Pass a certain age and the less than ideal fact is that one attends or hears of far more sad events, illnesses and deaths than joyous celebrations; that's just a fact of life, the way it is, tough. So funerals are common, weddings extremely rare, alas.
It was to another funeral that I made my way to this morning, luckily taking place at the local church, that of an older male relative. Though he and I were never friends as well as relatives, I felt the need to represent my branch of the family and show my face to his children, one of whom I am relatively close to. The price to pay is to endure the liturgy that the Greek Orthodox Church deems appropriate for deceased individuals which, while not excessively long is, to an irreligious but Greek Orthodox born person like me, a bit of an ordeal.
It is an ordeal not only because, depending on the 'package' agreed with the priests conducting the service, things may drone on and on, rich in readings, chanting and platitude, but also because it is full of impressive but meaningless verbiage to indicate constancy and eternity. I mean, really, who is going to be around to remember me fifty or a hundred years after I kick the bucket, never mind centuries later... Yet the chant goes: 'may his/her memory be eternal' - a joke, a silly little joke in bad taste.
Humankind has been on this Earth for a very short time, relatively speaking, for only a few thousand years, and Christianity for an even shorter time, 2021 years to be precise, yet it loves to talk about worship and remembering every Tom, Dick or Harriet centuries from now. And it does so on and on, on and on, on and on during a funeral service, pretending whoever has just died is of deep significance, to be remembered forever; we're not and we won't be, so please can we get on with the blinking service so the dead person can go to their grave or whatever forthwith, and I can go home/cafe/drinking sooner rather than later.
I have never been married and now may never have the joy of experiencing this particular ritual as a participant, so my only experience of weddings is as a guest, impatiently eyeing up the female section of the congregation for the reception later. The thought of nice food, drink and, perhaps, some attractive female company immediately after helps me through the religious gobbledegook; no such luck at funerals. And at my age there are now many funerals - with my own also on the horizon, though hopefully not quite yet - and hardly any weddings.
And don't worry duckies, I'll make sure my own funeral is brief and to the point - he's dead, get over it and get on with life, thanks - so you won't be bitching about it to your friends or on some blog.
