This past weekend, I was asked to sing at the funeral of a person of Swedish and Norwegian heritage. It was a gig (as I did not personally know the family) – but it's also an honor and privilege to be a small part of a family's leave-taking.
The organist for the service was a good friend that I have worked with over the course of many years, so we were quickly able to determine the musical numbers that I would be singing. In addition, the family had asked that we include some Swedish hymns and we were happy to do so, including:
- Bred dina vida vingar (Thy Holy Wings)
- Tryggare kan ingen vara (Children of the Heavenly Father)
I sang a couple of the hymns in Swedish. Did many in the family know the language? No. But it has been my experience that they find comfort in hearing the language of the "old country" at these times — and this family was no exception. They were so happy to have that representation of their heritage and faith as part of the service.
But our experience at the funeral home was less than desirable.
I believe that music can be a powerful healing and comforting force at times of grief — but that force can be instantly hindered or abated by the kind of situation we found ourselves in yesterday. And we grieved because we knew that what we could produce with the tools at hand was less than what we would have preferred.
The "organ" was at least 35-40 years old — a complete "wheezer" with an emphasis on vibrato and almost no choices for "stops". (Did it really have any?) In fact, it sounded like a stereotypicall funeral home organ. There was no piano available, acoustic or electronic.
In addition, the funeral home was designed in such a way that the organist and soloist were boxed in a little room that was sheltered from view. And the sound box for the organ was also located in that tiny room. The sound had a difficult time getting out between the slats in the "window" that provided the only link to the room where the memorial service was being held. In order for the organ to be heard and support the congregation during the hymn singing, it had to be turned up to maximum volume — which could, with long-term exposure, have deafened the organist and myself.
This isn't the first time I've run into situations like this — but this was probably one of the worst.
After the service, my friend and I discussed how it is no surprise why people talk about hating funeral homes and hating "funeral music". The lack of a good instrument and the physical setup would undoubtedly challenge the best of musicians. And we talked about how much better the service would have been if it could have been in a church or small (not funeral) chapel where the instruments and acoustics would have served the music — and the grieving family — much better.
In a number of traditions, funerals are supposed to be celebrations of life (even at a time of sadness). How sad that the physical setup of many of today's American funeral homes apparently do their best to discourage that.
One of these days I'll do a Multe Music program on funeral music. There really are so many lovely hymns and musical selections available to honor the heritage and comfort those who are saying goodbye to a family member and/or friend.
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Ruth, So sorry to hear to hear how this experience could have been made better for all concerned. If you're in this situation again, I'd be happy to loan you my Yamaha P-80 piano. Nice sound and decent weighted keys. Plus an amplifier.
Thanks, Glenn! Yep, had we known we were going to be faced with this, we would have tried to prepare. Unfortunately, with events like funerals you often have very little time to respond — much less plan for possible problems — so you have to just deal with what you have. That said, I think funeral homes should take music more seriously and provide good instruments and physical surroundings for music.