My last grandparent, ol’ Momo, died some months ago. I hadn’t planned on going to her funeral, for I had visited her at the funeral home when she last became very sick (before she then got sick and died), but the thought of my brother alone in his hotel room after coming back from the funeral worried me. My grandmother had raised him for the formative years of his life, and she was one of the few go-to relatives he had. And then she died slowly and painfully. I think of that and it’s hard for me to be sad that she’s gone. She was old and I believe ready to die. What more can one hope for, for a grandparent? My brother needed more help.
Crazy how I can share her picture without worry of getting her identity stolen or anything.
Anyway, the funeral was very Christian and as I was keeping myself strong so that my strong brother could weather himself through his grief, a pastor, unknown to everyone except the members of the church in which the funeral was held, came on stage and began to preach. Five minutes into his ridiculously long, shitty spiel, I was snarling in my head, “Who the fuck is this nigga?”
“SOME OF YOU WON’T BE GOING TO HEAVEN! IF YOU DON’T BEEEEEEEEEEELIEEEEEEEEEEVE! YOU’LL BE GOING DOWN UNDER!”
Apologetics is the religion of the age, so while the Bible does say that those who don’t believe will be going to hell, many Christians pretends it doesn’t and they keep themselves from judging when it was convenient for them. That’s fine for me, and I was fine with when my Momo did it, and I ignore it for the most part as my mother does it.
So to have this fucking stranger screeching over my grandmother’s coffin a religious philosophy she could only be caught dead at, made me want to ram a bible so far up that guy’s ass, he’ll only be able to say scripture with spurts of God’s Words flying out his mouth!
Now this pastor continued on for a good half hour. I don’t know, it may have been less, but whatever it was, thirty minutes or thirty seconds, it was too long. Shouting about how I’m going to hell, and this person is going to hell and hell, hell, hell.
Granted, I didn’t talk much religion with my dear grandma. She probably knew I was atheist (through Mom, most likely), and she may have spoken to this pastor about it, but I find it highly unlikely that she wanted her grieving relatives reveilled via Revelations.
And I felt it from much of the church, as the crying became stifled with anger- Who’s this nigga?
We talked later about it, sadness mixed with the horrifying realization that the funeral of a beloved wasn’t only imperfect, but the antithesis to the deceased’s lifestyle.
At the end, a well-known and well-beloved and well-self-known-flawed pastor came up and sang a gentle hymn and helped everyone cry.
When my mother dies (and I outlive her, duh), there will be no such crappy switcheroo at her funeral without her expressed and/or written permission, depending on her state of mind when she dies. As an atheist, I don’t think my grandma’s soul was or that my mother’s soul will be watching the funeral go on. The funeral is for the people (at the very least, the dead person will be in heaven or hell, so, again, they won’t care). And it’s hard to come to celebrate the life of the dead when there life is not being spoken about.
P.S. What made that nigga think it was fucking okay to start preaching at such a time? WHAT? Someone please answer this because I just don’t know.