A Sad But Interesting Adventure ....

Last night, Sheila and I attended a Creek Indian Funeral Wake. One of Sheila's coworkers had passed, a gentleman of Creek and Seminole extraction. It was a truly remarkable experience.

The ceremony was scheduled in the evening in keeping with the Creek tradition of holding a wake the night before the funeral. The funeral home had warned that they could only stay two hours. Under Creek tradition the wake can go on all night with family members and friends sitting up with the body. The service began a few minutes late. Jokes about "Indian Time" aside, over the years I have learned that in Indian culture things happen when they are going to happen .... when the time is right and the right time is not dictated by the hands on a clock.

Before the service began, the obvious leader or master of ceremonies pulled several chairs out to one side at the front of the room. As they arrived, men who were obviously preachers or elders began taking those chairs. When more arrived more chairs were pulled and the master of ceremonies pointed the new man to the chair. There were six or seven elders seated in this way. This is in keeping with the Creek tradition that multiple elders attend and speak at a community member's wake.

The elders were modestly dressed, mostly bluejeans or wash pants and cotton shirts. There were no jackets and ties. One of the men, a thin, serious older gentleman in jeans, with short cropped hair, a muted cotton shirt and well cared for work oxfords reminded me a great deal of my father.  My father had only a small degree of Cherokee blood but he was raised by a half blood aunt and her full blood husband.  While this elder shared some physical resemblance to my father it was the mannerisms that made them so much alike.  It was the old Indian manner of my father's generation.  Quiet and subdued but at the same time very dignified and in a way outsiders would not completely understand quite powerful. 

The service began by the singing of hymns in the Creek language. The melodies were in a minor key with a slow heavy beat. The men sang in a strong harmony that sent chills down my spine and brought tears to my eyes. Even though the harmonies were the same, this was not the music of the stomp dance. While I couldn't understand a word of what was being sung my spirit told me that these were Christian hymns and these men were helping the family and friends pour out their grief and hope by their singing.

After several hymns were sung, the service took on a rhythm. A preacher would sing or lead another hymn, introduce himself and preach for a while. Most of the preachers/elders were Indian Baptists from the Creek Nation. As one completed his turn they would all shift up one seat toward the front of the line and when finished the one who had just spoke would take his seat at the end.

The sermons were plain. There was no complex theology here. The messages delivered were as plainspoken and honest as the modestly dressed men delivering them. Sin was denounced and salvation proclaimed. Sorrow for past sin was pronounced. Grief was acknowledged and hope offered. Love between family members and friends was encouraged. I wondered for a moment if we city folks don't need to send our preachers down into the 'Nations on internships to recover the simplicity of the gospel.

During the middle of one sermon, one of the deceased's brothers, the eldest, dressed in a traditional Indian "ribbon shirt," got up, walked to the coffin, lovingly placed his brother's glasses and spent some time there with him as the service continued around him. This is in keeping with the Creek tradition of burying the deceased with some of his personal items. Later, after the service had wound down, this same brother invited all to come and share refreshments. This was in keeping with the Creek tradition of serving a midnight supper on the night the wake.

During the service, people walked in and out. Some left after an hour or so and some arrived in the middle of the service. No disrespect was shown. It's just their way.

The gentleman who passed was a nice guy. He was about my age. He was quiet, friendly and helpful in his way. He will be missed and I thank him, not only for the times he helped me while I officed in the building where he worked, but also for the opportunity to share his wake with his family and friends and take a peek into a fascinating culture.