I have a beef with the Catholic funeral rite. Perhaps it’s specific to one local parish, since that’s the only exposure I’ve had to the Catholic dead lately, but I’m still not pleased. It’s confirmation that my decision to distance myself from that particular organized religion was a good thing for me.
My issue this time is with the use of music that serves no other purpose than to make the funeral attendees cry. As if there isn’t enough grief floating around in the air already.
The funeral I attended this past week was for a very loosely-related lady who passed away, somewhat expectedly, in her 93rd year. Those attending her funeral were primarily family, and that family is mostly of 1st- and 2nd-generation Italian descent. Dark suits, carnation on the lapel, musical Italian being whispered in the pews, the works. Much of the funeral mass was typical Catholic depression: the old hymns that are played at every funeral, the incense, etc. (The music was provided by wanna-be Christian rockstar-types, all breathy and soulfully wavering to the electronic piano, but that’s a whole ‘nother rant which I won’t get into now.) Other than the rather incoherent rambling of the presiding priest who obviously didn’t know the deceased at all, it wasn’t too out of the ordinary. The service continued as gloomily as one might imagine, through the main funeral rite, and that’s when Bizarro Church World made an appearance.
I mentioned this was a funeral Mass for a 93-year-old Italian woman, yes? A woman who never spoke English, and was about as Italian as Italian can be. So when the rite was complete for this little ethnic grandmother, the Christain rockstar wanna-bees break into a song that reminded me of nothing more than an old Negro spiritual.
There is nothing wrong with spirituals. I find them lovely, meaningful, and a pleasure to sing. However, I can not imagine that the deceased would have thought so, or appreciated the song. Not only that, but the words, which consisted mainly of I’m coming home, people who already died are waiting for me, isn’t it grand? And despite the sheer incongruity of it all, people sobbed like babies.
To the people who planned the service and particularly the music: Seriously, did you really need to do that? These people have been crying for days, did it give you a sense of accomplishment to tear down that barrier of strength they’d erected in preparation for these last few hours? Are you so proud of yourselves for “moving” these mourners with your overused vibrato and inability to sing a true, solid, honest note? Is this the way you serve your church, by tearing at the raw wounds until they bleed again and again and again?
Perhaps I’m just stinging, myself. This funeral was in the same church where my brother’s service was held. It was presided over by the same priest. The same musicians played and sang the same way. We went to the same cemetary afterwards, and returned to the same hall for a meal. Maybe I’m still smarting from the repeat memory. But to my mind, there has to be another way, and if that’s what you get when you die a Catholic, I’m glad I’m no longer a part of it.
