The Service, The Eulogy

I wish I could remember the names of the songs, because in a lot of worship services, the songs create the service as much as any other part. The songs lay the foundation for the energy and mood of the service. What I discovered is music is layered into every aspect of the service, with the piano player and the preacher creating some type of symbiotic relationship where his every sentence is punctuated by musical tones. I couldn't help but find myself wondering if they practice this style of oration, or if there are some set rules that the preacher speaks in rhythm and the pianist punctuates them. I was fascinating to watch and listen. The preacher smoke in a Captain Kirk like rhythm, but with more ! and piano chords struck at the right intervals. It's hard to describe, but easy to understand, I think.

The programs are printed on larger paper than for a typical white person funeral in this area, more than just the one paper folded, and detailed as well. A color photo of the deceased adorns the front, and an inside page holds a collage of photos. Aside from the normal things to which I am accustomed, such as a reading of the survivors, a eulogy, and perhaps a congregational song or a solo, the itinerary includes a few extra items. The itinerary includes an acknowledgment to every card that has been sent from the family, a scheduled time for attendee's to be able to speak about the loved one (limit yourself to 3 minutes please), a moment for words of encouragement, and the name of the program leader, a sort of mistress of ceremony.

The mistress of ceremony welcomes everyone, speaks about the homegoing service, explains her connection to the loved one through friendship with several neices, and reads all the acknowledgements. . . and is just beginning the words of encouragement when she is interrupted by one of the preachers.

"I'm going to interrupt. I don't mean to be rude, but my name is on the program, so I can do that." My beautiful one next to me shifts in her seat. He then introduces another preacher sitting in the pulpit and asks him to give the words of encouragement. *

The entire service carries this tone, one of religious fervor, mixed with sorrow and joy, through solo performances and congregational songs. The words of the first pastor, when his time to give the eulogy comes, seem heavily laced with pomp and arrogance. His words seem more about him being heard, than the loved one being heard about. His words punctuated by the piano player seem an odd mixture of song and dance to one who has never experienced this first hand, only heard about it in lore and legend when elder white people would say they "went to a black funeral."

"My Moma always told me to be the best you can be" he said. "If you're going to be a liar, be a good liar. If you're gonna be a hooker, don't be a cheap hooker."

The beauty next to me shifts again and says in barely a whisper, "Did he just say hooker in my aunt's funeral?" Yes, he did. The rest of the eulogy carried on in this grandiose fashion, with the preacher not just behind the pulpit, but "on the stage" and performing. I tried to listen to his words, hoping for some message, but found myself overwhelmed by the theatrics of it all. A gentleman two pews ahead of us stood up, turned around and yelled, "Yaw aren't going to Heaven!" and sat back down, then a minute later repeated the action.

"Yaw aren't going to Heaven!" he admonished everyone from his pew on back, as if he deemed to know us all, or perhaps because he did not know us, we couldn't be on the "A list" for Heaven. I didn't take it personally. I had, after all, wanted this very experience. I kept my eyes and ears open, trying to absorb every detail, every moment, so that I could relive it again and again. I tried to determine the rhythm of the preacher's speech, and keep count with how many bizarre statements he made, tried to notice when he actually spoke about the deceased, and watched with wide eyed wonder at the frenzy that passed across the face of a lady in the choir loft, and a distinguished looking lady one pew behind me. **

And then, as quickly as it all rose to a fevered pitch, it was over. Relatives came to the front to gather the flowers and the coffin was led down the center aisle to the waiting hearse. The congregation flowed out in an orderly fashion.

Family gathered and hugged and made the way to cars for the procession to the burial a few more miles down Mississippi Highway 61.



*In society in general, I often find it odd when people excuse their rude actions by saying they don't mean to be rude. And I am displeased with myself when I do it too.

** She was quite lovely, with "good hair" that was an exquisite shade of grey, perfectly accented by a stylish black dress and coffee with cream colored skin.