Graveside Ceremony for Brian and John
Here we have gathered in memory of Brian William Ferriman McLoughlin and John Arthur Roche McLoughlin, so that we may together perform one final duty of love.
But even as we gather, with reverence and love, to place the ashes of these two brothers here in this cemetery, let us continue to take in the truth of the transient nature of all life. Death is not to be feared, but to be seen as the great reminder. Truly, life is no more than a brief stroll in the park. And so, how are we going to live?
This is from the American poet Mary Oliver:
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps his purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened
or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
This monument and these gravestones represent the lives of others, some deeply beloved, others known only by name and story. They, too, have passed this way, as have all the others, whose names we might read here. Each had a story, a dream, a vision of a life. When we encounter death, through the loss of a parent, or any loved one, this is our own great reminder. The days and the nights are relentlessly passing, how well am I spending my time? Have I committed myself to a practice of gratitude for this life, for this day? Am I softening my heart with forgiveness, for all the wrongs, imagined or real, that have been done to me? Am I nurturing generosity as a way of living, as a way of being in the world?
As we place or scatter the ashes of John and Brian, we trust that somehow what was best in their lives will not be lost, but will rejoin the great web of creation.
Let us join together in the spirit of prayer and meditation, first by hearing familiar words from the book of Ecclesiastes, and then with a time of silence....
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
2A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
3A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
4A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
5A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
6A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
7A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
8A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
Letting go requires of us that we embrace the truth of change.
The Pond at Dusk
BY JANE KENYON
A fly wounds the water but the wound
soon heals. Swallows tilt and twitter
overhead, dropping now and then toward
the outward-radiating evidence of food.
The green haze on the trees changes
into leaves, and what looks like smoke
floating over the neighbor’s barn
is only apple blossoms.
But sometimes what looks like disaster
is disaster: the day comes at last,
and the men struggle with the casket
just clearing the pews.
Let Evening Come
BY JANE KENYON
Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.
Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.
Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.
Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.
To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.
Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.
In this present moment, grief and memories live side by side in our hearts. In the days and months ahead, grief can move from numbness and pain, settling to a deeper place in our hearts; so it may be that the memories of that which was best in John and Brian can shine forth more fully. Let us pause in silence for a moment, taking time to remember our favorite memories of their lives. So we may honor that which was best in them.
Please, if you feel moved, speak a phrase or a word to call to mind some memory of John or Brian.
Brian, sitting at the kitchen table at the cottage, holding hands with Sarah, and his grandchildren, saying our version of Grace - "Big, Happy, Family!"
John, carefully raking up the arbutus leaves at 515, wearing his red jacket.
(Others speak as they are moved.)
There is a finality in placing the remains in ground, or in scattering them here. Yet in doing so, we can release ourselves to grieve more fully, to feel more deeply, to remember more clearly, and to let ourselves embody what was best in their lives.
Now we place these ashes in the ground; what has come from the earth goes back to the earth; so the cycle of life turns yet again.
[Place ashes or scatter remains.]
We have truly let Brian and John go. Having completed this final task, may we go forth quietly, with a measure of peace, so that we may live out our own lives with a renewed sense of the legacy of these two unique men, both of whom cared deeply for their families and their country. This is a legacy of humour and laughter, warmth, generosity, and great kindness. What better way to honour them, than to aspire to embody these qualities ourselves.
We end with two blessings, one we can imagine sending out to Brian and John, as well as to each other.
Irish Blessing
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.
Beannacht (Blessing) by John O'Donahue
On the day when the weight deadens on your shoulders
and you stumble, may the clay dance to balance you.
And when your eyes freeze behind the grey window
and the ghost of loss gets in to you,
may a flock of colours, indigo, red, green, and azure blue
come to awaken in you a meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow wind work these words of love around you,
an invisible cloak to mind your life.
We end in silent prayer or meditation.