By DAVID CRUMM
Editor of ReadTheSpirit magazine

Seventy men and women packed the “gathering space” at Clarkston United Methodist Church in Michigan for an “Idea Incubator” about “The Gifts and Challenges of Aging.” That’s the subtitle of our book, Now What? It’s a valuable resource book written by experts in aging—packed with helpful and inspiring information about the many ways we can transform fears about aging into creative resilience as we mature.

In preparation for that program, members of this very active church northwest of Detroit had ordered 70 copies of our book, adapted so that each copy was personalized for their congregation. Their church’s logo was on the front cover of each book distributed for the special program. Plus, the opening pages bound into this Clarkston edition are a two-page letter from their senior pastor, the Rev. Amy Mayo-Moyle. In her letter, Amy explained why this fresh approach to aging is in perfect harmony with the congregation’s mission statement: “Connecting people to people—and people to God.”

The distribution of these books—and an opportunity to take part in this unusual Idea Incubator—raised the enthusiasm in this community to a whole new level! Evidence of that was in participants’ glowing responses to the program’s organizers and speakers that night. They also expressed their interest on survey sheets. Plus, two of our authors who spoke during the program—Rusty Rosman and Howard Brown—sold far more of their books than any of us had expected.

We were surprised, in part, because everyone who participated that night already was reading their specially modified “Clarkston United Methodist Church” editions of Now What? As they arrived, we could see that their copies of that book were studded with bookmarks, Post-it notes and other markers.

Then, in addition to Now What?—they welcomed the idea of fostering future programs on various aspects of aging and caregiving. And, most of them went home with an additional book in their arms that they had decided to purchase, after the program, from Rusty or Howard.

That’s why we called this program an “Idea Incubator”—a way to lift up creative possibilities and build excitement.

It was a fitting way to use this special book. It was in keeping with the spirit of the 14 major organizations that came together just prior to the COVID pandemic—along with 15 expert authors—to develop Now What? Together, we assembled a rich collection of resources on everything from health and wellbeing to caregiving to funeral planning. The nonprofit network that created this resource intended it to be used by groups to generate ideas for new programs to help individuals and families. And, then, the pandemic hit. Public programs nationwide were cancelled. So, this week, the Clarkston church became the first to finally offer a public, in-person program exploring all of these “gifts and challenges.”

How did our Idea Incubator work?

As the General Editor of this book project from the start, I presented its most valuable ideas to the audience. For example, the first one I summarized was this one:

“People who care about their congregations—Christians, Jews and Muslims—hope to welcome more people. Here in Clarkston, you do, too. You hope to encourage more people to join you. Of course, you’ve got lots of reasons to encourage people: You’re warm, welcoming and inspiring. But, did you know that there also is solid, scientific evidence from around the world that connecting with a congregation actually is good for you? After two decades of public-health research, there’s now a global consensus that connecting with a congregation is a predictor of health, wellbeing and increased longevity. That may sound surprising, but it’s true: Secular research on the ‘social determinants of health’ concludes that the caring community connections we form in congregations will help us live happier, healthier and longer lives. It’s summarized in the heart of this book, Now What?—specifically look at chapters 9 and 10.”

At that point in the presentation, I watched as people in the audience pulled out their pens and made notes. Some people opened their books and moved bookmarks to those chapters so they could focus on them later.

After I listed this particular insight—the social determinants of health as they relate to congregations—I listed 13 more valuable ideas in this book for individuals and families. Each person at the event had been given a single sheet of paper with all 14 ideas listed. Below each idea, participants drew a “star” along a range of preferences from “No thank you, this one isn’t for me” to the opposite end of the spectrum: “I’m interested.” When we concluded, those sheets expressing the individual interests of everyone in the room were collected for the congregation’s leadership to consult as they plan future programs.

When they got that pile of responses, Amy and her leadership team could see at a glance that they represented many months of ideas to explore across the coming year. “There’s so much to look over and use here!” Amy said. “This definitely will be part of our planning process this year.”

How this event was organized

Clarkston United Methodist Church already has dozens of ongoing outreach programs and many “life groups”—plus classes, programs for children and youth, discussion circles and public-service projects in Michigan and abroad. That’s one reason we collectively chose this community for this first big program on Now What? We all knew that these folks in Clarkston would be wonderfully receptive.

The other reason we wound up at Clarkston was the encouragement of an “angel”—the term our publishing house uses for a community leader who steps up to ensure that book-related programs happen. Brenda DuPree is a longtime lay leader in the Clarkston congregation and she contacted me, because she remembered that our publishing house broadcast on this book’s national release date from the Clarkston church’s “gathering space.” At that point in the pandemic, we couldn’t host a big public event to launch the book. We needed to use Zoom—and the Clarkston staff volunteered its audio-visual resources to produce the elaborate Zoom event. For an hour, experts from across the nation shared ideas from this book across Zoom.

Brenda DuPree remembered that Clarkston connection with this book—and she realized that the resources in this book had never really reached as many people as we had hoped. So, with pandemic fears having subsided, she launched this new Clarkston planning project, and she also generously supported the whole effort for several months leading to our Idea Incubator this week. The event would not have been possible without Brenda’s tireless work as a local “angel.”

“Angels” like Brenda DuPree can make a huge difference across an entire community and now—with the publication of this ReadTheSpirit story about the event—nationwide.

What Brenda accomplished is exactly what all the expert-authors and nonprofit co-sponsors of this book had hoped.

Rusty Rosman and Howard Brown—’Shining Brightly’

Two authors who understood the importance of this program each agreed to give a short talk at the event—and both wound up far outshining my own presentation of the book’s core ideas.

Of course, I was not surprised. That is why I invited Rusty Rosman, author of Two Envelopes, and Howard Brown, author of Shining Brightly, to conclude our presentation with personal talks.

When Rusty began her talk, she started with the summary she uses with audiences nationwide (in person or via Zoom or podcast): “When you die, there are so many things your family and loved ones immediately need to know. Two Envelopes is your voice, conveying your final wishes regarding your death and your estate.”

She went on: “We know that three of the most emotional times in our lives are our marriage, birth of our children and the death of a loved one. We cannot predict how we will react at these times but our emotions come out whether we’re expecting them or not. Two Envelopes helps keep chaos at bay when dealing with the emotions of the death of your loved one.”

As she talked, I saw people across the room smiling and nodding their heads knowingly. They already knew what “chaos” can ensue when a loved one dies without ever expressing their wishes about what should come next.

Many people laughed when Rusty said that one of the thorniest questions for families is: “What will you wear when you’re dead?” As they laughed, many nodded. The question struck a personal cord.

She said, “One of the most emotional topics of family discussion when a loved one dies—and it can even become an argument—is what their loved one will wear for viewing and burial. Even if cremation is chosen, there often is a viewing before the final service.”

Then, Rusty told several stories about dear friends whose families had wrestled with such questions. This was emotional stuff! Rusty’s emotions reverberated in her voice. Emotions also were obvious in faces all across the “gathering space.” And, that’s why, when the program ended, a third of the people in attendance flocked to Rusty’s book table to buy copies of their book.

Clarkston already was planning programs later this year to discuss end-of-life decisions. The interest in this subject was clear cut in that crowd. We collectively hoped to heighten awareness of the importance of this subject across the whole community.

And, of course, Howard Brown’s conclusion of the program built on those emotions Rusty had stirred. A two-time survivor of life-threatening stage IV cancer, Howard simply told the story of several “miracles” that he has witnessed in his own life—because of personal resilience and because of the support of so many friends and family members.

Howard’s story was so moving that—at that point—the audience interrupted him for applause three times! None of us expected applause at such a program, but—at this point in the evening—it was clear we were talking about life-and-death issues close to the hearts of so many people in that room.

Similarly, when the program ended, a wave of people gathered around Howard and bought his Shining Brightly book to take home with them. Some people, in fact, bought both books. None of us expected such a heart-felt response!

Care to join us?

Is there an “angel” in your congregation—or your regional group, library or nonprofit—who would like to bring such a program to your community? A lot of planning and preparation went into that special night in Clarkston, but our publishing house is willing to plan such events with other interested groups in the future.

Contact us at: [email protected] or [email protected] Either email address will reach our offices.

Want to learn more about Rusty Rosman? Visit her website, RustyRosman.com

Want to learn more about Howard Brown? Visit his website, ShiningBrightly.com

Want to learn more about this remarkable congregation in Clarkston, Michigan? Visit their website.

EDITOR’S NOTE: In February, we published a column by Rusty Rosman that posed the question: “What will you wear when you’re dead?” The question went viral. Many readers responded, telling us that they started asking friends and family members this unusual question. Rusty’s purpose in asking that question was part of the overall process she describes in her helpful new book, Two Envelopes. The book guides readers through making notes for their family and friends about their wishes, when they die someday. The most elaborate and eloquent response to the provocative clothing question was this column written by long-time professional communicator Barbara Braver.

By BARBARA BRAVER
Contributing Writer

The “larger life” here has nothing to do with moving to a larger clothes size. The idea of the “larger life” comes later in all of this, as does the silk blouse. Meanwhile, I am remembering Mother with great affection, nearly four decades after her death at age 83.

There are things we remember, and things we choose to forget. In this moment I am thinking of something I most definitely have not forgotten, but to which I have ceased to give power. That is Mother’s critical nature, which was more than matched by that of a beloved aunt, Mother’s sister Catherine.

With regard to the silk blouse: it was such an elegant gray silk blouse of Mother’s that though I am, of course, using American spelling, I think of it as a grey blouse. The English spelling seems somehow grander and more fitting for this particular blouse. In any event, the blouse is the end of the story—the end of the earthly story for Mother as she was buried in it. But, I have skipped to the end, which will only make sense if I start a bit earlier.

Now that I have raised children of my own to adulthood, I have an increasingly clearer sense of the mother-child connection and the positively frightening potential within that bond for both good and ill.

In the case of Mother, my wild Irish mother, it was mostly expressed for the good. Of course, time has dimmed what was painful or unpleasant. In fact, since her death all ill feeling has fallen away. She has been totally rehabilitated, if not actually canonized. Also, I have come to understand better some of the relational pieces, which required years of life experience, illuminated by therapy.

I am not now who I was then, and neither is she.

It is unlikely that my now lost blue diary from the 7th grade included any reference to my struggles with Mother, little fits and starts, and thrust and parry, and hug and kiss and each then feeling sorry for what we had thought or done, as the naughty child or the imperfect mother. Nor would I have written anything about her struggles, of which I knew little, at least not at an available level of consciousness.

I knew she grew up with Catherine, her bossy little sister who was younger by less than a year. “Irish twins” they called such close-in-age siblings. And they certainly were Irish, both of their parents having made their way from there to live in Sewickley, Pennsylvania. Catherine knew-it-all, or had the façade of one who did and was always eager to share her superior knowledge in bold terms followed by the sort of tic of the dismissive laugh. Catherine was the master of dropping an “Oh you may not care about this, but you ought to—” And, of course, I have no sense of what her interior life was all about.

I knew that Mother’s brother, Jim—“our Jim,” the youngest of the three—was an important lawyer. That’s the way I would have understood it: an important lawyer. With money. Discretionary money enough for Sunday ice cream for me and a convertible for him. I knew Uncle Jim had a fine education. His law school graduation day photo is mounted on one of the crumbling black paper pages of our ancient leather-bound album. He smiles out from under his mortar board, his lanky 6’2” frame hidden under his gown. Catherine is in the middle next to him, also smiling.

Is it my imagination that Mother seems more like observer than participant on this day of celebration? Her body is half turned, as if to look less bulky—in a ¾ view. But, Mother was not at all bulky and how often she told me that at 5’6”, a height tall for women in those days, she “never weighed more than 118 pounds”—a weight I have not had since I was—say 12. She is held there in that photo, young and posing at the edge of her vulnerability.

Our Jim got the education in the family. At least that is what I used to think: he “got” the education. Then I found out that was only half true. Yes, he went to college, as his sisters did not, but he did not graduate with his class. Though his course work was finished, his tuition bills were not paid. How can this be? Grandfather— PapPap as I, his first grandchild, had named him—PapPap had come from Ireland after college and through wit and charm and hard work had made what then was lots of money, or so it was said. Daniel Francis Dillon, who could “charm the skin from a snake,” owned three houses when he died. That was the script. It was also said of him that “he could not smell the cork.” PapPap was a “ward healer”—working for the party, getting votes for his candidates. I can imagine a drink bought here and there, and another, was a part of that. I know that Uncle Jim had a highly successful ongoing law career, but I am sure he had his own feelings about all of this, of which I am not aware.

Mother and Catherine, equally bright, equally eager I feel sure, in line with some of the prevailing cultural norms of those days, did not go to college. Rather, they went on to work at the telephone company, a respectable temporary destination for them until they were swept up into marriage and the life expected of each of them.

Given all of this history, my biggest realization, and I know this sounds obvious, is how much Mother identified with my triumphs and failures. Worse, she felt responsible for them in large measure, which gave her an enormous energy, more than I wanted, around all of my doings, most particularly those having to do with outer appearance. The look of things, including her only daughter, mattered to her a great deal, and her intensity likely propelled me into a rebellious rejection of her particular standards of taste.

Things went pretty smoothly between us in my early years before I developed any opinions contrary to hers. By the time I was six or so I had to be stuffed into the pink sweater that matched the pink pinafore. I can dredge up certain phrases of hers, questions tentatively phrased but with a quite explicit subtext. “Do you think that looks alright?” “Don’t you think plaid makes you look fat?” “Are you planning to wear that?” (Well, gee, I was walking out the door in it.) “Do you want to be just as broad as Nelly’s dresser?” I had never seen the dresser of the oft-evoked Nelly, but I got the idea.

There is a certain irony in the fact that I can also hear Mother warning me: “Sins of the tongue, Barbara! Sins of the tongue.” I guess she knew what part of me would get me into the most trouble, and the same was true for her. I now know that Mother’s insecurities about her own self were operative here and that she needed me to “be somebody” as a measure of her mothering. Perhaps some of her buried hopes for herself were to be realized in me, her only daughter. Mother often said that “it takes three generations to make a lady.” I guess that means that I—following Grandmother, and Mother, was the third generation here—and the destined lady. However, going very far down that path is not part of my brief, given where I am in my life and where she is in hers.

That brings me back to the blouse. Before Mother’s funeral Mass and burial there was the “viewing,” which has always struck me as a strange term. It was the period set aside by the funeral home to give family a quiet moment with the deceased, and then friends and neighbors time to come and offer condolences, pay their respects, and reminisce about what had been. Mother was “laid out,” as they say, in an open casket, having been combed and powdered, and I don’t even want to think about what all else, in preparation. (I am planning to be cremated myself.) She was dressed in what someone, I believe my dear brother, George, chose as suitable and appropriate for such an occasion. You could only see her down to about mid-chest, the rest of her mortal remains being under some sort of a silk shawl affair.

Highly visible was the elegant silk blouse in the shade of softest gray. Affixed to it, just where she would have put it herself, was a silver pin. It was a regal lion, caught in mid-stride: just the sort of pin one finds in museum gift shops. I had seen her wearing it often. I thought she looked quite fine, for a dead person that is.

After my brother and I had a quiet moment with Mother, other family members came forward. In the lead was Aunt Catherine. I loved my Aunt Catherine and since she was not my mother, I could ignore her frequently acid remarks and opinions and just enjoy her for her wit. She and Uncle Herb had taken me in during the week when at age 4 I dealt with the reality of my newborn brother about to come home from the hospital and stay for the rest of my life. They bought me a fancy blue tricycle and explained that was what “big girls” could ride. They gave me grapefruit for breakfast, which I had never had before, and told me this was something unknown to babies. All through my little girl years I delighted in spending weeks each summer at her house, bopping around with her ever increasing number of children and making up one-finger tunes on their old upright piano.

I should note that, by the time of Mother’s death, Catherine had lost enough of her marbles—and thank heavens she had started out with lots of them—that when visitors arrived at the funeral home she greeted them warmly, thanked them for coming to her home, and directed one of her children to “please get them some tea.” At one point she spotted someone she recognized and pointed him out to me with great excitement.

“Look, that’s Joe Rafferty, I’m sure, but is it young Joe or his Dad?”

Well, the gentleman in question, erect in bearing and handsome still with his shock of white hair and bright blue eyes, was a match in age for Aunt Catherine. I was pretty sure he wasn’t young Joe.

“That must be his Dad,” I told her.

“Oh,” Aunt Catherine exclaimed, “how truly grand of him to come. He was a good friend of Father’s.”

A good friend of Father’s?

Hmmm. This would have made the fellow about 120 years old. I said, “Actually, Aunt Catherine, I think that must be young Joe.”

In any event, Catherine had not lost her grip on her fierce opinions about the appearance and presentation of everyone who crossed her path. She swept, as best she could, up to Mother’s coffin and practically hissed at me, the bereaved daughter: “How could you dress Mary in that dreadful gray blouse?!”

That really stopped me.

I looked at Catherine, unable to imagine what one could possibly say in response. And then, the moment of clarity, of joy, of illumination hit me. Mother was free. Mother had been released. She cared not in the slightest about what she was wearing. It no longer mattered to her. Her 83 years of anxious concern about what is right, proper, appropriate, suitable were over. Alleluia. I thought: that is what the larger life is about, beyond pettiness and the narrow meanness of far too many of our days, beyond the superficial.

Released!

I looked at her lying there, very beautiful really, in that elegant blouse, and felt great delight for her new state. I bent over and kissed her. I think she may have winked at me.

This was the beginning of a healing for Mother and me. Well, Mother is already there—restored, redeemed, in a place that is no place and every place.

As for me, grateful for God’s grace, I am moving toward it.

---

.

.Barbara Braver grew up in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania where at age 12 she started a one-page weekly newspaper called Neighborhood News. It lasted for a full summer, to the amusement of several indulgent neighbors. This was the beginning of the writing life. After college graduation she moved to the Boston area, drawn by romantic notions of Emerson, Thoreau and Louisa May Alcott. Though this might have been an insubstantial motive, she has never been disappointed. By an apparent coincidence she ended up working for the Episcopal Church in the area of communication, first for 11 years as Director of Communication for the Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts until another coincidence sent her to New York where for 18 years she worked as the communication assistant for the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church. Since retirement she continues writing, editing and leading retreats. Barbara was also Madeleine L’Engle’s housemate for 12 of the years she lived in NYC.