It’s probably strange, and possibly even a bit tasteless, to say you enjoyed someone’s funeral. But that was the widespread sentiment among friends and colleagues who attended the service for the former BBC political editor Stephen Grimason last week.
Stephen’s black sense of humour sustained him throughout the past 10 years or more of his illness. He’d even placed a £50 bet that he’d die first with his friend and one-time rival, UTV’s Ken Reid, who has also had serious health problems.
The church at Drumbeg was packed, and fair play to the Rev Willie Nixon, I’m sure there haven’t been many coffins brought down the aisle to the strains of Ennio Morricone.
The clergyman even lustily joined in the singing of another of Stephen’s requests, the Kris Kristofferson hit The Pilgrim.
They did follow some traditions, as he was told there must be a prayer, a reading from scripture and a hymn. The first one suggested was rejected as Stephen said “It’s too Proddy, none of the Catholics will be able to sing it”.
His long-time friend and former Sky Ireland correspondent Gary Honeyford revealed that Stephen had asked him to do the eulogy three years earlier, when he knew his illness was terminal.
He also sent him some suggestions about what he wanted said. “That is Stephen Grimason – not only does he commission his own funeral eulogy, but he insists on scripting it.” And he added: " I have it here in my hands” - a reference to Stephen’s famous scoop in getting a copy of the Good Friday Agreement before anyone else.
There was more dark humour when Stephen’s son Chris told how they’d discussed his cremation. “What do you want us to do with the ashes?” he asked. “Well, a spoonful in Jim Allister’s cornflakes would be a start,” Stephen replied. The congregation burst into loud laughter.
It was indeed a celebration of his life, of his courage, and most of all his sense of fun.
I know there are liturgical reasons for the relative formality of Catholic requiem Masses, which are intended as prayer for the deceased. But I’ve been to many Catholic funerals where the dead person’s name is merely dropped in once or twice and those who attend as a gesture of respect to the family may leave with no sense of who that person was.
I remember one priest telling me he never allowed relatives to do eulogies after an occasion when an estranged son used it as an opportunity to lambast his allegedly neglectful parent, to uproar from other family members.
At my father’s funeral, 30 years ago, the parish priest said “We don’t do that” when my brother asked to read some words about him. It was instead read at the graveside, though most of the mourners weren’t there and those that were found it difficult to hear.
Some years later, that same priest allowed the children of a university professor to read poems and tributes from the altar.
At my brother’s own funeral last autumn, the priest, who knew Pat well, managed to conduct a Mass that followed liturgical tradition but also injected enough of the personal to reflect the person being remembered. He invited anyone baptised a Catholic to take communion, even if they hadn’t practised the faith in many years.
Last weekend they were counting the numbers attending Masses and praying for more vocations. Maybe some flexibility could help?
A lot of people said afterwards that he’d made them feel so welcome. He also allowed my resolutely left-wing brother’s request for the decidedly secular Ballad of Joe Hill to be played, and gave space, after communion, for a personal tribute by Pat’s widow, Julia.
But maybe it shouldn’t just be down to the attitude of each individual priest as to whether or not they’re willing to allow space to families to add their own words of remembrance.
Last weekend they were counting the numbers attending Masses across the diocese and praying for more vocations for a fast depleting priesthood. Maybe some flexibility could help?