a country funeral and burial

A Country Funeral and Burial By Elton Camp (A true story from the rural South of the early 20 th Century) Disaster had struck Milas’ family. Women in the community came to help prepare Miranda and her baby for burial. They dressed them and laid them in a coffin on a table in the front room. A black cloth covered the table. One of the ladies periodically bathed the corpses’ faces and hands. The rural custom of “settin’ up” all night with the body was followed. The family didn’t sleep. Friends dropped by to tell good things they recalled about Miranda. Neighbors considerately delivered food for the bereaved family. Because no embalming was done, burial had to take place the next day. The funeral service lasted nearly an hour. Despite being September, the temperature was in the upper eighties. The church was almost unbearably hot due to the blazing sun on its tin roof. The pews were hand-constructed of bare wood. Their seats had no cushions and the backs were angled forward a bit too much. The windows were raised, but no cooling breeze developed. The minister praised her as a faithful wife and mother. He quoted at length from Proverbs, chapter thirty-one, describing the characteristics of an ideal wife. “She wuz a fine Christian wom’n,” he said. “Even now she’s lookin’ down from heav’n. She’s seein’ us ez we com’ togither t’ honor her. Life eternal air herran.” Later, the parson offered an incongruous idea, “In th’ comin’ day of jedgment, o ur dear depart’d sister will rise from th’ grave ’long wif’ all th’ honored dead ’n Christ. Oh, what a glorious day that’ll be.” Nobo dy seemed to notice. “Yet, thar air here ’mong us sinners who has yet t’ b’ saved. Y’u sit thar smugly thinkin’ we don’t know who y’u air, but God knoweth. Y’u cannot deceive Him. Y’u trod th’ broad road thet leadeth into destruc’un. Damnation ’n hell, whar th’ worm d ieth not ’n’ th’ far air not quenched, lays afore ye. Repent whil’ there b’ still time.” The minister’s voice became louder and more intense in his zeal to bring sinners to repentance. Veins stood out on his forehead. His face reddened. He mopped sweat from his forehead with a white han dkerchief. Cries of “Amen” rose from the congregation. That the service was a funeral, and not a revival, seemed to be momentarily forgotten. The preacher closed the service with a long prayer. In a final act of tribute, all present filed directly alongside the open casket at the front of the church. Several women paused to weep. Burial took place in a hand-dug grave near the center of the cemetery. To each side of the site were tiny graves that contained Miranda’s two other babies, one stillborn

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8/3/2019 A Country Funeral and Burial

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A Country Funeral and Burial

By Elton Camp

(A true story from the rural South of the early 20 th Century)

Disaster had struck Milas’ family. Women in the community came to help prepare

Miranda and her baby for burial. They dressed them and laid them in a coffin on a table

in the front room. A black cloth covered the table. One of the ladies periodically bathedthe corpses’ faces and hands. The rural custom of “settin’ up” all night with the body was

followed. The family didn’t sleep. Friends dropped by to tell good things they recalled

about Miranda. Neighbors considerately delivered food for the bereaved family. Becauseno embalming was done, burial had to take place the next day.

The funeral service lasted nearly an hour. Despite being September, thetemperature was in the upper eighties. The church was almost unbearably hot due to the

blazing sun on its tin roof. The pews were hand-constructed of bare wood. Their seatshad no cushions and the backs were angled forward a bit too much. The windows were

raised, but no cooling breeze developed.

The minister praised her as a faithful wife and mother. He quoted at length from

Proverbs, chapter thirty-one, describing the characteristics of an ideal wife.

“She wuz a fine Christian wom’n,” he said. “Even now she’s lookin’ down from

heav’n. She’s seein’ us ez we com’ togither t’ honor her. Life eternal air herran.”

Later, the parson offered an incongruous idea, “In th’ comin’ day of jedgment, our

dear depart’d sister will rise from th’ grave ’long wif’ all th’ honored dead ’n Christ. Oh,what a glorious day that’ll be.” Nobody seemed to notice.

“Yet, thar air here ’mong us sinners who has yet t’ b’ saved. Y’u sit thar smugly

thinkin’ we don’t know who y’u air, but God knoweth. Y’u cannot deceive Him. Y’u trodth’ broad road thet leadeth into destruc’un. Damnation ’n hell, whar th’ worm dieth not

’n’ th’ far air not quenched, lays afore ye. Repent whil’ there b’ still time.”

The minister’s voice became louder and more intense in his zeal to bring sinners

to repentance. Veins stood out on his forehead. His face reddened. He mopped sweat

from his forehead with a white handkerchief. Cries of “Amen” rose from the

congregation. That the service was a funeral, and not a revival, seemed to be momentarilyforgotten. The preacher closed the service with a long prayer. In a final act of tribute, all

present filed directly alongside the open casket at the front of the church. Several women

paused to weep.

Burial took place in a hand-dug grave near the center of the cemetery. To each

side of the site were tiny graves that contained Miranda’s two other babies, one stillborn