Tag Archives: Humanist funerals

Still loving conducting Humanist ceremonies

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I’m still loving conducting Humanist ceremonies. I love it to my core. Every couple at every Humanist wedding is different. Every family at each naming ceremony or civil confirmation ceremony or Humanist funeral is different. Being with people at such significant times in life is a privilege and honour. It’s wonderful when a ceremony touches the emotions, when there’s laughter and tears.

I do believe the only meaning in life is love. And so when a couple find love it’s appropriate for them to make their vows to one another in a personal ceremony which focuses on the human significance of this moment in the life of this couple. No two couples are alike. No two gatherings of guests are the same. Each ceremony is itself a singular moment.

Ritual is important in human life. Ceremonies mark rites of passage; turning points in people’s lives. They are never only about the people directly involved. In a naming ceremony, it takes a village to raise a child; so it’s good to recognize that reality by relatives and friends gathering together to celebrate the wonder of a new human life; and to name that new personality; to celebrate and pause and reflect and be thankful and to share meaning together.

When it comes to weddings, remember that two people are getting married and they alone should decide for themselves the type of ceremony they want. Choosing to do that can be a moment of maturity for the couple: they alone choose. It can sometimes be hard for the parents of a couple to let go. To trust their children. To respect their choice.

 

I feel like the luckiest man alive

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When I was in my teens and an ardent believer and I wanted to be a priest, one of my good reasons for wanting to be a priest was to be with people at key moments in their lives – like birth, weddings and bereavement. I wanted to engage with the real needs of people.
After my nine years in religious life, when I walked away from not only my priestly path but, in time, from all religious beliefs, I assumed that gone was my dream of being with people at core turning points in their lives.
I spent five years as a teacher. And I was privileged to work at St Bonaventure’s comprehensive boys’ school at the heart of the East End of London, under the leadership of the now knighted Sir Michael Wilshaw, who was subsequently made head of the English schools’ inspectorate, OFSTED.
But I knew that remaining a teacher for the rest of my life wasn’t what I wanted to do, and so I left teaching after five years.
For the guts of the next 20 years I worked as a journalist, columnist and author, in a self-employed capacity, enjoying being my own boss and working from home. I spent the guts of three years during that time as a publisher too. And then I took time out to delve into my own story, how I shifted from belief to unbelief and I celebrated that story, or part of it, in my RTE Radio 1 documentary, From Belief to Unbeleif, and in an as yet unpublished manuscript of a memoir.
And then, earlier this year, I thought about becoming a Humanist celebrant. And that is why I feel like the luckiest man on earth. If, as a teenager, I wanted to be with people at key turning points in their lives, helping them to express sorrow and joy, laughter and tears, I have discovered that I can do that as a Humanist celebrant. And I could do so without having to pretend I believed in religious fantasies that lost any claim on my allegiance, acceptance or intelligence.
As a humanist celebrant there is no nonsense about ‘ontological change’ happening at ordination. I’m a regular human being just like everyone else. And I don’t have to pretend to have the ear of a deity! Or to know his will! Or to interpret his ‘revealed word’ accurately. I’ve outgrown all that nonsense. All that superstition. I know that we have only one life and that it can be a wonderful life, and that the birth of each child warrants celebration. And that the marriage of two people is usually a happy time, and that it’s OK for people to be sad at weddings too. And I have been privileged to facilitate funerals – celebrations of a life ended, at which I have witnessed laughter and tears, joy and sadness, classical music and hard rock!
Now in my fifties, I realize that being a Humanist celebrant uses the skills and talents I’ve been lucky enough to have: my original desire to be with people at key moments of their lives; my writing skills in drafting ceremonies that are meaningful and personal for the people concerned; my teaching skills of speaking and engaging with a group of people; my empathy and compassion and listening skills; and my gratitude for being able to do this work which I love.