I’ve been to my share of funerals, Mormon and otherwise: These have been funerals of close family members (grandmother, both parents, nephew) and more extended family (for years I was my mother’s delegate to funerals of second cousins and great aunts). I’ve attended the funerals of women for whom I’ve been visiting teacher, former bishops, ward members, neighbors, and the family members of old school friends and mission companions. I’ve dressed the dead; I’ve spoken at funerals; I’ve attended funerals where I was just one of a room full of faces unknown to living family members. The funerals have been in LDS chapels, commercial funeral chapels, and at the graveside.
I can’t recall any LDS funeral, regardless of where it was held, that did not include something that could be called a “plan of salvation” talk. A very, very few of these may have been given by members of bishoprics, but every such talk I can actually recall individually has been given by a family member, or by someone asked earlier to do that by the deceased herself, or by a general authority invited to speak because of a personal relationship with the family or the deceased. Some have been more eloquent than others. Honestly, I can’t remember a single one that has been inappropriate in any way, or was not personal to the deceased (i.e., something like “Your father was a good man. Among the good he did in this life was x, y, and z. Our knowledge of the plan of salvation suggestions that your father was met at the veil by … and may even now be engaging in … and in time to come will rise from the grave to do …”)
I’ve never been to a funeral where such a talk was the only talk, or where there wasn’t an overwhelming focus on the life of the person who had died. It seems most common these days for someone to read an obituary or other formal summary of the person’s biography, at least one and sometimes several talks by friends and family telling stories of the person’s life, and several musical numbers, some of which are introduced as the deceased person’s favorite, or sung at his special request. And the so-called “plan of salvation” talk has usually been personalized. This has been especially appreciated – by me, at least, and I can’t think that I’m always the exception – when a death has been especially shocking – a young person, or death in a war zone, or, in one terrible case, a mother-daughter murder-suicide. You can’t help asking Why?! in those instances, and wanting to be reassured that while we grieve now, there is hope in the future.
I’ve never heard a single such talk – not one – not even a fragment of one – that I could fairly classify as nothing but “a missionary sales pitch” as such talks were characterized by some commenters in Tracy M’s recent post on acknowledging life’s most difficult moments with genuine emotion.
This is not to say that such clumsy moments never happen, or that well-meaning but spectacularly stupid things don’t get said, by Mormons as well as others. Why should I expect funerals to be different from any other human activity? Times of high emotion — weddings and funerals among them — seem fraught with opportunities to give and take offenses that can take a very long time to heal.
For the past many months I have been reading through the correspondence collections of Latter-day Saints preserved in church archives. These collections include a very large number of condolence letters and telegrams and cards – they come from an era where written letters were more important than today, and where people took care to acknowledge births, marriages, and deaths with written expressions. I think I’ve seen it all by now, the good, the bad, and the ugly things said at funerals, all reduced to writing. “She’s in a better place.” “We have the gospel so it’s wrong to mourn.” “If only he had had the faith to be healed.”
But I’ve also seen some much better examples of “mourning with those who mourn.” Perhaps the best example I’ve seen is a pair of short letters from Joseph M. Tanner, who, among many, many other contributions to the Church, was, in 1902, Church Commissioner of Education. Early that year, he wrote a letter to a man somewhat complaining about that man’s slowness in completing an assignment. He soon learned why the man had not been in touch, and his second letter reads, in part:
Your telegram tells me of the death of your beautiful boy. … I trust God in mercy will comfort and reconcile you both in what must be a most painful ordeal. You have my fullest sympathy, and prayerful wish that you may find some lasting consolation in the providences of God. … I admired your boy sincerely and often spoke to others about what I thought must be the pride and ideal of your lives.
Tanner was on the eve of leaving for a six-week tour of outlying Mormon colonies. Notices of meetings had already gone out, and arrangements were made for local people to meet Tanner at train stations with horses and buggies to convey him to outlying areas. It would be difficult or impossible to reach many of these people in time to cancel those arrangements. “Under ordinary circumstances,” he assured the father, “I should certainly be with you to offer any consolation within my power.”
So far it was a standard Mormon expression. Had it stopped there, we might dismiss it as routine and perhaps not genuine – little more than “we’re Mormons so we don’t mourn.” But ten days later, writing from a distant outpost on his mission tour, Tanner wrote another letter.
I have thought so much of the loss of that beautiful boy that my sympathies for you have made me very unhappy at times. I was greatly disappointed because of my inability to be with you in your distress.
Tanner went on to recall the child’s life, and the care the parents so obviously took of their children, and the rightness of the family’s life.
To me, it’s the fact of this second letter that really constitutes “mourning with those who mourn.” Tanner had already fulfilled social expectations by acknowledging the death. But he took time, under the somewhat inconvenient conditions of travel, to write another letter, one not required by social convention. He demonstrated by this that he had really been thinking about the family. He remembered the child and recalled his importance, not just to the family but to the family’s friends. The baby was real. His loss was genuine.
That, I think, is a large part of what we all look for when someone we love dies. We want to remember him, and be assured that others remember him, to know that our grief is accepted and shared, and that we aren’t quite as alone as we feel.
Humans – Mormons included – don’t always get it right, and we hurt when we ought to help. But it’s sweet when we get it right.
There’s a tendency in the ‘nacle to focus on what we get wrong. I think what-we-do-wrong-at-funerals is adequately covered. I’d love to hear from you about the times when we get it right.
I’ve been lucky not to attend many funerals. Thank you for your perspective, Ardis.
I recently temple-dressed my mother, filled some of her requests for the service, and proudly proclaimed her written testimony through my voice and through the entirety was never asked what would be on the service, or told what must or should be there. Tracy’s post and comments are completely foreign to my experiences of many funerals.
We did it right when my uncle, now deceased himself, spoke at my Grandpa’s funeral and said that his dad had maybe worked too hard. He only remembers two times that his father took him on a “vacation.” They went fishing once when he was a boy, and once on a fathers and sons outing when my uncle was Stake President and my Grandpa retired.
It was said with respect, love, and tender pain. I appreciated hearing “truth” spoken at a funeral. It did not diminish any love or respect. It hit that fine line of painful honesty without the sometimes cruel and dishonest conveyance of difficult truth.
Ardis, my own experience at funerals tends to bear out your observations. In fact, I think I’ve only been to one where a relative of the deceased turned to Church doctrine in her comments when the deceased, I’m pretty sure, would have objected. I think the vast majority of time the family members of the deceased appreciate the theological overlay. I remember Helen Whitney once saying that “Mormons do death well.” And clearly the introduction of Church doctrine doesn’t prevent other expressions. The last funeral I attended was earlier this year. Marian Wilkinson, eldest daughter of Ernest Wilkinson, was the deceased, and her sister, Alice, delivered one of the best, freshest, most honest expressions I remember hearing. It was perfect, I thought.
Thank you, Ardis. This is wonderful and genuine. I participated in a funeral this weekend and your comments resonate.
I agree with you, Ardis, and posted my own objections to Tracy’s post on BCC as that had not been my experience.
Thanks, all.
Just to be sure I’m not misunderstood, my differences are mostly with the claims of BCC commenters, not with Tracy’s post. When Latter-day Saints really do deny mourning in favor of the appearance of a “happy shiny” perfection, I’m in agreement with Tracy that that is wrong.
I’ve given three eulogies in my life: for my father (before scattering his ashes at sea); for my father-in-law; and, most heartbreakingly, for Raina, a young woman in her late teens, my daughter’s best friend, who was killed when the car she was riding in backed out of a driveway and was hit by another car racing at high speed down the (suburban) street.
My family is not LDS, so my dad’s eulogy was pretty straightforward. My father-in-law was of solid Danish LDS pioneer stock; my eulogy for him was every bit as heartfelt, but was heavily LDS.
As for Raina — she and her (divorced) mother were LDS but completely inactive and somewhat hostile to the Church. At Raina’s death, their bishop reached out to help Raina’s mother deal with the unthinkable. Raina’s funeral was at the stake center (this was in San Diego) and was heavily attended by members of Raina’s ward and stake. We actually were living back in the DC area at this time, but we happened to be in San Diego with our kids for a two-week stay at a beach house when this happened, and her mother asked (through her bishop) if I would speak.
I wish I could find my notes that I used. It was not a ‘plan of salvation’ talk by any definition and certainly not a denial of mourning, because I was in mourning myself. It was my reflections on a young woman I had seen grow up, one who used to spend entire Saturdays (and many sleepovers) at our house, who was, as we joked, our daughter Crystal’s “non-identical twin”. I talked about her love of art, her sense of adventure, and her excitement over all life had to offer. At the end of the eulogy, I bore my witness that all that energy and intelligence had not vanished but was in a different sphere now, one where someday those of us who loved her could be with her again.
It’s been almost 20 years, and I find myself weeping as I write this. Sorry. My point was that the comfort is there to give, and there is nothing wrong with that. But the grief is still there. I am reminded — and, Ardis, I think you have posted on this before — of Pres. Joseph F. Smith (IIRC), writing in his journal a few decades after the death of his 3-year-old daughter, and still missing her terribly, to the point of tears. It just hurts. ..bruce..
There was an elderly sister in Cambridge, MA who was the only church member in her family. I was her visiting teacher. Upon her death, the decision was made to hold the funeral at the funeral home across the street from her Senior Living building to make it easy for her elderly neighbors to attend. The night before the funeral many ward members sat around and shared “Viola stories” with her sons and grandchildren. She had played adopted grandmother to many student families. She attended elementary school plays, grandparent visiting days, and so on. At the end of the visitation period, on of her sons said, “I asked mother several times to move in with me, but she said she was just too busy to move to the suburbs. I thought she was being fiercely independent. But now I realize that she was really just too busy.”
After her funeral the next day, largely run by ward members, but with her family’s input, I heard one of her older friends say, “What an odd funeral. I feel so . . . happy right now.”
I was flabbergasted by most of the comments on Tracy’s posts. I have attended many (mostly LDS) funerals of friends and family members. Mourners wept openly at all of them, even as the beauty of plan of salvation was shared. These funeral are church services and I am grateful that they are usually kept fairly short. The only time I have been offended at an LDS funeral was when a family member used the opportunity to take a jab at another family member. At my mother’s funeral, each of her five children spoke about one of her Christlike attributes. This was not a missionary effort, it was simply a reflection of my mother and how she lived her life. The grandchildren sang a medley of Mom’s favorite Primary songs. A trio sang a beautiful number and the Bishop and Stake President each spoke for 5-7 minutes. I was surprised that so many non-LDS friends and relatives described the spiritual experience they had at the funeral. My father was in shock over my mother’s sudden passing and he was comforted and pleased by the fact that Mom’s funeral brought people closer to Christ and provided some “missionary moments.” I am certain Mom was pleased as well.
My experience has been mostly like yours. We had a delightful (really!) memorial Saturday in our ward for the 97 year old father of another member of our ward. I also knew another son, who lived in another ward in our stake. There was not much in the way of a plan of salvation talk, but my friend related that he and his dad had carried on a conversation about what the 97 year old patriarch was going to say to his wife when he met her on the other side. “Dad, you need to work on a good line. I don’t think “Carma, how are you doing” is going to be enough.” A simple acknowledgment that we believe not only in life after death, but the reality of covenants fulfilled, and promises kept. It was a very nice service.
I am very happy to hear from Joseph Mount Tanner. I have always been interested in him. I think his wife, Annie Clark Tanner, did him a disservice in “Mormon Mother.” I wish he had written about his life, so we could understand his side of the marriage.
At my grandmother’s funeral (in November several years ago), an uncle commented that they had found in her papers that week a previous draft of her funeral program, and it was full of Christmas music. The organist, while we wheeled her coffin out to the hearse, flipped into Christmas music in recognition of the moment. It remains one of those tender mercies…
Thanks for reminding my why I rarely bother with BCC anymore…
While it’s perhaps hard to see with my mostly active, mostly believing eyes what others may see through different eyes, my experience at a couple dozen funerals over the years (newborn through 99, expected and otherwise, natural causes through accident through suicide, active through very-much-not) has been almost uniformly positive. In general, I think the Church does a great job of balancing sadness with hope, and celebrating the details of a person’s life with universal Gospel truths.
And to the point of the OP — that second letter was wonderful, and a good reminder to all of us that we can do better mourning with those who mourn and providing support to those who need it through the long grieving process.