"Magic Words" For Rose

Sunday evening was Rose's funeral. It was one of those which celebrated her life, rather than mourned her death. And it was in "one of those" churches. I hadn't directly experienced one of those before, though I have met people who did. They tended to flaunt it if and when they discussed their religious beliefs, in one particular case obnoxiously boasting about being among the very few to get into Heaven because they were the only ones who knew exactly the right words and had the exact understanding of their meaning which was the requirement to getting in.

First, understand that besides my impatience over their mindset, I never believed there was such a miserable petty trick to going to Heaven. Even if I believed in it, any God worth worshiping wouldn't make it so tricky, such a matter of luck as to happen upon the secret and become one of the few. I've always thought that - again, if there were a Heaven - a God who wants to be worshiped would make it possible for all the willing followers to do so. A missing piece of the formula wouldn't keep one out. It would be more a pattern of how one lived their life, how they treated others, how they respected whatever god(s) God and God's creations.

But of course I've been firmly agnostic for decades now. I have no expertise in designing any Heavens. (All of you can thank me any time.)

I went to this funeral to show respect for Rose, who she was and how she lived. I carpooled with two friends from the club who needed a ride for either avoiding night driving or not having a working vehicle. In all, 8 of us from the club who knew her showed up. The rest of those in attendance were church members, for whom Rose had had quite an impact. They were an integrated bunch, in the sense that many of them spoke Spanish, not English. This unique-to-me service was given in both languages. Interesting as this was, hearing a minute of the service in one, than repeated in the other, or songs sung in both languages simultaneously, these are not the magic words I'm referring to.

Attendance was fairly sparse. Rose's husband was already moved to Maryland to live with a son, since he needed around the clock care. Other relatives lived in clusters in distant states. They watched the funeral via video, a wonder of the modern (covid) age, and recorded words to say about Rose to be played for us during the service. Large bouquets decorated the front of the church. A screen behind the alter played a slide show of pictures of her at different ages, often cuddling a puppy or kitten, the photos ranging from Rose at age 1, to a fairly recent one of her and her husband in the church, showing the piano, chairs and guitars in the background. The presence of those guitars initially gave me hope of an interesting service. 

In a way, it was. Just not anything to do with, say, guitars. What really dragged my attention cringing into the message of the life of Rose was what the pastor said about her experience with religion. Rose had been "delighted" to be a born-again Christian many decades ago, and her welcoming of fellow parishioners into the church, and the time she joyfully spent with many of the children there, teaching them all the different kinds of crafts she knew how to do, or just visit and share friendship and laughter with the families seemed to show just how those teachings took effect.  However, the pastor kept using phrases like "she thought she was a Christian."

Truly weird.

He went on to say that three weeks earlier (just in the nick of time, a few days before she died, folks!!!) her husband wished to deepen his commitment to the church. The pastor came to their home, and while teaching about a particular verse in John, giving a detailed explanation of what it meant, Rose, who'd been listening fro across the room, came over close, marveled at the new understanding of the passage, and decided she needed the same ritual her husband was about to receive. Once that happened, the pastor informed us all that now she really was a Christian. That one passage was what did the "trick". (He didn't comment but I guess now her husband was now a "real" Christian too.)

Somehow, those very few magic words, that new explanation of them, made the different between Rose thinking she was a Christian all those years, and actually becoming one.

Ahhh, magic words.

Hogwash!

But how convenient for them that the pastor knew just those words with just that meaning at just the perfect right time to enable Rose to get to Heaven!

Makes me think it's a damn good thing I don't believe in Hell either. Gotta wonder, though, if there are magic words for getting  in there as well. Wouldn't that be something!