Sociology was my minor course of study in college, as I've always enjoyed watching people and observing how our social mores, norms, customs, and values influence our interaction. I'm most enchanted by our own regional influences of hospitality, grace, and etiquette..."Southern charm" as some may call it. I like it, and like to engage in it too.
Above all these things, though, it has been said that you can judge a society by the way they honor their dead. In fact, even a cursory study of funerary customs will reveal that on the whole, our practices have essentially seen little alteration from ancient history through modern times.
This writing is influenced by the knowledge that a family nearby is executing these rituals this week for a young son. They are participating in the dance of death...la danse macabre...quietly, almost unknowingly, repeating the social norms learned through other funerals attended. The initial shock and horror of the notification, the planning and conduct of a visitation, and today the funeral itself. They're carrying out unwritten rituals, and we are participating in their grief, almost without conscious thought, simply responding to something originating from deeper within ourselves. Perhaps it is because we have done it before, or know that our actions will be repeated in our own name one day.
Yet while I find it an interesting observation in an academic sense, the spiritual side of my being cannot understand the abject grief. Instead of deep sorrow at what is ultimately or own loss, why are we not celebrating the life that was lived, and the calling Home of a Christian soul? Today as a young man is remembered, I'm certain among his family there will be sorrow and grief for the life cut short, for all the hopes and dreams that will never be realized. Yet why? Why do we mourn that this young man will never have to experience the death of a beloved pet, the break-up with his first girlfriend, the defeat of losing a job, the trials of parenthood, the fear of battling diseases as his body ages? He is celebrating now, in a place where the sun never dims, where tears, if they are shed at all, are only shed in joy. Certainly I'm not wishing for the ultimate alternative, but I do have a bit of envy for him today.
A few years ago, a wonderful lady who kept watch over our children in nursery at church passed away on a rainy night, alone at home. A jovial lady, she was quick to laugh and take joy in all "her babies" as they passed through on Sundays, including my son. For him, it would be his first Black-folk funeral to attend. Mind you, with his age he didn't take to funerals very well, as the ones he had previously attended were for relatives. So as we dressed and tied our ties that day, I felt it incumbent to enlighten him about the cultural differences our African-American friends exercise in their danse macabre. He's a very bright boy, and is very observant of people too. But oh my I wish you could have seen his face as I described how this funeral would be vastly different from any he'd previously experienced. I just urged him to sit back and let it all soak in. While "white folk" funerals are solemn and somber occasions, this one would not be the case. This would be a celebration, and almost festive in a way. Certainly there would be wailing from among the family bereft. But there would be more enthusiasm on display to honor the life, not to mourn the death.
Midway through the viewing of the body, of which Jay would have no part of, I leaned over and told him that when I'm the one lying in the casket, he better send me out in a grand celebration, not some slow, somber ceremony. He laughed at me, but he understood. I want you to laugh at my funeral, to stand and sing, to clap your hands and raise your voices. Not for me, though. Sing in celebration, because I'm doing better than you!
If I could sit back and apply my sociologically-inspired observations to a funeral, it would be a New Orleans "funeral with music." (The term "jazz funeral" is not necessarily correct.) They celebrate! I seriously doubt that any of my survivors would contemplate the notion of such a festive send-off, but for godness sakes DO NOT MOURN ME! Have some fun, because I finished the race before you did. Celebrate that! Praise God and preach the Gospel at my funeral, friends. Let la danse macabre be a conga line!
No comments:
Post a Comment