The Challenge of an "Ecumenical Funeral" in SLC.
by Steve's Mother

This is a continuation of the story of the life of my son, Steve, who died at age 37 on May 17^th.  My sisters and I all live in California, but my parents remained in Utah, although we tried to talk them into moving closer to us many times. Although my sisters and I are no longer Mormons, when the time came to plan their funerals, we wanted to be respectful of my parents and give them the services as they would have wanted.  For my son, Steve, however, we had no desire to do a proper Mormon funeral.

While working towards his teaching credential, my son was writing an autobiography/journal.  Steve spent some time to figure out just who the hell he was.  Part of his problem was trying to make sense out of his family heritage.  Although it may be confusing, it’s an important part of the story of his funeral.

My side of the family is 5^th and 6^th generation Mormon.  Steve's paternal grandfather was Jewish, his wife converted to Judaism at the time of their marriage.  DH (Steve's father)  had a bris (formal circumcision and naming by a Rabbi) and attended Hebrew School, but the family converted to Mormonism before he had his Bar Mitzvah.  A few years after DH's Dad’s death 30 years ago, his Mom and several of his siblings moved to Utah. 

One of my sisters married a Jewish medical doctor who became a psychiatrist.  They have become interested in Buddhism.  Steve was close his Jewish-Buddhist uncle.  Because being Jewish doesn’t require one to be religious, DH now considers himself to be Jewish.  (We left the Mormon religion when Steve was 15.  He had never married and had no children.)

When my son Steve died in Las Vegas, my family agreed he should be buried in Salt Lake next to my parents, who had the foresight to buy an extra lot when they bought their own lots years ago at Wasatch Lawn.  Steve loved his Mormon relatives as much as he loved the former Mormons and Never Mormons so it made sense to hold his funeral in Salt Lake.  The date we selected  (May 22, 2004) would have been the 85^th birthday of his Jewish-Mormon grandfather.

I wanted the occasion to be a healing one.   There has been irritation on all sides going back many decades. 

We had an excellent affair.  My younger son, Jonathan, conducted the meeting and gave the eulogy.  Instead of an opening prayer, Steve’s Muse, his beautiful blonde cousin Katie, read a poem written by their 2-great-grandfather, (Charles W. Penrose, apostle, pioneer, hymn writer, polygamist etc. etc.)  Steve was a very creative person, and he had a special bond with one of his aunts, a very creative and successful fashion designer, so we asked her to speak.  A cousin-in-law, who has a wonderful tenor voice, sang “Impossible Dream.”  We cried through that—I’d forgotten most of the words but every phrase of Impossible Dream describes Steve. (Click here for words and music.)

My Buddhist-Jewish BIL (Brother-in-law) also spoke and told a story about the year he and my sister took off to travel.  They had spent some time in India.  On several occasions they watched processions of Hindu mourners bearing the remains of loved ones to the funeral pyres to be cremated, following which the ashes would be cast into the Ganges River.   They saw that in some of these processions, the mourners sang joyfully, while other processions they kept complete silence.

So BIL asked about this: why are some funerals accompanied by singing and some silence?  The answer he was given was that in India, a person who has lived to be 40 years old is considered to have lived long enough to have had a complete life, therefore, the death is considered a joyful occasion.  On the other hand, a person who dies young, has not had the chance to live life, and those left behind feel sorrow because the life was incomplete.

My son Steve was just a few weeks short of his 38^th birthday when he died.  BIL said:  “Steve was on the cusp—his life was nearly completed—therefore we should feel joyful that he lived his life as long and as well as he did.”  This story comforted me.

To represent the Mormon side of the family, DH’s sister spoke.  She had been on a mission when Steve was born.  She had gone through the letters her Dad had written to her and read excerpts that he had written about his first grandson, Steve.  She also gave a little talk about the plan of salvation.  She was so soft-spoken, however, that it was easy to overlook this part.  DH also asked her to end the talk with a closing prayer, but requested that she say “in the name of the Messiah” which she did.

Just after we gathered at the grave for the final farewell, the pallbearers were plastered with rain from a sudden shower.  Jonathan couldn’t resist saying that Steve would have loved the drama of the moment.  For a final prayer before burial, DH had gone through his grandfather’s funeral book and took excerpts from two Kaddish prayers that had been read on that occasion, and after combined them into one, which my son read (in English.)  Then BIL read a few words of the same Kaddish in Hebrew.  This is the prayer:

We are assembled with our friends in the shadow that has fallen on our lives.

We raise our voices together asking for comfort and strength.

[Jon reading graveside prayer. BIL in center.]

We need light when gloom darkens our lives.

We need fortitude and resignation.

 Who among us has not passed through trials and bereavements!

Some bear fresh wounds in their hearts and therefore feel more keenly the kinship of sorrow. Others, whose days of mourning are more remote, still recall the comfort that sympathy brought to their sorrowing hearts.

And those of us who have not yet tasted of the bitter cup cannot know how soon we may be called on to drink of it.

 All that we prize is but lent to us and we must surrender it upon demand.

We are travelers on the same road which leads to the same end.

 We designate this site as the final resting place of our fellow traveler and friend, Steven Scott Howard, who has departed his life, and in whose memory charity is offered.

Shelter and protect him so that he may rest in peace in his resting place, and let us say,

 Amen.

One of my brothers-in-law, bishop and former stake presidency member, remarked that this was the best funeral he’d ever been to:  the speakers actually talked about the person who had died!

After the funeral we hosted a lunch in a nearby restaurant.  DH’s sister offered to put on the lunch in her back yard, but we preferred to hold it in a place where former Mormons and never Mormons would feel comfortable along side the Mormons.  Besides, it rained.  We had lemonade, soda pop and wine.  The presence of wine caused one 13-year old cousin some distress, but his Auntie set him straight.  “Not everybody believes as you do.  People are different.  Get used to it!”

So there we all were, Mormons and former Mormons, converts and apostate descendants of an apostle, friends of Steve’s who were first-time visitors to the land of Zion, family who hadn’t seen, or spoken to each other for decades, wine drinkers and Diet Coke drinkers all together.  Steve would have loved it.  It was a great party.

Steve's Jewish - Mormon Headstone. The five Hebrew Characters stand for a scripture in 2 Samuel. May his soul be bound up in life (eternal). Click on photo for larger view.