Funeral Morning

Yesterday began with my brother and I shoveling out our driveway. I don’t mind this chore — it goes fast when you listen to podcasts, and it’s best to get it done early before the snow is compacted by anything driving over it.

Very kindly our neighbor came by, without being asked or even conversation, snowblowed the end of the driveway (where the plow had built up quite a drift), and then left. All without a word.

A friend of mine came by Dodge 4X4 to drive us the half-mile to the church for the funeral. The terrible snow prevented one of dad’s pall-bearers and his eldest brother from attending.

The first was — interesting. He’s a perfectly friendly guy, and fits where with my hometown’s trend of having every minister of every church being a “baptist” (my parents term for the somewhat-charismatic, somewhat-contemporary) service style. As a priest. however…

Even after agreeing, he pointed refused to include the line of scripture we had requested: 1 Corinthians 13:13, “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” Instead, he chose a passage of scripture that has an opposite connotation…

The liturgy was also off. Catholic worship, for those not aware, uses a calls-response methodology. It’s somewhat jarring, however, when politically correct additions (“brothers and sisters,” instead of “brethren”) or subtractions (“Christ” instead of “Christ, our Lord”) of the moment, as the case may be.

After the funeral mass, the present pallbearers, dad’s brother, his nephew, and myself carried the casket to the hearse. There was a lunch that my dad would have enjoyed in the abstract, as it included the “byzantine” aspects of my mom’s family that he found so fascinating.

After that I went home, shoveled some more, and slept.

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