A Semi-traditional Funeral Program
A Celebration of the Life of Rev. Arthur H. Fabian
A traditional church funeral can become a unique celebration of a person's life with comments by family and friends.
This page may give you an idea for how you can use a formal church funeral service together with comments from people who knew the loved one.
This is the funeral of my father, who was a Lutheran minister, and below are comments from my older brother, Dad's oldest grandson, and my younger brother. On the right is a picture my father sketched many years ago, a poem he enjoyed that was printed on the program and which my younger brother read. Below that, on the right, is a homily of my father's pastor and comments of mine on how what the funeral service meant to me.
Comments by John Fabian, Oldest Son, at the funeral of Rev. Arthur H. Fabian:
The gift our father has given to us, his children, is our heritage — it is the view of him which we remember. I would like to share that viewpoint with you.
One of the strongest memories we have of Dad is his sketching. On a scrap of paper or a napkin he would quickly draw a sketch of someone. This was his way of making connections with people all across the globe. He would make a swift visual assessment, get down a few lines, then leave the drawing as a little gift of that encounter.
Now that Dad will continue his journeys in a new land. with his old Master and Lord, we would like to make a few sketches of him-and leave that gift for him and for us. Here are some of the images that would go into this sketch of Dad.
First:
One of the strongest images is his appreciation of beauty and nature. He marveled at creation — a sunset, rushing water, vibrant colors. Even during his final days, he looked at flowers in his room and said, "Flowers are so harmonious."
Last year he and Mother went to California and he sometimes wasn't sure whether he was there or in Florida or even in Ohio. However, as he was riding through the beautiful redwoods, he exclaimed, "I wish my mother and father could have seen this. It is like having a blessing poured down upon our heads."
Of course, he spent a lifetime trying to capture such picturesque scenery, landscapes and people in paintings and drawings. When he and mother were reducing their belongings so they could move to Bethany Village [a retirement center], we kids had a special time taking turns choosing different paintings of theirs. As we rushed around the house with glee to make our choices, Dad said, "I'm so glad that I lived long enough to see this!" He knew we were joining in his appreciation of art and that he was contributing to our enjoyment.
Second:
A second image for our sketch is Dad's desire to grow-and to point out the importance of continuing to improve oneself. Long ago he commented about something he had read. "The skin." he said, "is replaced every seven years. There's a constant dying off and new skin beginning. So why shouldn't the rest of us be renewing ourselves?"
He took that to heart as he pushed for further educational studies, getting two degrees in his late 50's and early 60's. And Dad was pleased with our accomplishments, our growth, all the while he was nudging us for further improvement. Even his stoic Germanic heritage began to soften and change when, for example, he learned to hug his adult children in his later years.
Third:
The third image is of his sturdy, enduring character. He once said that a person's character is like a tree. It becomes more visible in later years-as the leaves fall off and you can see the main structure. Right to the end. Dad had kind words for things people did and said. Why, he recently thanked the nurses when they took a blood sample! The God who was the focus of his ministry those many years remained steady In his vision.
Fourth:
The final image is of his celebration and joy of life.
Many of us experienced his involvement in key events of our lives-as he officiated at many of our weddings and baptisms. Those who only knew him in his later years, when legs were not so sturdy, may not know his enjoyment at participating in sports-swimming, basketball, and softball. He could also have the widest smile and deepest twinkle in his eye as he played various pranks on us. Certainly his drawing was a celebration and delight.
And he co-created the four of us, spawning a large family, making fine contributions in a variety of areas. So he left us, his family, as a memorial, one that he celebrated.
This little sketch is not a finished drawing. Each of us could continue to draw further images of him. We could also add our own strokes, our own lines, our own details. So enjoy his memory. Add your images to his sketch. And celebrate and honor him with us.
Comments of Rev. Douglas Pretorius, Grandson
I have been asked to speak as a grandson. I am the oldest of Grandfather's fifteen grandchildren, fourteen of whom are still living, and twelve of whom are here today.
I was talking with Uncle John yesterday about the difference between a child's and a grandchild's view. I never knew until yesterday that he hit home runs or that he saved a man's life from drowning. We knew Grandfather when he was older, and slower, and deafer.
The last part was particularly true. Most visits began with a very strong "Hello, Grandfather," so that he knew that you had seen him and that he had heard you. His hearing or not hearing was noticed by everyone. Diane remembers one day when he made a comment about the birds singing and she realized his hearing aids were working for a change.
The kind of activities we remember him doing are much more sedate. We are familiar with a special kind of ball he enjoyed. After dinner we would be visiting around the table and he would say that he had to go wash his hands. Forty-five minutes later he hadn't come back because he was watching the ballgame on TV. Sometimes you would go into his house and the Reds game would be reverberating off the windowpanes so that he could hear.
Sometimes you would find him on his exercise bike. Now that man got more into his exercise bike than anyone I've ever seen. He'd pedal away and his arms would flail. He would really pump it up.
Because he couldn't hear very well, his poor little VW Rabbit used to take such a beating. We used to be afraid that the clutch would just drop little pieces of transmission all along the road because he was always grinding the gears and never hearing it. But probably our greatest fear of him in a car was when he was actually driving it. He wasn't the most careful of drivers. Brad probably has the most dramatic story of all. It seems that when he was riding with Grandfather one day they came to a cross street where the street jogged and didn't go directly through-and Grandfather ran right through the stop sign. He suddenly saw the curb ahead of him and slammed on the brakes. Brad grabbed the seat with one hand, digging his hand into it to hold on, and with the other he waved to the oncoming cars coming at them from both directions.
He did love to travel, though. I think we all remember his several campers, including Ginger, the pickup truck, who was just like one of the family. We especially remember how they always used to go exactly one-hundred miles and then switch drivers ---- and if Grandmother went one-hundred-and-two, then Grandfather had to go one-hundred-and-two miles also. Of course, we remember the fact that whenever the odometer would turn over, the two of them would sing together, "Praise God from whom all blessings flow." Until the very last, he loved Sunday drives-any day of the week.
He loved going to new places and, especially, learning new things. I think we all, the grandchildren, have experiences that remind us of how much he emphasized learning. He demanded a lot of us. We all felt the stinging prod of a question when he would ask, "How's your schooling?" David was given a hard time about taking typing. He told Karen, "Don't forget to read your dictionary every day." Debbie remembers the time when she was learning to switch from printing to cursive and he told her that she should always write in cursive and, to this day, she still does not print. He was always there to instruct us.
We remember that when we would mow his lawn, he would sit out there and watch us to make sure that we did it right. But, also, he and Grandmother would make an event of it. They would order chicken or take us out to dinner.
All the grandchildren remember eating out with Grandfather. Oh, the special pens in his pocket!-and he would always bring those special napkins because the ones in the store were never heavy enough. I could never understand why, when he was going to bring something to draw on, he just didn't bring his sketch pad. But we were all proud of him when he would sketch somebody on the napkin and hand it to them as he left the restaurant.
We remember him calling Grandmother "Mommy" and asking permission to do things, especially when he would say, "Mommy, can I have some ice cream?"
That's right, he never met a bowl of Ice cream that was big enough for him. He would usually look at the youngest person present, often his youngest granddaughter, and he would get the most mournful expression of his face as if he would say, "Look. See how little I got?"
You could contrast that look with the look of glee that he would get when he would shoot the moon when we were playing a game of Hearts [a move which made everyone else take lots of points, when the aim of the game was to have the fewest points possible]. Somehow he always did it and yet we somehow always seemed to be caught at it.
And of course, we all heard the family stories about how he would take an ordinary plate which was already a little cracked and, when an unsuspecting guest would help with the dishes, he would hand them the plate and "accidentally" drop it (making it appear THEY had dropped It). And he would then say, "Oh. don't worry about it. It was not one of our more important dishes. My grand-grandmother had several more like it. Don't think another thing about it."
We all remember the story of how, when they got lost on a trip. Grandmother went into the Police Station to report him missing and he came in the door right behind her to report her missing as well.
These are all incidents that we will remember, but we will know him for who he was, and that is his love for us. We will especially remember his love for God.
I and a couple of others of the grandchildren, who were privileged to go to the 50th anniversary of his ordination, remember how, when he got up to speak, he said that. "Every morning I wake up with a song in my heart and give thanks to God." And when he prayed, you could feel the gratitude that he felt towards God flowing out from him. He truly knew that all life was a gift from God. He had a love for the world and all its creatures. Even at the nursing home, he enjoyed watching the birds in the large birdcage. He loved Brian's dog, Buddy, and he would talk about the dog that he knew as a child. But most of all, he had a love for us. We all remember being honored by a special visit or a trip we took together.
We remember him painting all our portraits and the loving way he performed Richard and Debbie's weddings and. indeed, all of those special events. Probably two stories capture that love for us the most of all. He once painted a picture of a goat and considered it one of his best paintings. One day at the airport he wanted to give it to Rob and he asked Rob if he really wanted it. He wanted to make sure that Rob knew that this was a significant gift, and Rob felt honored and touched that his Grandfather felt him to be that worthy of such a significant gift. Finally, Laura, on her last visit to him, when she was alone with him, leaned over to say loudly in his "good" left ear, "Grandfather, I love you." He replied, "I love you. too." Then as she turned to go, he called her back and said, " You're a wonderful girl."
He expected a lot out of us, but he was also very proud of us and let us know how much he loved us. I think I can speak for all the grandchildren when I say that we give thanks to him for doing such a wonderful job of loving and raising his family. His children, in turn, have done such a good job of loving and raising us.
Thank you, Grandfather.
Comments of Art Fabian, Jr., Youngest Son
As we continue this celebration in the life of Arthur Fabian, I'd like to read a poem that my father enjoyed. It is from a book of poems of inspiration, It Can be Done. The gold lettering on the front says "A. H. Fabianske." That is the name under which he was born. He loved this particular poem and I've just come to love it also the last few days as I've gotten to know it and want to share it with you . . . the poem by Rudyard Kipling (1892), "When Earth's Last Picture is Painted."
[Art then read the poem, which was printed on the funeral program and is printed on the sidebar of this page.] |
