My dad was buried yesterday. It was a good funeral, as good as a funeral can be. It was very comforting to meet and greet so many of his old friends in particular that could broaden the perspectives of my dad, and in general on being one.
Being a soulsearcher, and not the least the ”son of a preacherman” my dad spent a good deal of his last years coming to terms with his very protestant upbringing. He found comfort in around the freechurch Unitaren (http://no.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unitaren), which was kind of an akward thing to tell the priest, planning the funeral. The situation itself did leave much energy for discussions, but during the ceromony in the church it struck me over and over again how feeble a construction Christianity is. A fixed part of the danish funeral-ritual is reading from The Easter Evangelica. You know, the cruxifixtion of Christ, his burial and his Houdinian escape. That coupled with his birth from a virgin mother, just came out way to metaphysical. As I said: feeble, fragile. But a brilliant contruction for gaining power of the numb masses. In fact, everything you don’t need a at funeral. I craved for something solid.
Then lowering the coffin into the ground: how Calvinistic can it get? Being my mothers choice I wont protest, but apart from that it seemed more like a punishment than setting his soul and body free.
Though a heavy goodbye, the funeral was a reconsiliation in many ways and even though death is the last man on the ball, I think love came out as the winner.

Dad would have turned 78 today.