I took a funeral this week too. It wasnâ??t for a well-known Liverpool celebrity. Cliff didnâ??t come along to sing. And 15,000 people didnâ??t line the streets to say goodbye. But nonetheless both services were remarkably similar â?? a requiem mass. Celebrity reporters at Cilla Blackâ??s service all noted the touching things that were said about her by other famous people. But few mentioned the dramatic core of the service she chose â?? the sharing of bread and wine and the anticipation of that eternal feast to which all are called. And it was here, in this, the religious part of the service, that Cilla was not a celebrity standing before an audience, but a human being standing naked before God. There is a basic democracy in this aspect of religion that is often absent from the secular funeral.
As we drove up Brixton high street, the mourners in the back of the hearse broke out into song: Amazing Grace. Carl died in a fire at his flat. His partner was left with nothing, not even the price of the funeral. But, despite every worldly difference between them, Carl and Cilla had the same service. In life, they had little in common. In death, they were treated the same. And they both sung the same hymn. Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.
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