In the movies, it always rains during burials. Today's burial felt like the movies. The mid-October sky awoke covered in clouds. The red and orange leaves are lighting up the gray horizon, since the sun has no hope of doing so. The rain has been falling all morning, sometimes in big drops, sometimes in fine mists.
I was grateful for the tent that had been constructed over the burial site. It provided a little bit of protection from the drizzle and wind. I did what pastors do. I prayed and read from scripture, I tossed sand over the casket. I blessed the deceased and those who loved her. And then we went back to church for lunch.
As the family worked their way through the line, I ran upstairs to my office to hang up my robe. Those first few minutes post-funeral-and-burial are precious to me. It's hard to explain the emotional energy it takes to bless and bury someone. It feels sort of like an introvert spending a couple hours partying with the entire communion of saints, making all the rounds to greet every child of God who has gone before, introducing them to their newest sister or brother. And when the party is over, this introvert needs a little recharge space.
Anyway, I digress.
I made it downstairs for lunch as the last guests were finishing their way through the line. After I was sure everyone had been through, I picked up my own plate, and filled it with responsible amounts of open-faced ham sandwiches, coleslaw, and pasta salad. One of our dear church ladies handed me a cup of coffee. And I stared at the dessert tray. Like a four-year-old, I instinctively grabbed the largest piece of cake.
It was a tall piece of sheet cake, unnaturally yellow-orange in color.
I'm pretty sure it was one of those cakes that involves stirring a whole can of crushed pineapple or mandarin orange slices into the batter. And it appeared to be frosted with straight Cool Whip, right from the tub.
I'm glad that I had a cup of coffee waiting for me when I got around to eating dessert. The cake was moist and so sweet. A crunchy sugar shell had formed where the batter met the edge of the pan. The Cool Whip was, surprisingly, the least sweet part of the cake. The cloying cake, the creamy frosting, the smooth and bitter coffee: a perfect match.
"How absurd," I thought to myself.
I'm not sure exactly what was absurd. The cake? The fact that I was eating the cake? The foods that one eats at church lady lunches? The weird clashing of past, present, and future at funerals and funeral lunches alike?
All of the above, probably.
What a crazy existence it is, to lead others through the ritual of death, to stand up and say crazy things like "there is life after death."
Maybe funeral lunches are a strange brand of protest. We eat unnecessarily unhealthy foods, like creamy, cheesy, carb-laden casseroles and "salads" held together by full-fat mayonnaise and sour cream; orange-juice-soaked cakes frosted with whipped cream and chocolate frosted brownies. "Death has no victory," we scoff, as we lift forkfulls of apple and marshmallow fluff salad to our lips. "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die," the realists among us say as they settle in with a second cup of coffee to go with their second slice of cake.
These lunches are hardly gourmet feasts. You're always wondering why someone added cubes of cheese to the broccoli salad or why there were so many onions in the coleslaw or why someone thought that a bowl of perfectly good grapes needed to be fancied up with gobs of mayonnaise dressing.
But these meals are hearty, nourishing, evoking a time past when "wholesome" meant "home-cooked by someone doing her best to keep the family fed, clean, healthy, and happy." A time when it was the duty of church ladies to feed and fatten up the skinny young pastor...and also to introduce him to their lovely daughter or niece.
Funeral lunches are comfort food for the soul. They are a reminder that the kingdom of God comes with all sorts of quirks, and embraces all manner of archaic recipes, and embraces all times past, present, and future. Together we eat as a way to stand up to the power of death. We sink our teeth into sugary bites of cake to say, "Life wins."
What absurdity it is, to believe in life after death.
What absurdity it is, to frost a cake with Cool Whip.
What absurdity it is, to find the strength each day to live with some driving sense of hope for the future.
Let us eat cake! Let us celebrate. For our absurdity is God's victory. Our weakness is God's strength. Our death is but the beginning of God's resurrection. Raise your forks, then, and rejoice!
I was grateful for the tent that had been constructed over the burial site. It provided a little bit of protection from the drizzle and wind. I did what pastors do. I prayed and read from scripture, I tossed sand over the casket. I blessed the deceased and those who loved her. And then we went back to church for lunch.
As the family worked their way through the line, I ran upstairs to my office to hang up my robe. Those first few minutes post-funeral-and-burial are precious to me. It's hard to explain the emotional energy it takes to bless and bury someone. It feels sort of like an introvert spending a couple hours partying with the entire communion of saints, making all the rounds to greet every child of God who has gone before, introducing them to their newest sister or brother. And when the party is over, this introvert needs a little recharge space.
Anyway, I digress.
I made it downstairs for lunch as the last guests were finishing their way through the line. After I was sure everyone had been through, I picked up my own plate, and filled it with responsible amounts of open-faced ham sandwiches, coleslaw, and pasta salad. One of our dear church ladies handed me a cup of coffee. And I stared at the dessert tray. Like a four-year-old, I instinctively grabbed the largest piece of cake.
It was a tall piece of sheet cake, unnaturally yellow-orange in color.
I'm pretty sure it was one of those cakes that involves stirring a whole can of crushed pineapple or mandarin orange slices into the batter. And it appeared to be frosted with straight Cool Whip, right from the tub.
I'm glad that I had a cup of coffee waiting for me when I got around to eating dessert. The cake was moist and so sweet. A crunchy sugar shell had formed where the batter met the edge of the pan. The Cool Whip was, surprisingly, the least sweet part of the cake. The cloying cake, the creamy frosting, the smooth and bitter coffee: a perfect match.
"How absurd," I thought to myself.
I'm not sure exactly what was absurd. The cake? The fact that I was eating the cake? The foods that one eats at church lady lunches? The weird clashing of past, present, and future at funerals and funeral lunches alike?
All of the above, probably.
What a crazy existence it is, to lead others through the ritual of death, to stand up and say crazy things like "there is life after death."
Maybe funeral lunches are a strange brand of protest. We eat unnecessarily unhealthy foods, like creamy, cheesy, carb-laden casseroles and "salads" held together by full-fat mayonnaise and sour cream; orange-juice-soaked cakes frosted with whipped cream and chocolate frosted brownies. "Death has no victory," we scoff, as we lift forkfulls of apple and marshmallow fluff salad to our lips. "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die," the realists among us say as they settle in with a second cup of coffee to go with their second slice of cake.
These lunches are hardly gourmet feasts. You're always wondering why someone added cubes of cheese to the broccoli salad or why there were so many onions in the coleslaw or why someone thought that a bowl of perfectly good grapes needed to be fancied up with gobs of mayonnaise dressing.
But these meals are hearty, nourishing, evoking a time past when "wholesome" meant "home-cooked by someone doing her best to keep the family fed, clean, healthy, and happy." A time when it was the duty of church ladies to feed and fatten up the skinny young pastor...and also to introduce him to their lovely daughter or niece.
Funeral lunches are comfort food for the soul. They are a reminder that the kingdom of God comes with all sorts of quirks, and embraces all manner of archaic recipes, and embraces all times past, present, and future. Together we eat as a way to stand up to the power of death. We sink our teeth into sugary bites of cake to say, "Life wins."
What absurdity it is, to believe in life after death.
What absurdity it is, to frost a cake with Cool Whip.
What absurdity it is, to find the strength each day to live with some driving sense of hope for the future.
Let us eat cake! Let us celebrate. For our absurdity is God's victory. Our weakness is God's strength. Our death is but the beginning of God's resurrection. Raise your forks, then, and rejoice!