The Democracy of Death: Five Distinctives of Island Funerals

I attended a Lewis funeral the other day, my second since moving to the island, but my first at which I went to the graveside. I have been very struck by how different an island funeral is from its mainland equivalent. All these differences have a common theme: the democracy of death on the islands. Here, it is the community that mourns a passing.

See how that is evident in these five particular distinctives:

I. Short Service

The service is shorter than one might expect: just thirty minutes or so. The reason for this is historic: in traditional Scottish Presbyterianism, the funeral was regarded just as an extension of normal family worship. Island funerals were often held in the house of the deceased, and traditionally there was no address at all.

Nowadays, the church is the usual venue, and there is typically a very brief word: some churches tending to give a eulogy, but the more conservative restricting themselves to a plain Gospel exhortation. In either case, strict brevity prevails. In the first funeral I attended, the minister must have spoken for less than three minutes (though with impressive force and coherence), in the second, perhaps five. This shortness is useful. In a close-knit island community, far more people wish to attend funerals than would be normal in a city. Many do so on their lunch breaks or by an informal authorized absence from work, and therefore the minister has to carefully restrict the duration of the service to avoid inconveniencing those needing to hurry back to their desks.

II. Huge Congregation

The size of the gatherings alone is striking: I have been at many Glasgow funerals, but never with more than about 150 people in attendance at maximum, and some very much smaller. But my first Lewis funeral was an immense gathering – I would reckon six or seven hundred people packed into the Cathedral-like Free Church in the centre of Stornoway, and yesterday’s service, in the more modestly proportioned St Columba’s Church, was still probably attended by two to three hundred. This is an impressive sight, and I think must be both comforting and meaningful to the bereaved family, to know that their grief is recognized and shared by their community.

III. Formal Procession

After the conclusion of the worship, the congregation gather outside, the men and the women separating. The men come forward then to form a procession, and head off in the direction of the cemetery, carrying the bier. The men of the family walk in front of the bier, with the chief mourners holding the front and rear cords of the coffin, while the remainder form up behind: first ministers (if there are enough present); then elders; then the remaining men. The bier is passed on from man to man with military precision. Every new pair of men overtakes the bier on the outside, and after a shared nod, step in to take hold of the front (I’m told they work from the back in Harris). The other bearers shuffle backwards. Each time, the rear two drop back, and then discreetly step aside from the procession, stand respectfully until the whole has passed, then rejoin at the back again. If the procession continues long enough, they may get another ‘lift’ of the bier once they have reached the front again. After a few streets, depending on the numbers in attendance, the undertakers bring the procession to a halt, and load the bier into the hearse for transport the rest of the way to the cemetery.

I found this process fairly confusing at the first funeral I went to, though thankfully I was beside another minister who kept me right. But the second time round, understanding what was happening, I found it meaningful: a way for all the men of the community to show their respects, and to participate in bearing the coffin on its final journey.

IV. Male Gathering

The graveside itself is almost always a gathering for men only. The women (astonishingly, in our equality-obsessed society) generally go their own way, usually joining the female family mourners over tea. But the men progress to the cemetery, form the same procession again, this time with family members taking the first ‘lift’, and carry the bier to the opened grave. There, the minister gives an address, again very brief, usually with no prayer (which was traditionally seen in Island Christianity as having the danger of appearing to pray for the dead), and the family members lower the coffin into the grave.

This segregated gathering may appear exclusive, and I do not know what the women of the Island think of the custom, but I found something companionable in the male gathering at the grave. I think there would be comfort in laying a loved one in their last resting place, along with the men of the community.

V. Filled Grave

The last thing surprised me most of all. On the mainland, the mourners depart, and the cemetery staff fill in the grave once they have gone, usually with a digger. But here, once those close to the deceased had thrown in some handfuls of earth, the men took up shovels, and began to fill in the grave themselves. After all the soil had been packed in, the strip of turf was rolled back over, and smoothed down, and all was complete.

I cannot imagine what the dead man’s son must have felt, as he saw the earth closing over his father’s coffin. Even as someone who did not know the man (I was there as a second cousin of his wife), I found it a bleak and deeply solemn sight. Yet there is in this custom a great frankness: confronting the reality of death and burial head on. And again, the community was there to participate, and to show their respects.

Conclusion: The Democracy of Death

The common feature of all these five distinctives is the community involvement – at least that of the men of the community. There is a democracy in the recognition and commemoration of death in the Island context. This is an admirable thing, and I hope it long continues.

Yet, whatever our funeral customs may be, there is a greater democracy in death. Each one of us must face the end eventually: For ‘it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment’ (Heb 9:27). As we witness as a community a body consigned to the earth, there to rest until the Day of Judgment, we may well ask: have we prepared ourselves to face it?

spustlik / Pixabay

Written 05/03/15