Making Your Exit

(first published in Fortnight magazine April 2006)

What kind of funeral do you want? The natural response to that question is “I want a long-way-off funeral”. But, assuming that it is indeed a long way off (or not, as the case may be), what kind of ceremony would you prefer? Do you want to exit with a religious or a non-religious ceremony? You may think that it will not make any difference to you, being dead, but it will be your funeral, as they say, and you could show some appreciation of your mourners. They have come to pay their last respects to you, therefore a ceremony that relates to you is required. So what is it to be: religious or non-religious; Christian or *Humanist?

In this society the usual default position is Christian. You may not have attended church or chapel in years and indeed you may have quietly dropped your former belief in gods, goddesses and the hereafter. Nevertheless, your funeral may still have the trappings of Christian belief because that is how most funerals are conducted and your surviving relatives may simply defer to the norm.

But that is all changing. Throughout the UK, more and more people are requesting a Humanist funeral ceremony. The increase has been dramatic in Scotland. There, over the last ten years Humanist funerals have shot up from under 200 a year to over 2000 a year, a ten-fold increase. The Humanist Society of Scotland has been hard pressed to keep up with the increased demand for its services.

As part of my own investigation into how the provision of Humanist ceremonies might be increased here in N Ireland, I attended a Scottish training course for celebrants in Perth. Despite the sombre subject matter, it was a cheerful and inspiring programme of activities. Participants acted out the various scenarios that are involved in being a celebrant – first contact, usually with the funeral director; meeting the family/partner; liaising with the funeral director; composing and delivering the funeral speech; arranging music and readings; preparing different ceremonies for graveyard and crematorium, etc. There were also discussions of potential problems: divided families, death by suicide or murder, homophobic relatives, etc, and strategies to deal with those situations. It was a very practical and well thought-out course.

What struck me most was the variety of people who were there to be trained and how well they got on together: an ex-army sergeant, a housewife, a teacher, a young professional couple, a divorced businesswoman, a civil servant, etc. They were a mixed medley of people, no doubt, but the elemental nature of the task seemed to create a great sense of common purpose. Of course, some found public speaking easier than others, but nevertheless all showed strong commitment, a willingness to learn and a desire to help others.

The Scots now have nearly 50 Humanist celebrants. Here in N Ireland we have only four, so clearly we have some catching up to do. That is why the Humanist groups North and South are co-operating to create our own training programme.

I first became involved in Humanist funerals about ten years ago. At that time the celebrant for the Belfast Humanist Group was Harry Morgan. He persuaded me that conducting funerals was an important public service and that our Group ought to do its best to meet that public need. Reluctantly I agreed and Harry taught me how to do it. He showed me his notes, his checklist for visits, his scripts and the BHA guide, “Funerals Without God”. I had attended two or three Humanist funerals, one conducted by Harry, so I had a fair idea of what a ceremony looked like. Now I found out how to put one together. It was skimpy training, compared to the Scottish school. Soon I was called upon to put it into practice. Naturally enough, I felt some trepidation, but I followed Harry’s guidance and it all ran like clockwork – apart from the moment when I skidded on a muddy board and nearly fell into the grave! That would have been some ceremony! However, nothing untoward did happen and the thanks of the family afterwards confirmed me in the belief that composing and delivering Humanist funerals is an important task which draws on our deepest feelings of human solidarity.

I am grateful to Harry Morgan for setting me on this path and it was just as well he did so when he did, because a couple of years later he himself died. Ironically, after all the Humanist ceremonies he had performed, his own funeral was not a Humanist ceremony. His wife was a devout Christian and she arranged for a conventional Christian funeral. I can see why she did it, given her beliefs, but it still seemed inappropriate to me. That kind of thing often happens.

Probably the most famous funeral ceremony is the oration by Pericles for the soldiers who died defending Athens in the Peloponnesian Wars. It was a state occasion, not an ordinary funeral, and Pericles praises the virtues of patriotism, democracy and the civilised life. However, the oration is Humanist in outlook because it makes no reference to the gods. Instead, Pericles places great value on being remembered after death – “names inscribed, not in stone, but in men’s hearts” – which is a sentiment to underpin all funeral ceremonies.

The main ingredients of a Humanist ceremony are: readings of poetry and prose; music which relates to the deceased; personal tributes from friends and relatives; some biographical sketches and a meditation on life and death. The whole ceremony is arranged in consultation with the surviving partner or family in order to make it a fitting celebration of the life just ended. The role of the celebrant is to help them decide what the ingredients should be and to present the ceremony in an orderly, dignified way. Which does not mean that it must be stiff and sombre. Families often choose lively music which they associate with the person and their tributes are spiced with humour or sharp observation. Once the tone and context have been set, there is a wide range of possibilities. A popular song for ceremonies is “My Way”, by Frank Sinatra, and it works well because it admits that we all make mistakes and yet it praises the individualist path.

The worst funeral I ever attended was that of my Aunt Maureen. She had belonged to a small evangelical sect and the ceremony was conducted by the preacher. There was no mention of her life: how she had been left as a younger daughter and a spinster to look after her ageing parents; how she had worked at Gallaghers factory all her life; her skill at home-baking, jam-making and cookery, and her fondness for all her nephews and nieces. None of that. Instead, the mourners were subjected to a harangue about church attendance, the temptations of worldly life, the terrible fate that awaits the sinners who do not repent and the joys of heaven that await the righteous. It was a travesty.

Fortunately, very few funerals are like that. I have attended some religious funerals which I thought were excellent and which celebrated the life of the deceased in just the same way as a Humanist funeral does. Of course, since Humanists do not believe in the hereafter, a prejudice in favour of the personal approach is inevitable on our part, but I find that it is a prejudice that most people share, whether they are Humanist or not. Most people want a funeral ceremony to reflect the life of the deceased and show some regard for that person, rather than to simply exploit the occasion as an opportunity to preach the dogma of the creed.

So, what about your exit? Surely it ought to reflect the person that you were? The census tells us that nearly 200,000 people here describe themselves as non-religious, yet very few ever join a Humanist group. They leave it all to chance and their mourners to decide what kind of ceremony they get. Which is more like ‘falling off the stage’ than ‘making an exit’. The trouble with funerals is that, if you leave it until the time comes, it will be too late.

*Humanism: an outlook which omits all belief in the supernatural. It can be summed up as “One Life, One Earth, One Humanity”.

Les Reid

Belfast Humanist Group