We are all human and we all make mistakes. Sometimes the mistakes are big and sometimes they are small. Calling the deceased the wrong name at a graveside eulogy leans more toward the “big” end of the scale.
I witnessed this awkward event at the service for my best friend’s mother.
The Priest stood at the head of the casket and started…..
“We are all here to celebrate the life of Mary Ann Anderson. Mrs. Anderson was a lovely woman who cared deeply about her family, her friends, and her faith. Often I would see Mrs. Anderson working long hours at one of our church functions……”
As he continued to speak I watched the priest begin a transformation. He was slowly morphing into a gazelle, like the ones you see on a Mutual of Omaha special, just peacefully standing in the high grass of some majestic African plain. Like that gazelle he had no idea that lions were about to jump up and rip his larynx out.
“….and I would always joke with her when I saw her at the Sunday service. Mrs. Anderson always had the best sense of humor….”
Suddenly all four of her grown daughters leapt up out of their seats and screamed almost in unison;
“HER NAME WAS SANDERS, NOT ANDERSON….MARY….ANN…..SANDERS….SAN-DERS…!!!!!”
The Priest was stunned and went into a moment of shocked silence that seemed to last a lifetime. I studied his face and watched his eyes and I am pretty sure his first thought was “is there room for me to jump in under that coffin”.
Then I saw it. I knew where he was going to go next. And I knew it was going to be bad. Real bad. Vanilla Ice bad.
A sense of empathetic panic gripped me and like a catcher attempting to brush off a bad signal from his pitcher, I tried to telepathically send him the message “don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it…you’re going to get taken downtown…!!!” But he did it.
He started to backtrack and explain how of course he knew her name was Sanders, and that he had just mentioned to someone before the service how he liked “Mrs. Sanders” so much, and that it had been a long week for him, etc., etc.
Not unlike the gazelle, having been mortally wounded and flailing about in its death throes, his reaction just brought more attacks.
Her sons and then grandsons got into the mix, loudly shouting their justified outrage. I think the only reason things did not get completely out of hand is the fact that beating up a priest pretty much takes you right to front of the line for admission to Hell.
The priest made a mistake to be sure in using the wrong name, but the fatal mistake was how he reacted when he realized his misstep. A deft and perhaps humorous comment acknowledging his mistake, while reaffirming his intimate relationship with Mrs. Sanders, could have saved the day and negated any ill effects his gaffe produced.
Sometimes our reaction to a mistake can’t negate it’s bad effects, but can at least contain them.
Read the whole piece as he gets personal with big mistakes he made, then compounded by ill judgment.
It's called digging ourselves deeper into the grave.
Hat Tip: Josh Brown
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