Dear Jerry,

How hard this road is that you are travelling, I remember you and your Mum daily in my prayers. I am also glad to hear that Zoe is out and about and chasing crows.

I am having an unbelievably busy time with people dying. There is perhaps some comfort when people can see that someone has lived long and well, but when it is a young man or a baby it is so much harder for people to get their heads around the hard cold reality of death.

Living here in a small town where people care does make it easier for many people whereas working as I did before in the East End of Glasgow I found that death could be as lonely an experience as living.

I often think back to that lovely Island of Islay. Death there was a very different experience to the one that I knew on the mainland.

When someone died, the first thing they did was to call the Minister and then the undertaker. I would arrive at the house, which would be full of people by that time, sharing, caring and hugging.

That night, usually around 7pm the undertaker would call again with the Coffin and often I would be with him in the bedroom and would help him lay out the corpse (as they called it) in the simple coffin. When all was ready

we would fetch the family and slowly they would file into the room and approaching the coffin they would lay their right hands on the forehead of the corpse.

I asked my Session Clerk why folk did this. His answer was quite blunt.

"When you feel how cold the head is and when you see the face, you know without a doubt the person is dead and these are just mortal remains."

When everyone had been into the room, we would gather in the living room, read a psalm, and say prayers. Tea followed and often whisky as was and is there way.

The house was always full. People talked, laughed, wept and hugged.

The next evening at 7pm the coffin would be driven or carried to the church and after another reading from the Bible and prayers we went home.

At 2pm the next day we had the service in the church. Everyone came.

After a very normal and traditional service, normally only the men would make their way to one of the ancient cemeteries, most dated back 1300 years at least.

The coffin would be taken from the hearse and led to lair and I would follow behind along with the family. The committal was straightforward. However as soon as the Benediction had been pronounced a very different ritual followed.

Members of the family came forward and dropped a handful of soil onto the coffin. When this was done the gravediggers came forward and began to fill in the grave. No one would leave until the last sod of earth had been replaced and the wreaths and flowers laid out on the grave.

Meanwhile moving among the mourners came men carrying baskets laden with oatcakes and cheese. Other men moved among the mourners carrying a bottle of whisky and single glass. The glass was often thrust into my hands first

and filled to the overflowing with whisky. The custom was to drain the glass in one long swallow. As I brought the glass down from lips I passed the glass to my neighbour who repeated the ritual. As the whisky fire lit up my insides I would be offered oatcakes and cheese. This continued until the grave was filled and then the gravediggers shared in the whisky and the oatcakes and cheese. My session clerk once likened this to communion.

When all was done we left and went back to the house or the hotel to rejoin the ladies where would be a large spread of food and tea and coffee and often more whisky.

We followed this ritual whatever the weather and it was often very very bad indeed sitting as we were with nothing between us and North America but 3,000 miles of Atlantic Ocean.

However it was always done with reverence. In a quiet godly way. There was never rowdiness. Only a deep communal sharing of grief. There was a never a widow left to get on with things on her own. Never anyone whose grief was left unresolved. Death was faced full in the face and often with a deep faith was seen as defeated monster it is.

Such customs were very very old. By the roads to the cemeteries the grave marker stones still lay where once they had rested the coffins in the days when they walked maybe ten or fifteen miles carrying the coffin the isolated graveyards.

There was deep, deep comfort in sharing, hugging and caring.

Jesus tells us to cast our burdens on Him. To let Him carry the load. I have been trying to share with our friend Bill the need to have that kind of open hugging,sharing and caring relationship with the Lord. I hope that as you grow in the faith you might just be feeling that kind of support coming your way from God. But even if you aren’t aware of it, let me assure you that it is there nevertheless.

Take Care,

God Bless,

Stuart