Quaker Memorial Service

This post has nothing to do with California, except that I attended the event immediately before flying to LA two weeks ago. But this event deeply affected me, so I wanted to write about it.

Two weeks ago I attended a memorial service for Jay Lepreau, who died on September 15 due to complications from cancer. Jay was a faculty member in my department at Utah. He was a world-renowned researcher, a terrificly interesting and energetic guy, and way too young to die.

Jay was also a Quaker, and on September 20 I attended a Quaker memorial service to celebrate his life. A Quaker memorial service is very different from a traditional funeral . As we were informed, the Quaker faith is not based on creed, but on testimonial. Friends and family gather in a Quaker meeting room and sit quietly, contemplating the life of the person who has passed. When someone feels moved, that person stands up and speaks about the deceased. Anything goes. Some people eloquently speak about what the person meant to them. Some people tell poignant stories, revealing a generous, loving, or whimsical side of the person. And in Jay's case, many people told funny anecdotes revealing silly things that he had done or exaggerating well-known aspects of his personality and habits. Many of the most personal and moving testimonials also included bits of humor, creating an unexpected harmony of sadness and celebration.

I'd heard about Quaker memorial services before and the description of them sounded beautiful, but to actually experience one gave me a much deeper appreciation and respect for them. I simply cannot imagine a more perfect or a more personal way to commemorate someone's life. First, this event was profoundly primitive and thoroughly social. I have read about elephant herds that gather around a deceased family member, seemingly unsure of where to go and what to do next, but comforted by the presence of each other. Human beings too are deeply social creatures and when tragedy strikes, we huddle together and find comfort and peace just by being in each other's presence. The simplicity of a Quaker service is its beauty: it is the primal act of people coming together to sit in silence, coupled with spontaneous expressions of grief and reflection. This is in stark contrast to a traditional funeral, which has a hierarchical structure where, most commonly, a religious leader (e.g., priest or rabbi) leads a formal, organized service and is the primary (and perhaps only) speaker.

Second, the hour-long service had an electrifying intensity, especially during the long periods of silence that preceded the first testimonial and punctuated the gaps between subsequent speakers. When sitting in a prolonged silence, your thoughts necessarily and inevitably concentrate on the person who has died and the people who were close to him. It is a bit like staring directly at the sun and becoming so hypnotized by its brilliance that you simply can't look away, even as the intense sunlight begins to make your eyes water and burn.

Third, and most importantly, the service was far more personal and intimate than any other service I have attended. The testimonials came from a diverse set of people that represented many different aspects of Jay's life, including family members, childhood friends, neighbors, professional colleagues, fellow musicians, and friends who shared his love of biking and hiking. Through the broad range of testimonials you got a complete sense of the multi-faceted and complex person that Jay was, and the far-reaching impact that his life had on this planet. Sadly and ironically, in his death I feel like I've come to know Jay better than I did when he was alive.

A Quaker memorial service is a truly beautiful thing. I cannot imagine a more perfect way to gain a full appreciation for the life that someone led and the person that they were.