We sang, "In This Very Room" at a funeral this afternoon. In this very room, there's quite enough hope for one like me . . . "
I say we as a member of the Canterbury choir at St. Stephen's Episcopal Church.
The widow Carolyn, such a kind person, and her sister Linda are also choir members, but today they gave themselves over to family. Two former choir members filled in for them. I think Carolyn chose this anthem because her husband Mike was for years head of the building committee that renovated the very sanctuary in which we were paying our last respects.
My husband Jesse looked at the photo on the memorial bulletin and was shocked to discover that Mike the Dearly Departed was the Mike from his Men's Breakfast Club who sat across the table from him at the Village Inn barely two weeks ago. That is the kind of shock you get when you are new to a church. (By the time we get to be old-timers at this church, we will be exceeding old.)
"Mike was so young," Jesse said. "He wasn’t even 80 yet."
People kept coming, and the ushers packed all the overflow spaces. As I mentioned, Jesse and I didn't know Mike more than in passing, but obviously many did, standing room only. Thank the Good Lord the air conditioning was working--we’ve had a few stifling Sunday mornings with no AC this summer.
In contrast in the basement where the choir robed up, it was pleasantly cool. Choir robes were invented back in the days of soaring stone cathedrals that were unheated in the winter and chilly in the summer; nowadays robes with crosses function more like costumes to set the mood for a formal worship experience. Alas, this particular August afternoon the HVAC was no match for the heat generated by 500+ closely packed bodies. I could feel the sweat running down my neck and back of my legs. Happily, no one fainted.
Our regular worship service at St. Stephens is about an hour and 20 min., fairly long in mainline Protestant circles, which generally hold their pastors to a strict 15-20 min. sermon and out the door in an hour total. Pastor Kate's sermon was well within the normal limits.
Weddings and funerals, though, are subject to changes and additions for the comfort and preferences of the family. I've been to funerals abruptly short as well as agonizingly long. This funeral added a second eulogy by a former pastor, who was clearly happy to be back and talked past, way past, the suggested three to five minutes. Way past. Happily we were not subject to an altar call, which has happened at funerals I have attended in the past.
In addition to organ music and the choir anthem, a soloist sang, the lovely "In the Garden," sentimental and theologically suspect, but a sweet old favorite none the less. (Carolyn said Mike wanted it because it reminded him of his grandmother.) Sacramental bread and wine were served to those kneeling at the altar rail, and there was a final blessing of the ashes by the clergy present. I thought two hours was respectable for the eulogies and ritual included.
“In this very room, there’s quite enough hope and quite enough power...
Lord Jesus . . . Lord Jesus is in this very room...”
I imagine that among the thousands that followed Jesus many might have been uncomfortable in the blazing sun pushing to see Jesus, hear him, touch him. Maybe Jesus was sweaty, too. I think Jesus would have felt at home at Mike's funeral, remembering an old friend. comforting the family, and joining the polite folks around tables in the back eating catered sandwiches and toasting their friend with a nice wine, after.
In this very room . . . This is the sort of thing that makes a space feel holy.
I say we as a member of the Canterbury choir at St. Stephen's Episcopal Church.
The widow Carolyn, such a kind person, and her sister Linda are also choir members, but today they gave themselves over to family. Two former choir members filled in for them. I think Carolyn chose this anthem because her husband Mike was for years head of the building committee that renovated the very sanctuary in which we were paying our last respects.
My husband Jesse looked at the photo on the memorial bulletin and was shocked to discover that Mike the Dearly Departed was the Mike from his Men's Breakfast Club who sat across the table from him at the Village Inn barely two weeks ago. That is the kind of shock you get when you are new to a church. (By the time we get to be old-timers at this church, we will be exceeding old.)
"Mike was so young," Jesse said. "He wasn’t even 80 yet."
People kept coming, and the ushers packed all the overflow spaces. As I mentioned, Jesse and I didn't know Mike more than in passing, but obviously many did, standing room only. Thank the Good Lord the air conditioning was working--we’ve had a few stifling Sunday mornings with no AC this summer.
In contrast in the basement where the choir robed up, it was pleasantly cool. Choir robes were invented back in the days of soaring stone cathedrals that were unheated in the winter and chilly in the summer; nowadays robes with crosses function more like costumes to set the mood for a formal worship experience. Alas, this particular August afternoon the HVAC was no match for the heat generated by 500+ closely packed bodies. I could feel the sweat running down my neck and back of my legs. Happily, no one fainted.
Our regular worship service at St. Stephens is about an hour and 20 min., fairly long in mainline Protestant circles, which generally hold their pastors to a strict 15-20 min. sermon and out the door in an hour total. Pastor Kate's sermon was well within the normal limits.
Weddings and funerals, though, are subject to changes and additions for the comfort and preferences of the family. I've been to funerals abruptly short as well as agonizingly long. This funeral added a second eulogy by a former pastor, who was clearly happy to be back and talked past, way past, the suggested three to five minutes. Way past. Happily we were not subject to an altar call, which has happened at funerals I have attended in the past.
In addition to organ music and the choir anthem, a soloist sang, the lovely "In the Garden," sentimental and theologically suspect, but a sweet old favorite none the less. (Carolyn said Mike wanted it because it reminded him of his grandmother.) Sacramental bread and wine were served to those kneeling at the altar rail, and there was a final blessing of the ashes by the clergy present. I thought two hours was respectable for the eulogies and ritual included.
“In this very room, there’s quite enough hope and quite enough power...
Lord Jesus . . . Lord Jesus is in this very room...”
I imagine that among the thousands that followed Jesus many might have been uncomfortable in the blazing sun pushing to see Jesus, hear him, touch him. Maybe Jesus was sweaty, too. I think Jesus would have felt at home at Mike's funeral, remembering an old friend. comforting the family, and joining the polite folks around tables in the back eating catered sandwiches and toasting their friend with a nice wine, after.
In this very room . . . This is the sort of thing that makes a space feel holy.