A long time ago, I wrote about our first funeral in Austria, which had may responses, and this is an account of one which deeply touched us here in England.
We recently lost one of our little but growing church family, and Dave and I went along to the funeral. We knew him in his final years and it was awe-inspiring to hear of his life in Mountain Ash and what he had done for the Lord and the Community. It seems that we can't see the past in older people, only the remnant of what was, but nevertheless, we feel honoured to have known him.
The service took part in the main Anglican church in the next village and as we walked in, it was a little like returning to Austria. An old stone building with a beautiful barrelled roof, and that smell of much used incense. We sat and took in the atmosphere. It was soon clear to me that this had been a place of prayer for many years, probably before the mines took over the valleys, but it might just as well have been a catholic church. All around were the stations of the Cross, Saint Mary in the windows, along with Winifrid, an altar with tall candle sticks, a lectern of an eagle. There was a hidden organist mixed with a mixing desk, so it wasn't entirely in the past.
The chairs filled and a little afternoon light trickled in by the altar. and it was the same almost spiritual light that would illuminate the altars in Austria. Dave turned to me and asked if I was havering to go back to traditional. I said no, this felt a special place, but maybe this was because this was the first time we had been in a traditional church since our return from Austria.
An older man came and sat next to us and told us a little about our friend, but the service was now starting. This man had the most amazing tenor voice, and it was an utter joy to sing next him and imagine my awful voice was actually joining with his.
The service was a wonderful tribute. In the sight of grief, I prayed for God's peace and comfort to engulf with such strength that his arms would be felt.
Then we got to the Mass, which was familiar in many ways to my Catholic childhood, and our days in St Mary's in New Milton. It was the communion which had me wondering. I had already decided not to go up. I somehow didn't feel at ease with it, especially where part of it was sung by the priest in an almost hurried manner, and he appeared to be reading the words. Surely not, how many times would he have said them? Then the waving of the incense and ringing of bells had me feeling no, this popery wasn't for me.
When it came to the altar call, he said, after many instructions, that it wasn't allowed to dip the host in the wine, it's not allowed in Wales. I barely stifled a snort. The singer next to me said it was because there was a concern that fingers were going in the wine. I bit my lip.
After the communion, I regretted not going up and apologised to God. This service wasn't about my hangups. I didn't get another chance to talk to the singer, I'd have loved to know if he was a minister or a professional singer. He had belted out all the sung responses with familiarity.
Several of us wondered what our friend would have thought of all this, as he was a lifelong Baptist, but this service was for his family. He himself must be having a ball up in heaven, meeting all the people he brought to the Lord.
Then that call came again, to return to the Catholic church, or is it to the memories of my childhood. I feel this pull when I talk to my Catholic friend, read her books and it worries me. What is this all about? The Catholic church has got religion down to a fine art and has tied people in knots to be saved. Corrupted the Bible and turned it into a law as bad as the Old Testament, which was set up to make people fail and realise that God Loves us. Every thing has been done on the Cross, no regulations needed. If the Truth was discernible in today's Catholicism, maybe I would turn back, but I see no sign today. Why do I get this pull?
This funeral will stay in my mind for a long time, especially as where I was praying for others, God came along and showered me with his peace, too. Maybe one day, I will return to this special church to sit on my own and talk to God about all my quandaries.
No comments:
Post a Comment