jedi.livejournal.com]

I understand completely where you're coming from. I was raised a Methodist (whatever that means...truly, I have no idea...), and converted to Judaism a little over a year ago. I never understood the whole "viewing" thing, and when I had to attend my grandfather's funeral (I was in college), I stayed back from the casket, and only went up to it once because my mother wanted me to. All of the "Doesn't he look like himself?" and "He looks so peaceful" meant nothing to me. He was dead. No matter how much makeup you put on a person, or nice clothes you dress them in, it ain't gonna change that fact.

My first Jewish funeral was before my conversion, but during my course of study with the rabbi. It was Cary's grandmother. Of course no one WANTS to attend a funeral, but I was always put off by it because I didn't want to see the person lying in a casket, looking fake. That part really prevented me from remembering the person as he or she really was, and I dreaded going. For Bubbi's funeral, I didn't have that feeling. Had we been in Philadelphia (we live in DC), we would have been able to see her before she was prepared for burial (forgive me for not knowing the correct terms...I'm still kinda new at this. :-), but I saw that as more of a choice (and it was only for immediate family), and not something that was forced upon you (like, you walk into a funeral parlor, and BOOM, there's the dead person in a casket).

My husband likes to say that Judaism is a very practical religion. I'm beginning to agree with him. ;-)

[murmur311.livejournal.com]

My sister died of breast cancer a little over two years ago and her funeral, like every one I've ever been to, was open-casket and Christian (I believe this one was Presbyterian; all others have been Roman Catholic). I was with her when she died so seeing the open casket for the entire viewing and during te funeral was incredibly hard. Because I don't care what everyone was saying- she didn't look natural, she didn't look at peace. To me it was torture seeing her and not seeing her alive. It hurt so much. My best friend (who is Jewish) told me that when her grandfather died (she was in high school, maybe 16 or 17, I think) and she flew to Florida for his funeral she wanted to see his body because she hadn't had a chance to say goodbye to him. I can understand that. I might've felt differently about seeing Kami if I hadn't been with her when she died.

My family has a tendency to drink heavily at get-togethers after the funeral and get somewhat loud and raucous- you wouldn't guess that we'd all come from a funeral at some points. I remember very clearly my house after my Grandma Blanche (mom's mom) died when I was 13. There were a ton of people there, tons of food and alcohol and people were laughing and joking and enjoying each other's company. We told a lot of stories about her, some of them less than flattering, some of them quite fond. I wasn't sure what to make of this when I was younger; now I realize this was my family's way of dealing. The get-together after my sister died was similar, but more somber because she had died so young and had only been married 4 months before. But, it was very much about celebrating her life.

However, it's the after that has never worked for me. After everyone leaves, after you've cleaned up the house or headed back to your own house, how do you mourn? Because that wasn't really mourning, what we were doing. It was a start, but that's it. I was never told how I could or should mourn anyone. I was never given a model within Christianity and Catholocism to deal with my grief. I don't know that I've ever mourned properly for Kami. I go to her grave twice a year on the anniversary and on her birthday, but those crucial months after she died I had nothing. It was horrible. I was back up on campus at my summer job 3 days after the funeral and back to work.

What I'm trying to say in this very long-winded reply is that I'm just now beginning to find ways to mourn.