Serious When Occurred - Funny Now
I was ordained to the priesthood on 18 February 1961 at Christ Church, Montpelier, Vermont. Fr. Hertzler preached. The Bishop assigned me to be the curate at Christ Church.
I found it quite pleasurable to work with the Rector, Fr. Anderson, who showed all aspects of running a parish. So when he decided to take a summer vacation that year mountain climbing in the Rockies, I felt fairly confident that I could handle anything that might come up.
What happened that made me wipe the scales off my eyes was a series of funerals, the likes of which I could never have dreamed up. They seemed serious at the time, but in retrospect they are humourous.
On the Saturday afternoon following the Rector’s leaving, I received a call from a local mortician. He informed me that a local doctor, who had been a friend of Fr. Anderson, had died. Previously, Fr. Anderson had promised him that upon his passing when the time came, he would conduct his funeral service.
In the Rector's absence, I could not refuse to conduct the burial; so we set that date and time. About a half hour later, the funeral director called me and asked me to help dress the body, explaining that he was short staffed on this weekend. The man’s legs were bloated making it difficult for the mortician to pull his pants up.
The next Tuesday at two, the funeral was held, attended by several hundred physicians in Vermont. Just as I started down the aisle reading “I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord...” someone let out a blood curdling scream! Immediately, I stopped. Ten or so doctors were carrying the person out to the Parish Hall. I excused myself to be at hand in case I had to minister to the victim. It turned out that a parishioner had a grand malseizure, which the doctors were able to treat. So I returned and resumed the burial, which went well outwardly. The committal went without incident. However, I was very thankful that Anglican priests wear vestments, which covered my shaking knees.
Christ Church, Montpelier, Vermont (Photo by J. Phelan)
Two days later, one of our parishioners, an older lady died. A couple of weeks before her death, she and her husband had separated. No papers had been drawn up yet, so the husband had the right to ask to have her interred in the burial plot that they recently bought, and had erected a monument, in the new section of the cemetery at Waitsfield. Their grown children all had different religions and wanted all kinds of services, wakes, and vigils. However, they all finally agreed that their mother deserved a Solemn High Funeral Mass. The funeral took place that Saturday morning. Following the service we all drove out to the cemetery for the committal. At the committal, just as I was saying, “We commit her body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust...”, the sandy loam in which the grave was dug gave way, and I found myself descending into her grave feet first! But I was so busy trying not to flub up the committal that I was almost out of sight by the time I finished. My feet were in the cement vault. But somehow we got through it all.
The following Monday her will was read at probate court. In it she clearly stated that she wanted to be buried in her parents’ plot in a cemetery in the town of Vernon, Vermont (which borders Massachusetts and New Hampshire). On Tuesday morning, the family and I were following behind a flatbed truck carrying the concrete vault containing the coffin with the lady’s body to the little cemetery she wished to be interred in for her eternal rest.
The following day, I received a call from the family of a member of the parish (whom I actually knew) who had died suddenly. She was fifty-seven. She left an eighty-six year old husband. Although the couple attended Christ Church, Montpelier, they actually lived in Waits River, Vermont. The family asked me if it would be possible to hold the funeral in the Methodist church in Waits River. I figured that would be a good arrangement, realising that she and her husband were the only family members who were Episcopalian. I went down to see the family and share in their grief. Saturday, the day of the funeral, I brought down a hundred prayer books and hymnals for the family and friends to use for the funeral service.
As I was following the pall bearers into the church, I realised why they did not normally hold funerals there. The steps were so steep, that it was like climbing up a ladder carrying a coffin to reach the church. As we were ascending to the church I could hear the body crumpling toward the bottom of the coffin. When they got the coffin to the front of the church, they opened it and straightened out the body and intended to leave it open for the service. I went to the back and told the funeral director that during the burial service, the coffin was to be closed and covered with a pall, which I presented to him.
After the service, the mortician came up front, folded the pall, gave it back to me, opened the coffin, and went to the back of the church. There followed a hushed silence for several minutes, brought to an end when the mortician, in a hoarse whisper from the back of the church, said, “You are supposed to kiss the body first". I figured I had better follow orders.
During the last week of being in charge, I opened a notice from the insurance company that their inspectors believed that the masonry holding the spire needed complete replacing. They mentioned the possibility of fatalities. So I informed the Wardens. We called a special parish meeting to present the problem. The parish by unanimous vote, decided to remove the spire.
When the Rector arrived back to the now spireless church, I told him that the parish by unanimous vote, backed the wardens, to 'unspire' Christ Church.
Looking back, I thank goodness that the cell phone had not been invented at that time, or the Rector would have had a miserable few days off before returning to 'unspire' his church!
Ezra +