They offered a chance to spell out for posterity the legacy of the deceased. They could used be as a rallying cry for a political cause – think of the graveside orations of fallen political leaders in early 20th century Ireland.
Or they could be used for other purposes – think of the moving tribute Charles Spencer, brother of the late Princess Diana, paid to his beloved sister – and the well-aimed potshot at his royal in laws.
But ordinary mortals didn’t have them. And why would they? I certainly don’t want one.
Up until quite recently, the dead were prayed for and remembered at the funeral Mass – still the preferred rite for the vast majority of bereaved families in Ireland – and a priest could generally be relied on to say a few kind words about the deceased.
Of course memories and stories about the dead person were shared – but not from the altar to a fidgeting congregation. They were told over a cuppa or a glass of wine; in sitting rooms or pubs or friends’ houses or outside the church.
Somehow though, in just a few short years and for no obvious reason, the eulogy has become the norm rather than the exception.
Of six funerals I’ve attended in the last seven months, four have featured eulogies delivered from the altar.
It’s now got so that a eulogy is almost as expected as the best man’s speech after the wedding meal (and though I’ve yet to see anyone take bets on how long a eulogy will last, it can only be a matter of time). I think it’s time we rowed back on this one.
Oh I’ve heard some wonderful eulogies. I’ve laughed, cried and, I admit, enjoyed quite a few. But often, I’ve felt like turning away from the anguish of a grief-stricken person struggling to “do justice” to the memory of a loved one. Public speaking is a nerve-wracking experience at the best of times; add in grief, heightened emotions and exhaustion, and it must be terrifying.
And it’s not just the obvious pain of the person speaking that makes me uncomfortable, I’ve thought too about parents or children or spouses of the deceased sitting through ….what’s said can also be discomfiting. A mother’s love of cooking, a father’s favourite football team, a young person’s exploits may well be part of the deceased’s story – but is recounting them from the altar honouring them in any way? And do all of the bereaved – the parents, the children, the partners – want to have their personal memories aired in public?
Then there’s the meaning that’s now attached to a eulogy; it’s looked upon almost as a measure of the esteem in which the deceased is held or the love felt for him or her. What pressure on the bereaved! If they don’t organise a eulogy, will it look they didn’t have anything interesting to say about the dead person? Or is it that they didn’t think him or her worthy of the effort?
Funeral rites in most religions and cultures have been with us for centuries and serve a very particular purpose. The interjection of a eulogy has been quite sudden and, in my opinion, unnecessary.
Telling the deceased person’s life story – or the highlights of it – to a congregation is quite pointless. Many already know them, and those who don’t might not need to hear. A friend of mine expressed astonishment when the subject of eulogies came up recently and I was quite categoric in my wish not to have one.
She’d already agreed to perform the honours for another pal who is hale and hearty but likes to plan everything, and wondered why I didn’t want to have nice things said about me and be fondly remembered when I’m gone.
I do. But let the stories be told over glasses of wine or cups of tea, let the memories be shared.
I will do my own eulogy, updating to the last minutes. I don’t mine having eulogies from other people, but I need to have one from first person prospective.