Spare your family grief - don't die a Catholic.

Those of you who know me through my writings on Gather are aware that I am a fallen-away Catholic.  Rather, a fallen-away believer period.  Based on my up-bringing (Catholic) and career history (I served as a choir director and organist in a number of churches across a variety of denominations for about 30 years), I sometimes miss the social and musical aspects of organized religion.   I certainly miss the majestic organs I use to play (no jokes, thank you). 

But these past few days have reminded me, rather emphatically, exactly why I left organized religion and dogma behind.   You see, my father-in-law died last Thursday.  He was 82 and had lived a full and impressive life, leaving behind a wonderful family and many accomplishments, so it wasn't as sad a passing as many are.  Certainly not as tragic, in the larger picture, as the passing of his second son from cancer 10 years ago at the age of 40.  Nevertheless, a sad time for my husband, his mom, and the extended family and friends. 

I helped my mother-in-law the first couple of days with the funeral arrangements, being the eldest son's wife and a recognized (albeit incorrect) "expert" on religious ceremonies.  The priest of their parish delegated the handling of the funeral arrangements to a little old woman named Rita (who I liked to refer to a Lovely Rita).  I soon found out that this was not so much out of convenience than out of cowardice. 

When it came time to state our preferences for the funeral mass, my mother-in-law told Rita that my father-in-law wanted to have my daughter (an accomplished violinist) and myself play the Ashoken Farewell as part of the ceremony and their brother-in-law (much more like a brother) say the eulogy.  You see, we had performed this piece for my brother-in-law's funeral mass and my father-in-law had loved it and wanted it for his mass.

Rita frowned with sympathetic concern and said that she would have to speak to the priest about this, stating that this was not a "religious piece of music".  Now, anyone who has seen Ken Burns' Civil War series knows this piece and its obviously religious connotations.  It is also instrumental (no words), and achingly beautiful.  Well, the priest called my mother-in-law back and told her that it was either the eulogy or the "5-minute piece", as it came to be called.  She was heart-broken and in tears.  Why did she have to choose, she asked me?  Also, Rita had given her a selection of readings from which to choose, all of which spoke of hell fire, damnation, decaying flesh and penance. 

I called the priest, put on my nicest diplomatic tone and was going to suggest an alternative when he said that we could have both the eulogy and the "5-minute piece", but no communion.  I told him this was really not what my in-laws would have wanted and suggested we do the Ashoken Farewell right before the processional so that it wasn't technically part of the liturgy.  He bought that.

Okay.  Since when has a funeral service become a Chinese Menu?  You can have one from Column A and one from Column B, but you can't have one from Column A & C together.  More importantly, who the f*ck cares?  Everything my in-laws wanted was appropriate and meaningful - to them and to the people who loved them in attendance.  My husband was livid (and he doesn't often get angry).  I tried to calm him down, saying that this was the priest's clubhouse so he got to make the rules.  But I was pretty disgusted myself.  And to top off everything, this priest didn't even bother to show up at the funeral - he sent some substitute priest who, I hate to say it, was pretty much on his last leg.  And he never bothered to inform the family that he wouldn't be coming.

So, I ask you.  How can anyone defend religious organizations when this is how they behave.  I say "Screw them all".  When I die, I will be cremated and leave a bunch of money for family and friends to have a big party with loads of music and food and booze.  At least I will die knowing that no religious despot will have the power to make my grieving family lives' hell.