A funeral

 The funeral of the Duke of Edinburgh, celebrated yesterday at Windsor Castle, was in many ways a typically English occasion with its combination of military splendour and the liturgy of the Church of England. The Order of Service, at the time of writing this post, can be found on the Royal Family website here.

It is impossible to escape the profoundly religious character of the funeral service itself - which presents a wonderful public witness of religious faith on the part of the Duke of Edinburgh to a country that increasingly prefers to leave religious faith aside from the mainstream of life.

It is impossible to escape the profoundly Christian character of the service - which indicates to the country a strong testimony of the Christian faith of the Duke of Edinburgh at a time when the confidence of Christians in mainstream churches, and their role in public life, is weakening.

And by determining that there should be no eulogy or sermon (and with the absence from the Order of Service of any photgraphs), the Duke of Edinburgh averted the possibility that  his funeral become a "celebration of the life of ...". The Bidding that opened the funeral service captured its spirit:

We are here today in St George's Chapel to commit into the hands of God the soul of his servant Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh. With grateful hearts, we remember the many ways in which his long life has been a blessing to us. We have been inspired by his unwavering loyalty to our Queen, by his service to the Nation and the Commonwealth, by his courage, fortitude and faith. Our lives have been enriched through the challenges that he has given us, his kindness, humour and humanity. We therefore pray that God will give us grace to follow his example, and that, with our brother Philip, at the last, we shall know the joys of life eternal. 

Every text used in the service was a Christian text, drawn from Scripture or a prayer explicitly Christian in its nature.  And, celebrated during the liturgical season of  Easter, the service communicated a witness to eternal life. In the words of the Collect:

O merciful God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who is the resurrection and the life, in whomsoever believeth shall live, though he die; and whosoever liveth, and believeth in him, shall not die eternally...We meekly beseech thee, O Father that, when we shall depart this life, we may rest in him, as our hope is this our brother doth; and that, at the general resurrection in the last day, we may be found acceptable in thy sight...

The dignity retained by this service, focussed on its Christian meaning in relation to eternal life, might be a useful lesson to many in the Catholic Church, who allow funerals instead to become "celebrations of the life of ...". 

Death is not a blessing

This post is prompted by the discussion of suicide here and here. It also has a glance at the discussion of the use of black vestments for requiem Masses - see here and here. Clearly it is about a sensitive subject, which will have affected many who read this. I offer it as a reflection - please feel free to leave any responses in the comments box (mark "not for publication" if you do not want me to post it). Comments from those who have more experience of pastoral care of the sick and of their relatives than I have will be particularly welcome.

When someone dies after an illness, particularly an illness that has involved a time of pain or distress for the patient, one often hears it said that their death is a blessing, perhaps a "blessing in disguise".

With the proviso that is indicated below, I don't think we can say that "death is a blessing". It always remains a negation of that human good that is life, and a negation of the impulse of life to continue living. In some situations this is very obvious - a death that is the result of violence directed against the person or of a traumatic accident. In other situations it is not so obvious - the end of a chronic illness, for example. However, I would suggest that death is always an "evil" in the technical sense as a negation of the good of life.

I think that the relatives or friends of a deceased person have an intuition of this - it is expressed in their grief. Grief can perhaps be seen as the way in which the human person comes to terms with this reality of death. The pastoral care of the grieving person should respect the underlying intuition about death as an "evil" (technical sense, remember, not the moral sense) and not try to pretend or give the impression that it is "good". I think, too, that this is an aspect of the traditional use of black vestments for a requiem Mass.

So, for pastoral reasons, in most situations, I would not want to say to anyone that I thought a death was a blessing or a relief (though it may well be the latter). I would not want to give the impression that I thought the death was a good - and therefore unworthy of grief. I also would not feel qualified to make a judgement about the good or evil of a particular death; instead, I think our attitude needs to be one, not of coming to a judgement, but of accepting the reality that, in a certain sense, is given to us in the circumstances of that particular death, precisely as it is given to us.

Unless the circumstances allowed me to talk about death as being overcome by the Cross of Christ, as a result of which death can become an entry into eternal life: "life is changed, not ended". This - and its baptismal implication - is what makes a case for the use of white vestments for a funeral Mass. We might in such a discussion accept that, in the providence of God, a period of continued suffering has been avoided - but this is a kind of "double effect" which should still allow us to recognise the nature of death as "evil" (technical sense, again, not moral). It is difficult to see how such an understanding could be shared with a grieving person who has no religious belief, though I expect that it is possible.

I suspect that those who have just experienced a death have an intuition of all this, and so we do not help them by giving an impression that we think the death was in some way a "good thing" (technical sense ..).

As well as the immediate pastoral situation, there is a consideration based on the political discussion of a suicide and euthanasia. If we are going to make a judgement after a death that it was a blessing, why should we not make that judgment before the death? We are more consistent if we always recognise death as "evil" (technical sense) and have an attitude of acceptance rather than judgment of a particular situation.

I would like to add a proviso to this consideration. Catholic teaching does not oblige medical professionals or relatives to work to maintain human life at all costs; it allows that life should be allowed to come to its own (natural) end, either as a result of infirmity resulting from age or as a result of an illness or trauma taking its natural course. I think, at the bottom line, I would still want to say that death in this sort of situation remains, in a technical sense, an evil. However, I can see that it is easier in this sort of situation to see death as in some way a technical "good". Again, though, our attitude towards it is not one of making a judgement as to the good or evil of a particular situation, but rather one of accepting the reality that we receive in that a situation.

Thinking about black

Discussion has been taking place on other Catholic blogs (here, here, here and here, for example) about the use of black as the appropriate Liturgical colour for funerals or for the celebration of All Souls.

I found it interesting a few years ago when helping to organise a family funeral to investigate exactly what the rules/rubrics were about funeral Masses. In a section of the General Instruction on the Roman Missal (2000) headed "Masses for the Dead" there is the following provision (not the official English translation):

n.385. In arranging and selecting the variable parts of Masses for the dead, especially of the funeral Mass, (for example, the prayers, the readings, the universal prayer) it is right and proper that consideration be given to the pastoral circumstances of the deceased, his family, and those present.

Does this refer only to choosing texts from among those indicated in the Missal and Lectionary for Masses for the Dead, or for the Funeral Mass? Or does it allow the choice of texts from other Masses, and in particular, from a votive Mass? Such a choice may reflect a particular pastoral care for the family and friends.

Elsewhere (n.346) the General Instruction allows the use of violet or black for Masses for the Dead, though the Bishops Conference is allowed to propose adaptations. The Bishops Conference for England and Wales has allowed white to be used for Masses for the Dead, in addition to violet and black.

What has occurred to me about these provisions is that the Liturgical colour chosen for the Mass should reflect the texts that have been chosen. So, if the texts to be used are chosen from among those indicated for Masses for the Dead, it seems to me that violet or black are the appropriate colours to use. If the texts for a votive Mass are chosen, then white vestments makes sense. Though the provisions about Liturgical colour and those about choice of texts occur in different sections of the General Instruction, I think they should be related to each other.

I am not expecting to shuffle off this mortal coil at any time soon (especially if I have managed to reduce my cholesterol levels over the last few months), but I think I would rather like a votive Mass of St Joseph at my funeral.

For Dad, I asked for a Mass of Our Lady of Cana, one of the 40+ Masses of the Blessed Virgin Mary. It reflected his married vocation, the idea of death as a hope of entering into the celebration of the wedding feast of the Lamb in heaven, the idea that the Eucharistic celebration of the funeral Mass is itself a celebration of the wedding feast of the Lamb. We used an opening prayer from one of the funeral Masses to retain the sense of the funeral Mass as being a prayer for the repose of the soul of the deceased, but all other texts from the votive Mass. I noticed at the last minute that the celebrating priest was going to wear violet, and would have liked to ask for white. I didn't for diplomatic reasons, as we were in an "away from home" parish, where my Dad had lived in the past but where we were not previously known to the priest.

A funeral

On Tuesday/Wednesday I undertook a round trip to the North West (civilisation!) for a family funeral. My mother was one of eight sisters, and the lady whose funeral I was attending was the last of the eight. She died at the ripe old age of 91, after many years of severe visual impairment and, more recently, a lengthy period suffering from dementia.

One of the interesting things I learnt about my aunty on Wednesday was the strength of her Catholic faith, and how much this was part of her ordinary culture. I heard anecdotally of wedding dresses being converted into vestments before the couple had returned from their honeymoon. The aside comment added to this, however, was that she would have probably accepted them being made into cricket whites if the materials had been suitable - in their younger days, theirs was very much a cricketing family. Another whimsical comment was about St Peter having to make sure the kettle was on when my aunty arrived at the pearly gates - she being a great tea drinker. Champagne and pasties were order of the day at the get together afterwards - this being all but a family "tradition".

My aunty had four children (my cousins), two daughters who lived nearby and two sons who were further away. They have cared for their mother over many years, first when she was living at home and then, more recently, when she was being cared for in a nursing home. During the last few years, I think they arranged for their mother to have a visit from at least one of them almost every day. This visiting was not easy, given their mother's illness.

Listening to the homily at the funeral Mass, which briefly referred to my aunty's death as being in some way a relief, my mind went on to a completely different track. I thought first of an idea of Cardinal Barragan, of the Pontifical Council for the Pastoral of Health Care. He observed a year or two ago that the person who is mentally ill is a faithful image of Christ, and not in some way a damaged image of Christ. This is because their suffering and helplessness images that of Christ in his agony in the Cross. Seen in this way, the life of someone who is mentally ill should be seen as being precisely that - a life that has a positive value.

The second thought I had was that my cousins probably did not think that they were doing anything special in the way that they visited and supported their mother over a very long period of time. It appeared to be taken for granted that that was what they would do. The only implict reference to it during the homily was in describing the death as a kind of relief, though that was not an explicit reference. Perhaps this caring within a family is something that we should not take for granted, and should celebrate more than we do. In a practical way, it is a recognition of the life of the one who is visited as being precisely that - life, and a life that, though it is "lived" in an imperfect way, is nevertheless life that has a positive value.

In the context of the funeral Mass, this double recognition of life amidst the mortality of earthly existence is fulfilled in the belief that the body of the one who has died will rise again to eternal life in heaven. It is this belief in the resurrection of the body that gives meaning, not only to the dying of the person, but to the caring given during the days, months and even years leading up to the death. Whilst there is certainly a very human sadness to be recognised, perhaps priests preaching at funerals could present more positively the continuity of the recognition of life through illness and death to eternal life.

Eternal rest grant to her O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace and rise again in glory. Amen.