Sunday, February 28, 2010

Celebrating A Life

In the past year I've been to far too many funerals. More than in any other year of my life. Perhaps this is an unfair comparison, since before last April I'd only ever been to one funeral. So three in one year is a lot. I really hope this isn't a warning as to what my life is going to become as people I know get older and the world gets crueler.

When we got word that Father Mike had passed on Monday I immediately assumed the bells would be part of the ceremony. Although I thought perhaps the fact that we hadn't practiced in two weeks would hinder that. It wasn't a problem at all. Nancy chose music we were familiar with and we pulled it off quite nicely, considering the circumstances.

Knowing how far-reaching Father Mike had been, I asked Adam to just drop me at the church and come pick me up afterwards rather than trying to find somewhere to park. He couldn't get off work to attend the ceremony, so this worked out quite well. It was a zoo. The police officers arrived to direct traffic around the same time I got dropped off. The front doors of the church were closed off and the church itself was packed. There were people in the community room, the chapel, and across the street at the school gym. You can see the numbers for yourself, as well as pictures and a recording of the service (that was streamed live on Friday) on the Post-Crescent website.

Up in the choir loft we bell choir members were joined by the adult choir, the Emmanuel choir, the Resurrection choir, and Alice Pichler. Before the service these groups, as well as a bagpiper, did a short prelude concert.

Which reminds me of a joke:
A young Scottish boy decided to try life in Australia. He found an apartment in a small block and settled in. After a week or two, his mother called from Aberdeen to see how her son was doing in his new life.

"I'm fine," Angus said. "But there are some really strange people living in these apartments. The woman next door cries all night long, and the guy upstairs bangs his foot on the floor all the time."

"Well, I suggest you don't associate with people like that," said his mother.

"Oh, I don't, mom," said Angus. "I stay inside my apartment all day and night, playing my bagpipes."

The bagpiper was so young - I'd guess 16 or 17. He was very good - bagpipes can't be the easiest instrument to play. One of the selections he played before the service was "Going Home" (you know, the song played on the Titanic as it sank...oh and part of Dvorak's New World Symphony...) There were many moments where it was hard to keep it together and that was one of them.

The service itself was lovely, but difficult. Father Mike's sisters tried to keep it light, as did Father Larry, who gave the homily. I think we all try to lean on humor in sad situations (case in point, that stupid bagpipe joke up there...) But ultimately, I don't think anyone really wanted to be where we were, doing what we were doing. It still just seems so unnecessary. Although I don't share their religious beliefs, when they say that Father Mike was needed more "up there" than he was "down here" I still find that very hard to reconcile with. But what's done is done.

The service was a true testament to how many lives he was able to touch in his time here. The whole center section of the church was a sea of white with at least 70 members of the clergy in attendance in addition to the bishop(s) and deacon(s) presiding over and assisting with the mass. It's hard to imagine what the parish will be like without him.

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