A Japanese Funeral Service

Sadly, our new assistant manager's father suffered a stroke and passed away this Thursday.  To show our support, most of us at work went to the service tonight.  We also all chipped in ¥1000 as a donation to the family.  Unfortunately, the other foreign teacher and I were unable to dress completely appropriately, since neither of us had black suits and ties.  AEON's dress code forbids us from wearing all-dark suits in the classroom, and we never expected to need funeral wear, so we wore the darkest clothes we had and hoped for the best.

One of the Japanese teachers picked us up and drove us to the funeral parlor, which was only about a 10-minute drive away and much closer than we expected.  We met up with the other teachers who were able to attend, five of us in total, and went inside at 5:30 PM.  The Japanese teachers had envelopes wrapped in purple cloth, which they unwrapped and handed to an employee at the front desk in exchange for a small ticket.  I understand that the envelopes contained the money offering we and others at AEON donated.

After a quick explanation, we entered the room where the service was being held.  Closest to the entrance, there were three rows of chairs on each side for guests.  Two smaller rows of chairs on each side were placed at an angle for the family of the deceased, slanting inwards towards a pair of tables.  At the far end of the room was a picture of her father, a black-and-gray speckled cube-shaped box and a large wooden frame resembling Japanese-style roof or gate.  The picture was flanked by a number of flower bouquets, signs with kanji printed on them, candles, a pair of wooden phoenixes, and two glass containers filled with lightly-bubbling water.  A plate of apples sat on the right side, and on the left was what I think was a plate of grapefruits.  One very odd thing in the room was a large circular wreath on the right wall, which had an advertisement for some sort of drink in the center of it.

The table closest to the door held four sets of two polished clay pots, one smaller and square-shaped and the other taller and rectangular.  The smaller pot contained small, gray grains of what I think was incense, while the larger one had a small piece of burnt wood and its ashes.  Attendees are supposed to enter the room and bow deeply to the family members on each side of the room.  They should then go up to one of the sets of pots, take a pinch of the incense, raise it to their forehead, and place it in the ashes.  They should do this three times, each time acting as a prayer to a different group of people, though I don't know the details.  Afterwards, they should bow to the picture of the deceased and the family one more time, then leave the room.  I had no idea about any of this, and attempted to mimic what I could see (behind people as tall as or taller than myself) as best I could.  I picked up a pinch of the incense only once and put it back in the same pot, though I at least got the bowing right (I think.)

Once we finished paying our respects to the family, we went to a large dining room on the other side of the hall.  There was a small table of food, with sandwiches, tempura shrimp and vegetables, sushi, and a few other things.  Each table also had a plate of rice, which I was told was a special dish of glutinous rice (used for making rice cakes) and soy sauce that is only served at funerals.  Serving women provided us with cups of hot tea, and the tables had a selection of chilled drinks, including soda, orange juice, oolong tea, and nonalcoholic beer.  We were informed that it was polite to enjoy the food that the family had provided, so we somberly helped ourselves to a small plate of food each and chatted quietly for about a half-hour.  One of the Japanese teachers commented that she had been with the company for 10 years and had never attended a service for the family of a coworker, which we agreed was a good sign.

Around 6:00 PM, we were ushered back into the service room and sat down in the guest seats.  A funeral parlor employee went behind a folding screen in the far left corner of the room where she was out of sight, dimmed the lights and spoke a few words.  Everyone stood, put their hands together to pray and bowed their heads.  I wasn't sure whether my eyes should be open or closed, so I kept them closed.  A Buddhist monk (priest?) slowly walked into the room and took a seat at the table closest to the shrine.  We all sat back down as the man, dressed in yellow and green robes, began to chant.  The monk began by tapping a large reddish-black bowl with a soft mallet, which produced a sound very similar to a tuning fork, three times.  He then picked up another mallet and started to hit a steady beat on a wooden drum with a carved and rounded, dome-like top.  He chanted along with the drumbeat for some time, then tapped the bowl and wound down the drumbeat with a short series of increasingly faster and softer hits.  My thought is that the steady beat symbolizes healthy life, while the otherworldly sound of the bowl and the fading beat symbolizes the transition from life to death.  I could be completely wrong, of course, but this is what came to mind as I heard it.

The monk prayed with a long ring of beads (similar to a very large rosary,) then repeated the series of chanting and music described in the above paragraph.  After another silent prayer he continued chanting, and occasionally tapped a smaller version of the bowl, which produced a much higher-pitched sound.  An attendant in white gloves walked around taking pictures, always bowing very deeply and formally before and after each picture.  The lighting behind the shrine changed, and the family members stood up and paid their respects to the father.  The widow wore a jet-black kimono, while the others wore all-black suits and dresses.  After the family, all the attendees stood up and paid their respects one more time.  I got the ritual right on the second try, thankfully, though I needed a little help with stage directions.  When everyone was finished paying their respects and were seated, the monk rang the smaller bowl three times and ended his chant.  We all stood and prayed again as he left the room, then left ourselves.

We were told that we could go back to the dining room and help ourselves to more food, though none of us felt like doing so.  Our assistant manager and her mother came out to speak to us briefly and thank us for coming, which they did with warm smiles.  I was surprised at how stoic the ceremony was – no one had shed a tear or so much as sniffled.  The Japanese teachers exchange their tickets at the front desk for medium-sized gift bags, which they said were a token of the family's appreciation for their attendance and contained green tea and other things.

Outside, there was a small stone fountain flanked by two round wooden tables, each with a white towel on a hanger and a small bowl of salt.  Because of our close proximity to spirits and the deceased, we needed to purify ourselves with the salt and water.  We each picked up a pinch of salt, rubbed it on our hands, sprinkled some on our clothes, and then washed our hands.  We said our farewells and left around 7:15 PM, earlier than I had expected.

I understand that the funeral will take place tomorrow.  The timing is especially unfortunate because our assistant manager's birthday was yesterday; it will probably be a sad reminder for years to come.  My heart goes out to her and her family for this tragic loss, and I hope she is able to recover from this soon.  They have my deepest condolences in this trying time.