Being Dead Is No Excuse

Today’s catchy yet mysterious title is borrowed from a classic book by the same name on how grief and grace use groceries to enable those of us left behind after the funeral to manage our survival with some solace and soul food. The two southern ladies who wrote the charming culinary guide try to convince the readers that Folks in the Delta have a strong sense of community, and being dead is no impediment to belonging to it. Down South, they don’t forget you when you’ve up and died–in fact, they visit you more often. But there are quintessential rules and rituals for kicking the bucket tastefully. Having a flawless funeral is one of them.

Here’s a snippet: After the solemnity of the church service and finality of the grave, the people of the Mississippi Delta are just dying to get to the house of the bereaved for the reception. This is one of the three times a Southerner gets out all the good china and silver; the other two are christenings and weddings. The silver has most likely been specially polished for the occasion. Polishing silver is the Southern lady’s version of grief therapy.

While the two authors take delightful liberties to make this enterprise part of the southern culture, my experience with other people, up to and including Yankees, has led me to believe that this is a universal truth: funeral food is not just a southern thing. When death occurs within any community, there’s this groundswell of grief which leads to an outpouring of a bountiful buffet upon the immediate family of the deceased.

Ladies of the kitchen suddenly appear and make themselves at home. Chicken and broccoli casseroles are placed in ovens for heating. Neatly trimmed sandwiches covered in cellophane are brought in by the neighbors. Delicious cakes adorn beautiful plates which always have a piece of masking tape on the bottom bearing the name of the cook. After the funeral itself, the folding tables covered with the finest linen in the fellowship hall hardly have enough space for another dish of those little barbecue smoke sausages. Have you ever wondered why in the world the living mourn the dead around a dining room table loaded with enough food to feed Coxey’s Army? [Click on the blue name to get the skinny on this term]

Maybe all this food is more for the soul than the body — both for the donor and those for whom it is cooked. It’s how culinary craft is utilized to express in deed what they cannot say in word. It’s a tasty and tangible way of expressing the sacrament of sorrow that binds the living together in the reality of death. And when the service and the accompanying meal are over and the house finally left to those who inhabit it, tears emerge as they look under the plates at the names written on masking tape; gracious cooks who brought their special offering to the altar of mutual sadness.

The origin of such a custom is beyond me, but we have a tradition in the church that’s very much like it. Even though he never had a proper southern funeral, we still remember the death of Jesus, and his followers still gather at a table furnished with the gift of groceries — some bread and a little wine. These elements speak beyond our hunger for bread alone, and our cups overflow as we remember the gift of amazing grace. And if you look closely enough, you can see his initials taped beneath the cup.