Ch.10, Pt.6: The small Anglican Church was packed.
The small Anglican Church was packed. As Katherine stood inside the rear side entrance, she felt that there was no room for strangers. Everyone seemed to know each other, judging from the little nods and handshakes and pats people were giving each other. A low murmur of voices filled the space. Katherine felt painfully alone. Rick hadn’t even called last night. But she could handle this. She was used to doing things alone. She stood looking for a discrete free space. In the aisle up at the front was what looked like a cart draped in a long cloth. The casket, Katherine suddenly realized with a gulp. She looked away and spotted an empty place in a pew at the side of the church. She walked quickly over and tried to slide in without attracting attention. A woman beside her glanced over and gave her a polite smile.
She feels sorry for me for being all alone, Katherine thought and bent her head to the typed piece of paper she had been given. She couldn’t make sense of it. She was acutely aware of being alone, and in church, and at a funeral. She couldn’t read a word. She was feeling terribly anxious and felt that everyone was looking at her. The woman beside her was studying the leaflet and then opening various books from the rack in front of her. Katherine exhaled and tried to relax.
She smelled pine and cedar, and then noticed that the church was decorated for Christmas. A Christmas tree decorated with tiny white lights and small white ornaments stood in a corner. A bank of red pointsettias rose against the opposite wall. Cedar garlands looped along dark wooden railings. Candles around the altar flickered. Overhead lights cast a warm yellow glow. Katherine noticed another scent, something she couldn’t identify, that pricked at her nostrils. Perhaps the woman beside me is wearing a spicy perfume, she thought. She shifted slightly away on the hard wooden pew.
A bell sounded suddenly with a high-pitched ring, the low chatter ceased instantly, and a rumbling rolled through the church as people got to their feet. The service was underway. Katherine was bewildered by all the activity. While the people sang, elaborately gowned men and women walked down the length of the aisle, dipping a silver baton in something and then waving it around. Drops flew over the people and many of them crossed themselves. Something smoked and sent a column up to the beamed ceiling. Incense, Katherine suddenly realized, and recognized the smell that threatened to make her sneeze.
There was plenty of music. There was music to stand and sing to, and music to sit and listen to. Sometimes one book was used, sometimes another. Some people knew what to say without using a book at all. Sometimes Katherine was about to read out something in a book, only to hear the leaders and the congregation sing the words instead of speak them. Katherine soon felt fatigued trying to follow things, gave up, and just watched. A woman and later a man from the congregation went up front to read from the Bible.
At last the minister – or was it a priest? – climbed into the high wooden pulpit, visible above the crowd even from the back pews, and began the sermon – if that was the name for it. This was something she could understand.
“During this celebration of Christ’s birth we find ourselves thinking about death,” he began. “And that’s something we never like to do, but even less during this season of joy and festive times with family. And it was Clara’s sensitivity about this season that made her postpone this funeral as long as possible, to give Harry’s friends the chance to enjoy the start of Christmas without any sadness. I think Harry would have approved.”
The priest placed his hands on the curving rim of the pulpit and looked over the congregation. “Because Harry was nothing if not thoughtful of others. And he loved Christmas.” There was a little murmur from a few people.
“Harry took immense joy from life. From his work both before and after retirement, from his many friends, from his extended family and from his wife Clara. So we are here not so much in sadness at a death, but in thanksgiving for a life well lived.”
Katherine felt surprise at this and glanced around. No one seemed shocked; some women were smiling through tears.
“Harold Lodge was a faithful Christian who did good works and had every reason for confidence in meeting his maker. Many of you will know better than I, the many sacrifices he made and the time he spent in helping others. To give you just a sampling: in this community he was a member of The Bridge, regularly visiting incarcerated people and following up with newly-released men as they rejoined society. He was committed to Habitat For Humanity, and often travelled to developing countries to help build decent houses.”
I had no idea he did all this, Katherine thought.
“…how many of us have received those Habitat hammer pins and keychains as gifts –“ Here the priest was answered by a general chuckle from the congregation. “—because Harry was always trying to do good, even when it came to buying gifts for people. Doing good twice, I think he called it.”
All these people knew him better than I did, Katherine realized in amazement.
“And of course with Clara, he opened his own home and especially the glorious gardens he and Clara created, to caregivers needing rest, inner-city schoolchildren, and anybody who wanted to come. Even the name, Sunrise, expresses their Christian faith. It’s their quiet symbol of the resurrection and the hope and welcome it offers. A good sign of their own hospitality. I’m sure that if Mary and Joseph had come to Sunrise looking for a place to stay, Jesus would have been born in one of the lovely guest rooms, and Harry would have gotten started right away on a house for them. Harry was hospitable and caring.”
The woman beside Katherine dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. Katherine felt a lump in her throat.
“Does this sound too good to be true? Harold Lodge was human. He had a wicked sense of humour, and he loved to play practical jokes. I myself have been subject to one or two of them. Harry loved life. The best times for him were filled with people, and with good food and strong drink. Harry was certainly no angel. I’m sure Clara could tell us a few things that Harry did that drove her crazy.”
Here he paused and looked at the people in the pew in front of him. When he seemed to be asking for verification, Katherine strained to see Clara but couldn’t distinguish her among the sea of black clothes. The priest nodded, said “Yeah,” and the congregation laughed.
“Harry’s life was a fine example for all of us to follow, very real, but very giving and loving. In this way, I think he was a true follower of Christ. And if we consider the definition of saint as a member of the blessed company of heaven…”
Here Katherine’s attention faded. Her eyes shifted over to the stained glass windows that shone from the winter sun, revealing beautiful sapphire, emerald, ruby, amber colours. “…hard to believe that Harry is not a saint,” the priest was saying. “So in this season of the coming of Christ…” Katherine couldn’t help tuning out when the talk got too religious. She felt uncomfortable on the hard seat. Her nose and hands felt cold. She noticed that most people had their coats draped over their shoulders, and pulled hers closer to her. Her boots tapped the bare hardwood floor. She peeked at her watch. Whenever Harry was mentioned her attention snapped back. “…appropriate that Harry would lead the way as he so often did, and go before us into heaven, where, when it is our time, we have every hope of reunion with him and our maker.”
The priest climbed down from the pulpit, then said something about faith and baptism, and the congregation rose and embarked on a long reading or prayer. When that was finished everyone remained standing and a different voice began an endless prayer, punctuated by responses from the people. Katherine shifted the weight on her feet and was glad that she hadn’t subjected Rick to this.
At one point things seemed to get more intense, as a bell tinkled again and people rumbled down onto their knees. Katherine sat down gratefully. The woman beside her fumbled with the footrest and then kneeled on it. Katherine moved her foot. She leaned back but someone was praying right up against her backrest and she swiftly slid forward to the edge of the pew. She could not bring herself to kneel. After many long unfamiliar prayers, she recognized The Lord’s Prayer and was able to join in at times.
There was even communion, and row by row people went up to the front, passing close by the draped coffin, and kneeled at the altar. Great, thought Katherine with a sinking feeling, I’m really going to stand out now. She contemplated sneaking out the back. But a surprising number of people, mostly sitting at the sides and the back of the church, remained in their seats and were not treated scornfully. Katherine relaxed and stayed put. She glanced up at the arched ceiling and studied the big wooden beams that reached across. She was reminded of something. The frame of the bottom of a boat. How odd. Was that intended, or just her imagination?
After communion, there was movement up front and for a moment Katherine saw Clara surrounded by other people in black. They gathered near the casket as a hymn was sung. Smoke from the incense drifted up.
The priest stood in front of the casket, facing the congregation and began a prayer, saying “Into your hand, oh merciful saviour, we commend your servant Harold.” A shiver went down Katherine’s back and tears came to her eyes.
Another hymn began and there was a slow procession down the aisle, with a group of men in dark suits taking out the casket. Right behind walked Clara arm in arm with another older woman. Her sister, Katherine thought. Clara’s face looked dreamy, not grief-stricken. She’s had time to get used to it, unlike the rest of us.
Katherine was among the last to leave as people streamed out from the front pews first. By the time Katherine was outside, Clara was not in sight. People were getting into cars and heading off in a line. I can’t follow, Katherine realized suddenly. I’m worn out. I can’t take any more. Clara doesn’t need me to support her. Katherine got into her own car, and as she turned the key in the ignition, started to cry.