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Celebrating Lives
A Sermon Given
by Roger Fritts
on May 26, 2002
at Cedar Lane Unitarian Universalist Church
Bethesda, Maryland
What would you like the minister to say at your Memorial Service? If
you are like most people, you will never answer that question. Most of
us prefer not to think about our own memorial service. Still the
majority of us will have such a service. This morning, the day before
Memorial Day, I want to focus on the memorial service and explain what
will happen when you are the absent honored guest. I hope my perspective
will help you appreciate the importance of the event.
When a family asks me to officiate at a Memorial Service, it becomes
my highest priority. No meeting, no sermon, no social engagement is more
important. My immediate concern is for the family. I look for ways to
offer my support, and to help in arranging the logistics of the service.
If asked, I can give suggestions about local funeral homes, about
burial or cremation, about the obituary in the newspaper, and the best
times and dates for a service.
Sometimes it is necessary to meet with family members individually or
to talk with them over the phone. However, I prefer the conversation
that occurs when many family members gather in the same room. We talk
about what they would like– a living room or the church
library. People express emotions. They tell stories. It is often a
powerful and moving conversation. To a husband or a wife I might ask,
"How did the two of you first meet?" To a brother or a sister, of the
deceased I might ask, "What was it like growing up in your family?" To a
child of the person who has died, I might ask, "What stories do you
remember from your childhood?"
I have discovered that most of us do not know many basic details of
our relative’s lives. Simple facts such as: like the place of birth, the
academic degree, the first employment, the dating of parents, or even
the personal hobbies, are unknown to many grown children.
Also, in the conversation with family and friends I notice the
differing perspectives. Sometimes families tell me stories that
conflict. Family members see the same person through different
perspectives.
Sometimes friends or relatives reveal secrets. I remember one meeting
in Chicago with the mother and the sister of a young man in the Lyric
Opera, and his friends who sang with him in the opera. The relatives
were from Kentucky and they heard open conversation for the first time
that this son, this brother, was gay and had died of AIDS. In his last
days his many friends had surrounded him with loving support. His
friends, on the other hand, were startled to discover that the deceased
had a younger brother who, two years before, had died of suicide. The
young singer in the Lyric Opera had kept his life in Chicago and his
life in Kentucky separate. When his family from Kentucky and his friends
from Chicago met, they embraced and supported each other in common
grief.
Not all conversations with family and friends are as open. Once
twenty years ago, a son refused to meet with me. He told me over the
phone that he just wanted me to come to the Funeral home and say the
usual things that ministers say. I did as he requested. Another time
fifteen years ago the son and daughter spent the entire meeting with me
discussing the music that the music director would play at the service.
They ignored all my questions about their mother. Still, another time
many years ago in the Midwest I meet with a large extended family in a
living room. A beautiful young woman had died of suicide after a break
up with her boyfriend. To start the conversation, I said, "You must all
be feeling devastated about what has happened." The matriarch of the
family replied, "I don’t want anyone to express any sadness here tonight
or at the memorial service. We are here to celebrate my granddaughter’s
life." That night everyone in the room obeyed and told only positive
memories of the deceased.
These are the exceptions. Most of the time the conversations are
authentic, genuine, and open. The emotions flow with deep laughter and
flowing tears as people share their memories, and for the family the
meeting may be more important than the service itself. I take notes,
collecting biographical information, to help me write a eulogy. I am
tempted to bring a tape recorder, but I never do, because I am afraid
that the machine will get in the way of my efforts to encourage people
to speak freely. Most of the time a story of a life unfolds as the
people talk. In my mind I start to outline what I might say at the
service.
In addition to a conversation about the life of the deceased, I ask
about readings. Did the deceased have a favorite passage from the Bible,
or a favorite poet, or other writer? I have a half dozen anthologies of
writings for memorial services. Sometimes a family member will go
through these books selecting a reading or two that describes the loved
one.
I also ask the family about music. What songs are significant to the
family? Did the deceased have a favorite hymn? I have heard glorious
music at memorial services, from choirs and string quartets, from opera
singers and folk singers, from a flute cut from bamboo, and from grand
pianos.
I ask whether they would like anyone from the family or for a friend
to speak as part of the service. In the last thirty or forty years the
style of memorial services and funerals has changed. It was once unusual
for anyone but the ministers to speak at the service. This is still the
case in some religious traditions and some parts of our country.
However, in Unitarian Universalism and in other religious traditions it
has become increasing the practice that members of the family or close
friends often speak. This has resulted in some deeply moving memorial
services, where friends and family tell powerful stories of their
memories. It has also resulted in some very long memorial services. I
tell families that telling everything important about a
person’s life in the Memorial Service is impossible. We must always
summarize and leave some stories out. I strongly encourage the family to
keep the service to an hour or less, but sometimes I am not successful.
For every cleric a memorial service or a funeral offers a temptation.
People come to memorial services who otherwise will never step foot in a
religious building. It is tempting to use the occasion to encourage
these nonreligious people to become active in the congregation. I do my
best to resist this temptation. A memorial service is not the time or
the place to speak about the many advantages of becoming a member of
Cedar Lane Unitarian Universalist Church. I check to make sure the
sermon rack and the pamphlet rack are full, just in case someone wants
more information. However, I do not think that using the service to
promote my own theology is ethical.
In this congregation we have many perspectives on religion. Here, in
death as in life, we strive to respect freedom of belief. If the
deceased was an atheist, I will not mention God, but speak instead in
the language of religious humanism. If the deceased had Jewish roots, I
may suggest to the family that we read the 23rd psalm and
Ecclesiastes, or select a reading from a modern Jewish source. If the
deceased was Christian, I might suggest the Lord’s prayer and first
Corinthians’ thirteen.
As to the service, itself, I have a few prejudices. I prefer to have
the service here in the church, instead of a funeral home. Here we have
access to both the auditorium, the chapel, and the lounge. We have an
organ, a grand piano, and in the chapel, a wonderful harpsichord. For me
this building and these grounds are sacred space.
I try to say a few general words about the process of human grief.
After a few years, some who are active members of the congregation will
have heard me say these words at many memorial services. I hope they
forgive me for saying them again. The words about grief are for the
visitors, the strangers, the young people, and the children who have
been to only a few memorial services. For some it is their first
service. It can help them to know that the thoughts and feeling they are
having are a common part of grieving. It can help them to be encouraged
to express these feelings to a friend who will listen, and not keep them
bottled up inside them. I grew up in a family where we did not talk
about the sadness we felt about my mother’s death. Therefore I know how
important it is to encourage families to talk about their grief.
After saying a few words about grief, it is often my role to deliver
a eulogy. I try to avoid exaggeration during eulogies. It is tempting to
overstate the good qualities of the deceased. Truth can be harder. So if
I know that a person was unable to express feelings or disliked
children, or divorced four times, or struggled with drinking, these
qualities become part of the story of their life. The purpose is not to
pass judgment, or to be critical, or act superior, but to be authentic.
All of us have strengths and weaknesses. The great power of human
compassion is that we care about each other even when we know that we
are not perfect.
Still, I never dwell on the weaknesses. For me the service is a
celebration of life. I hope that in addition to the pain, the sadness
and the grief, at the service the congregation will feel a sense of
gratitude that this man or this woman has lived. At the meeting with the
family, people have told me positive recollections. At the service I
summarize what I have heard. If the person who died like to ride roller
coasters, or loved the beauty of the city lights at night, I mention it.
If they enjoyed sewing or cooking, or gardening, or eating out, I
mention it. If they worked as a volunteer at a hospital, or donated
blood, or served on a church committee, or helped around the church I
mention it. If the deceased believed in the potential goodness of people
and could instill in family and friends a love of life, I mention it.
The memorial service is a celebration of a life. In words I celebrate
a person’s love for their family, their love for their friends, and
their love for life.
Following the service, I recommend a reception. It is not a mere
formality, but a vital aspect of the ritual. The family receives
comfort. The friends express feelings. The relatives are reunited. The
memories are multiplied. The touching is soothing. The mood is
rejuvenating. The eating and drinking is a form of communion. We are
very fortunate that in this church that the Alliance organizes
receptions after the memorial services of members.
Grief does not end with the end of the memorial service. Each person
is different. Still in my experience the average person requires at
least a week before they can function again at a basic level. It takes a
week before we can pull our life together to cook a meal, or wash the
dishes, or remember to take out the trash. To reach a feeling of
acceptance takes much longer, often a year or more. In some ways we will
never be the same. When someone close to us dies we never fully return
to the way we felt before their death. At some level we will always miss
them, and this becomes a part of whom we are. Nevertheless, a funeral or
a Memorial Service can help. The ritual can work to alleviate the pain
of our loss. It is a way of helping us cope with death: affirm the value
of a life, help us express our sorrow, and celebrate our living.
At Cedar Lane Unitarian Universalist Church we average about fifty
Memorial Services each year. This afternoon we will hold two services in
this building, one for a member, a founder of this congregation, and one
for a non-member. Providing a sacred space for these services is one of
the most important roles this church plays in our community.
The three ministers of this church share responsibility for
conducting these services. Our role is to say the traditional words of
comfort and to summarize what the family has told us about the deceased.
Many things happen in a service that we have not planned. Like an
inkblot the words of the service stimulate many thoughts and feelings.
Amazing things can happen. Family members can become more connected in
the shared experience. A child, or a spouse or a friend, can resolve in
the middle of a service to change the direction of their life. People in
the congregation count the years they have remaining and ask themselves
what they want to do with those years. A Memorial Service is full of
people thinking and feeling and silently re-evaluating the meaning of
their lives.
Even the minister makes resolutions. When the service is over, I
silently renew my commitments to myself:
I promise to be kind to others, remembering that most of us are
carrying heavy burdens.
I promise to be diligent in my work, to do my best, to persevere,
while accepting myself as far from perfect.
I promise to laugh at myself, to cultivate a spirit of joy and
playfulness, to loosen up, to possess a healing cheerfulness.
Perhaps some day a minister will say at a memorial service: Roger was
not perfect, but he tried his best to be kind to do his work, and to
keep his sense of humor.
Office@CedarLane.org
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