Dead happy

I’ve now been to a total of four funerals in the last year, three for people who were younger than me and, last week, for someone who was older than me. All four, in their different ways, were celebrations of life, as well as expressing a life ended long before its time, except maybe the last one. But each had a common theme: there was little or no God.

I have no issue with religious folk having religious funerals. As both a secularist and an atheist, for me it’s a matter of live and let live, or die and let die, if you prefer, but there is one thing that makes non-religious funerals far better than religious ones: at a non-religious funeral the emphasis is on the person who died, not a God who has probably never even lived.

Last week, there were a few hymns that suggested the existence of a supernatural creator and the odd ‘Amen’, which means ‘certainly’, ‘truth’ and ‘verily’, but mostly, almost entirely, the service was about the man we were there to celebrate and mourn.

I understand why some mild religious bits are thrown in because older people, who tend to be more religious than young people, tend to find comfort, as well you might as you career towards the end of life, as we are all doing in one way or another.

Two of the hymns were ‘Morning Has Broken’ and ‘Abide With Me’, both of which I was happy to sing along with. The former always makes me think of Cat Stevens before he found his own particular God and the latter, the FA Cup final. The very last thing I think about is God. Anyway, I thought that was very clever planning.

After each funeral, I knew more about the person I was thought I knew already, including one who one of my best and closest friends. Things that made me smile or go ‘Oh wow’. Had the services been all about thanking God for life, but obviously not for death or any of the conditions that might have caused it, they would surely have missed the point. And if you’re praying for someone who is dead, isn’t it a bit late? Unless there are pubs, football grounds and Happy Valley in Heaven, I’m not sure I’d want to go there anyway.

When I die, I will expect my family to ban God from my funeral because I would not want, for example, to be blessed by a celestial dictator who has presumably known of every paedophile who ever lived but decided not to do anything about it. I mean, I don’t hate God – that would be ridiculous hating someone who isn’t really here – but even if he is out there spreading his talents all over the world all the time, I would like to think people could celebrate my life, or more likely my death, with a proper knees-up.

Funerals should be about people. And each funeral has come about through something different, so there’s no set way to have one. If you want one where God is the central character, I’ll obviously still come along, but I’d rather it was about you.