Let me recall to you the case of Paul, the husband of a relation on my wife's side. Paul was a middle-manager in the nuclear power industry and a staunch Catholic; in fact he was a member of the Catenians. Slightly shy in person and middle-class, Paul was socially awkward - he may even have been a little bit 'on the spectrum'.
In December 2006, Paul unfortunately died. His Funeral Mass was well attended and solemn, the priests (more than one) gravely peregrinating around the large, echoing church. As the ceremony ended the presiding priest announced that Paul had chosen the accompaniment for our exiting the church en route to the grave.
At this point, a ghetto blaster was produced, as if from nowhere, and a cassette inserted. We departed the building to the jarring, amplified sounds of ABBA's "Thank You For The Music".
I was delighted. Paul had managed, in the end, to subvert the formalities with the power of kitsch. At that moment I decided that I could never match this. Put me down instead for the aria from the Goldberg Variations (by Murray Perahia please!).
Showing posts with label Catenians. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Catenians. Show all posts
Monday, December 07, 2015
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Paul Murphy
We went up to Liverpool yesterday to attend a Requiem Mass for Paul Murphy. Paul was married to Cathy, who is Clare’s cousin. He died on Boxing Day from a brain tumour.
I was surprised: there were hundreds of people at the Mass. I had met Paul only a few times - he seemed smart and energetic, but hopelessly at sea with small talk.
Clare’s family, who mostly still live in Merseyside, are Catholics from working-class stock and many would say that they operate as an extended kin-group; ‘Tribal’ is another word. It’s hard for the in-laws to deal with this, especially the male in-laws, when five of the Youells are men. I think Paul found it the hardest.
I had him typologically flagged as ENTJ. He was clearly extravert: ‘He could talk for England on any subject, whether he knew anything about it or not,’ was quoted at the Mass. He ran clubs, enjoyed multiple sports and was a stalwart of something called the Warrington Catenian Association. He utterly lacked a common touch and I sometimes winced at his attempts at chit-chat at family parties. I personally found him amiable enough, although we had little in common.
Paul went to his death with full knowledge, courage and faith. I must say the Catholic Church does death awfully well. 2,000 years of practice have led to an hour-long ritual which carefully orchestrates both the feelings of the bereaved as well as the Catholic meaning of death for the broader community of the faithful.
Those of us who don’t even want to be atheists because the word contains a concept of God lack the corresponding, purely humanist ritual, let alone a hall where the community can gather round and collectively come to terms with terminal absence. I was talking to Clare as we drove back down south. Does the Catholic Church do a form of Requiem Mass for confirmed unbelievers? I will have to check.
Postscript: Paul organised all the aspects of the Mass before he died. As the priests and congregation departed the church at the end of the Mass, they did so to the strains of Abba’s “Thank You for the Music” played from a ghetto blaster parked on a bench behind the pews. Naff to the end? I like to think he did it on purpose.
[See also this].
I was surprised: there were hundreds of people at the Mass. I had met Paul only a few times - he seemed smart and energetic, but hopelessly at sea with small talk.
Clare’s family, who mostly still live in Merseyside, are Catholics from working-class stock and many would say that they operate as an extended kin-group; ‘Tribal’ is another word. It’s hard for the in-laws to deal with this, especially the male in-laws, when five of the Youells are men. I think Paul found it the hardest.
I had him typologically flagged as ENTJ. He was clearly extravert: ‘He could talk for England on any subject, whether he knew anything about it or not,’ was quoted at the Mass. He ran clubs, enjoyed multiple sports and was a stalwart of something called the Warrington Catenian Association. He utterly lacked a common touch and I sometimes winced at his attempts at chit-chat at family parties. I personally found him amiable enough, although we had little in common.
Paul went to his death with full knowledge, courage and faith. I must say the Catholic Church does death awfully well. 2,000 years of practice have led to an hour-long ritual which carefully orchestrates both the feelings of the bereaved as well as the Catholic meaning of death for the broader community of the faithful.
Those of us who don’t even want to be atheists because the word contains a concept of God lack the corresponding, purely humanist ritual, let alone a hall where the community can gather round and collectively come to terms with terminal absence. I was talking to Clare as we drove back down south. Does the Catholic Church do a form of Requiem Mass for confirmed unbelievers? I will have to check.
Postscript: Paul organised all the aspects of the Mass before he died. As the priests and congregation departed the church at the end of the Mass, they did so to the strains of Abba’s “Thank You for the Music” played from a ghetto blaster parked on a bench behind the pews. Naff to the end? I like to think he did it on purpose.
[See also this].
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