A former college professor of mine took his own life several years ago. (There was a related Pit thread about it here.) The family got some local fire-and-brimstone come-to-Jesus-or-burn-in-hell fundie preacher. The guy’s sermon insinuated quite heavily that, because Bill had committed suicide, he was now burning in hell. Bill, BTW, was one of the kindest, gentlest people you’d ever want to meet, and to this day, no one really knows why he committed suicide.
And I lost a lot more respect for the asshole preacher, if that’s even possible. Not long after, he approached the local ambulance company about his and a few volunteers riding along on calls so he could pray with the EMTs and/or the patients. (I was never entirely clear on that part.) Anything to get this idiot’s name in the paper, I guess. (The ambulance company, which had initially been OK with this, backed down after some negative publicity and eventually said no.)
A dear non religious friends son became a born again Christian and when we discussed this worrying development she said: “Was it that bad? Where did I go wrong?”
Well he totally took over her memorial service initially, endless bloody sermons about this and that. Then the friends were asked to speak. Assorted off the wall folks, some dude she’d become fine friends with after being locked up in jail for the night twenty years ago and generally irreverent tales of mirth and dancing from all, including almost everyone who had ever worked for her - 40 years worth of bartenders, waiters, kitchen staff, janitors, yard men you name it. The postman was there and the folks from the dog home. We tried not to upset the son but at the same time we couldn’t help but laugh like drains, she had been such a fun person.
I will no longer go inside a church for a funeral - see posters comments above. My friend’s sixteen year old died recently and although neither of the parents go to church many of their family do so they arranged a church funeral. I waited outside and when she asked me why I didn’t come in I said I felt too anxious. Truth is I didn’t want to risk getting angry at the vicar.
A minister was leading a funeral service for someone. He didn’t know the person who died, but heard that he was a painter. So the minister talked about the beautiful pictures the deceased man painted. It turned out that he had been a house painter.
I’ve been to two funerals of people that commited suicide.
In 1998 I attended the funeral of one of my best friends. I am no fan of organised religion, but the priest gave a speech that gave me some understanding of why people rely on their religious faith. His speech was filled with compassion, with the belief that none of us could really know the internal torment that my friend had been going through, and that my friend shouldn’t be subjected to the judgements of people who hadn’t walked in his shoes.
In 2005 I attended the funeral of the girlfriend of one of my best friends. The priest basically used it as an opportunity to push his religious views and try to convert unbelievers. He alluded to the idea that our departed friend was going to burn in hell for eternity for the sin of taking her own life.
Overall, to me, the second incident outweighs the first. Fuck religion. Dearly holding superstitious beliefs is fine. But when you use your dearly held superstition to try to pass judgement on others then you can go and fuck yourself.
This is fairly common in Victoria Australia except it is the deceased Australian Rules Football team. I still think about dad when I hear the Geelong Theme song.
I was at a funeral of a mate’s dad who was an old school football player who came from the Collingwood Flats [thinks projects] and played football in an era when boxing wasn’t for cross training but to defend yourself in the game. A lot of old blokes from the flats were there and it looked like a real rogues gallery [only after did I find ouit half were crims and the other half cops], lot’s of good stories were told and everyone erupted into tears and laughter as the priest said “hope to see you in heaven you old bastard but I wont be holding my breath”
During my fathers funeral mass, my 1 year old great nephew was in the front pew being held by his mother. During an especially solemn part, my nephew pops his pacifier out of his mouth, throw it hard and clocks the priest right in the face with it. The priest took it like a champ. He laughed, picked it up and handed it back to the mom, then continued his sermon as solemn as before. My dad would’ve love it.
At my grandmother’s funeral in rural Pennsylvania, the preacher gave a little sermon and then asked to bow our heads in silent prayer. As the group became lost in quiet prayer and reflection, the next sound we heard was jarring–it was the funeral director saying, “You may now go to your cars.”
The priest who conducted my uncle’s funeral was a little demented and concluded the service with, “And may the force be with you.” He was serious. My family still laughs about it.
