Saying Goodbye

Funerals are for the living. My friend Ken Brown planned his, with his daughter, Abi, and his local vicar, down to the last hymn. It was a glorious day on Friday 13^th June; a date he would have smiled about, as we met at Adam’s and then walked up Loampit Vale to St John’s Church. Apart from me, all the men were suited and booted. Although I’d expected to wear something loud (and I have worn a Hawaiian shirt to a funeral before) I compromised on a floral patterned white shirt. And yes, if you can see the picture, the obvious joke was made. 

We assembled awkwardly to greet people outside the church, with lots of acquaintances renewed. The bells were ringing, competing with the high-pitched calls of the swifts; a throwback to the last conversation I’d had with Ken. 

Eventually the hearse arrived and the vicar asked us to go inside. By an accident, some of us ended up in the second to front pew. As Ken’s family filled one side, we were at the front. Not something we’d have planned, but never mind. There was a wide mix of people there, who knew Ken through work, church, socialising, socialism, university, science fiction…. And yes, some of those circles overlapped. 

The service started with the coffin being brought in while scripture was read. Ken had designed this service for the living, but particularly those who shared his beliefs. I’ve identified as an atheist since my late teens, but I have no problem with this. Equally, I hope my lack of religion gets reflected in mine, though to be honest; it matters far more to those who live on. There were a lot of clergy, but they all seemed very friendly. Next was a very long hymn that was one of Ken’s favourites. As a non-believer, I’m awkward singing in church to start with. I also find it impossible to sing along to a church organ and end up growling in a quiet low voice.  It didn’t help that none of us knew the hymn (I’ve looked it up, it was “And can it be”). Prayers and readings followed, including Ken’s mum reading Psalm 23.  The next song was Jerusalem. At least I knew it and felt quite happy singing it. It’s a song I’ve discussed with Ken before, because it asks leading questions about Jesus’ presence in England all of which merit a firm negative answer. But the beauty of Blake’s Jerusalem is that it speaks of a real-world heaven in this life; that we can resolve our problems and live together in a New Jerusalem. Ken always took this to mean socialism, so I joined in, probably a bit flat and a bit loud. 

There followed more readings and tributes, from family and friends. I admire them all, it is no mean feat to get up and speak about someone you have lost and I could feel the emotion as Ken’s sister, Sarah,  Abi and friends spoke of this knowledgeable, lovely man. 

More hymns and prayers followed, then communion. The service was meant to end on “The Red Flag”, which ended up being sung at the graveside. Later the vicar told us that it was simply because the organist didn’t have the music. I would have happily belted it out a capella had I known and I daresay the same goes for many of us there. Ah well. We left, I shook hands with a bishop and we meandered down to the pub for the wake.

It was what he would have wanted. 

As an atheist humanist, I have to say I really enjoyed Ken’s funeral. It was heavy on the religion, but it would have been false without it; Ken’s faith was always there. Even on beer festival camping trips he would disappear off to visit a church. The sermon was good, talking of how Ken had made his peace with God. He was remarkably calm the last times I saw him, but then nothing ever seemed to faze him.  I’ve been to too many religious funerals which seem to run as if by numbers. I don’t need to share the beliefs to enjoy the love and care in evidence at Ken’s. 

It was a fitting way to say goodbye. I already miss my chats with him. I miss the things we shared and regret the things we will never come to share.