I am still trying to figure out how to post so that my 200+ blog followers can get the Substack posts. But for those who have been following only on my photo website, this post is an exclusive. For now I am using Substack for stories and this blog for more “serious stuff.”
Like death.
At my age of 83–and now living at Collington, a senior living community–death is the elephant in the room that no one talks about. That is not only understandable, in my view it is welcomed. We all know it is coming, and here at Collington a high percentage have already lost spouses as is the case in most retirement communities. They know what the experience to lose a loved one feels like firsthand. Yet death is a fact, not only for all life on our fragile planet, but throughout the universe. There is a beginning and an end to everything. Do we need to be reminded of that? At Collington, the focus is on getting as much out of our few remaining years as we can, squeezing the last drops out of the lemon.
I have just been to two funerals, one yesterday (Friday, Oct 31) and one today (Saturday, November 1). Both people who died were very good friends at the Kennedy-Warren, the apartment house next to the National Zoo, where we lived before moving to Collington in April. Both were much loved by family and friends. Both were almost 90. Two lives well lived. One—Susan Stamberg—was even famous (host of “All Things Considered” on PBS for almost 50 years).
The service on Friday was in one of the “cardinal parishes” in the Episcopal Diocese of Washington–wealthy, vibrant, with strong clergy and lay leadership. The service today for Susan was Jewish, which included a Mourner’s Kaddish led by a rabbi, and was held in the Kay Spiritual Life Center at American University. Both venues could accommodate about 250 people and both were packed full of friends and mourners, mostly older people, including many who could be considered part of Washington’s elite.
That is where the similarity ends.
Now I am what is called a “cradle Episcopalian,” which means my parents were Episcopalians and that for better or worse, I have stuck with the Episcopal Church my entire life. At one point I even thought I wanted to become an Episcopal priest and graduated from Union Theological Seminary in New York City (not an Episcopal seminary), though for a variety of reasons I was never ordained. Given my background, I confess that I am biased: nobody can put on an ecclesiastical show better than Episcopalians. The service leaflet was 20 pages long. The surroundings were impressive: the gothic architecture, gorgeous stained glass, and beautifully adorned alter. There was a full choir (mostly paid professionals), extraordinary music, five participating clergy and a full liturgy including the Confession, the Apostle’s Creed, all the Eucharist prayers, followed by Holy Communion—it does not get much more impressive. The mood was somber and respectful. The sermon was short and (mostly) a eulogy, and there were no other speakers though grandchildren read the lessons. The only thing lacking was incense. A bit heavy on the Christian theology, I thought, especially for those who were there who were not Christian—and there were several that I knew from the Kennedy-Warren– but if you did not pay all that much attention to the words, it was fine. The service was followed by a very lively reception with great food, a slide show of my friend’s life, and lots of conversation and high energy. Well done!
The service for Susan was in a modest auditorium at American University. Not knowing how long it would take me to get there from Collington, I left early and arrived about 40 minutes ahead of time, thinking I would be one of the first to arrive. I was surprised to find the auditorium full of people, standing and embracing and hugging with much laughter and exuberance. It felt more like a college reunion of old friends than a somber service. Everyone seemed to know each other. I assumed that everyone Susan knew during her 50 years at NPR had to be there– and they all loved Susan! In contrast to the 20-page Episcopal service leaflet, the service leaflet for Susan was a two page fold out, mainly with photos of her. Her son and only child, Josh, who is a successful actor living in Los Angeles, officiated. Her two young granddaughters were there, and one read a poem. A rabbi Susan had known since the 1950s led the Mourner’s Kaddish and other Jewish prayers in Hebrew and five people spoke, mainly telling stories about the person they loved. Each speaker was different, but each ignited boisterous laugher from the congregation—not an occasional chuckle, but old fashioned, spontaneous bursts of loud belly laughs. Given the lousy acoustics and my bad hearing, I missed hearing the content of most of the stories that sparked the audience, but that did not keep me from smiling. You did not have to hear the story to know that this woman was deeply loved. And that those gathered deeply loved each other.
Such different services, yet both genuine and beautiful in their own ways.
Which did I like best? Well, there is a place for both. Both were inspiring. As for me, however, I am considering switching religions.