The last funeral home in Berkeley

Yesterday I visited the last funeral home in Berkeley.  I hear there used to be nine, which makes sense, because a lot of people live here and, I imagine, many of them also die.  But over the years, Berkeley funeral homes have faded and closed, as families have chosen cremation or gone elsewhere for their services.  Harris Funeral Home, located on San Pablo Ave. near Gilman, was opened over 50 years ago to provide for the death needs of the African-American community, who at that time were not allowed to be embalmed with whites.

The business became a center of the community, providing micro-loans to families and providing care to generation after generation.  Though the founders are now deceased, their relatives have continued to provide services at some of the lowest prices available, and are committed to finding ways to keep their doors open.

I visited and spent about an hour with Stephanie Cheever, one of their family counselors, who also manages the books, takes calls in the middle of the night, helps with arrangements, and drives from San Francisco to host their estate sales on weekends.  She shared stories from the diverse clientele they have served over the years, emphasizing that they are not an African-American funeral home--they are a funeral home for the whole community.

A beautiful, custom-painted mandala is framed in their entry-way, the work of an Iranian artist they commissioned to create an energetically balanced color scheme for grief.  They have private prayer rooms upstairs for Muslims and others who prefer to maintain all-night prayer vigils.  They have cameras set up for skyping live services to family members and loved ones too distant to attend.  They create custom programs for families, and they "turn the place upside down" to accommodate whatever is right for each individual.

It was moving to hear their commitment to this community, members of which Stephanie says still call "to rake the leaves," or contribute in other ways as an expression of their gratitude.  Whatever our changing death needs may be, I pray that community centers like this one--where people of all faiths can simply come in and pray--will continue to find ways to fund themselves, and to provide for the people that need them.  Thank you for sharing your time with me!

first shot

I took a poll on Facebook and everyone who responded thought I should start a blog.  So here I go.

This blog is connected to the organization I created, Golden Circle Ministry (www.goldencircleministry.org), which aspires to honor ALL the cycles of life--not just the ones we like, but all the real, human ones--like being born, coming of age, getting married, and getting divorced.  Getting sick, dying, being grief-stricken.

The Golden Circle is the circle of life, of which we are all a part.  It is at times beautiful, at times deadly, at times laughable, at times tear-jerking.  I aim to be there--present--for the moments of my own life, and, if you prefer, I can try to be there--present--for some of the moments of yours.

I do this by slinking around the globe listening to people, by driving all over the Bay marrying and burying people, by inviting people into my home or into the lodge to pray or to be guided by their own sense of Spirit.

You are invited, too.

Some people don't believe in God.  There are days when I don't either.  It's all in the phrasing, how you describe this notion of "God," whether you make it believable.  Not that I have any investment in you believing.  I have an investment in your honesty and precision about what you DO believe.  Many people are too shy/scared/bored to elucidate what it is, exactly, they believe, and on top of that, what they long for.

So what do you long for?  When you've answered for yourself, you can answer for me, too.  I'm always listening.  And I believe the answer God is waiting for is our cumulative voice, our shouting, weeping, praying, singing, and whispering.  When I believe in God, I see a giant pair of ears always listening, an open heart always beating.  So whisper (or scream!) and be heard by infinite ears.  Snuggle up to that heart and let it lull you into dream-sleep.

When you wake up, tell me what you saw.  I'm waiting to paint your pictures on my wall.