Young Australian Skeptics

I spent this Tuesday just gone in a situation most people wish they could avoid — saying a permanent farewell to a friend from school who died suddenly not quite two weeks ago. Jon was only two months younger than me, and was that enviable combination of musically and academically talented, as well as genuinely quirky and popular. His humor was occasionally geeky, but always offbeat; I remember once as school he took me aside and stuck a resistor in my jacket, jokingly informing me that I was now a member of ‘the resistance’. As anyone who knew him could tell you, he was a sure bet for success no matter what path he may have chosen.

The manner of his leaving was sudden and confusing — he died in a freak workplace accident, the sort of thing that no matter what safeguards and strategies you put into place you will have to accept that one time in a billion something will go wrong. The situation is still surreal, and the worst part for most people is that in the absence of any meaning to his death there is no one there to blame. Life ticks on as it always has, and somewhere on a pale blue dot a town full of people are railing against the injustice inherent in an uncaring universe.

That’s not what everyone will tell you, though, and it’s not what we heard at the funeral. For the most part it was good. His father spoke especially well, having buried his wife only two years ago, and particularly implored all of us to consider organ donation; I learnt that Jon ‘lives on’ in a manner, his organs having prolonged or saved two lives and increased the quality of life for a third person. Other friends and family also had things to say, primarily about his life and achievements though often with a sad reflection on what might have been. And then there was the Reverend.

The Reverend was, quite clearly, not someone who had ever actually known my friend. Indeed, that the service was as religious as it was came as a bit of a shock to me, as Jon had not been a particularly religious person. However, some religious tradition is to be expected at the funeral of a person who was part of a family that is, at least, nominally Christian. The Reverend didn’t see it that way, however. Instead, he decided to use my friend’s funeral to preach.

He opened with what I can only describe as one of the most inappropriate analogies I have ever heard in my life, likening my friend to cake. He drew a parallel between different aspects of personality and different layers of cake, and then asked what would come out if we stuck a wide bore needle into it. The analogy seemed to serve no point other than to lead into the rest of his sermon.

The Reverend told us that he didn’t know why Jon had to die when he did, but that he did know something else: That he had been baptised into the Christian faith, and that he was therefore in heaven with his mother. And even though he never went to church anymore, and even though he had professed no kind of faith for many, many years, that didn’t matter — because Jon was smart, and would have been reasonable enough to understand the truth of Christianity and internally adhere. More than that, we were told that perhaps if Jon had studied theology he would have been able to tell us why he had to die now, and what part it played in God’s plan.

I could not help but feel very bloody angry at this, and speaking with other friends afterwards they expressed similar sentiments — even those who are Christian felt that preaching to a captive audience at a stranger’s funeral was beyond the pale. More than that, the empty platitudes offered by the Reverend were of no consolation to those who had actually known Jon, as well as the feeling that not only was the Reverend condemning many of us in either our disbelief or lifestyle but that in a way he was also condemning Jon.

It’s also worth noting that these were not the ravings of an evangelical minister, but of a ‘moderate’ Lutheran Reverend, a representative of exactly the kind of religion we are always told we should ally with and respect. Once again, however, a representative of  ‘moderate’ religion has shown just how inconsiderate they can be, and how intolerant and twisted their own point of view really is.

And as for me? I will always remember Jon alive, rather than imagining him dead. I know his dedication and talent; that in his brief span he did more than many people do in a lifetime. I know intellectually that he is gone, even if it hasn’t quite hit me emotionally yet — there is a delayed, surreal quality to the experience that makes it difficult to fully accept the facts of the matter.

And I will always be a member of the resistance.

Tags: death, friends, preaching, Religion, Richard Hughes

This entry was posted on Thursday, September 24th, 2009 at 9:07 am and is filed under Religion, Richard Hughes. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.