The founder of a large Japanese company died last week. Funerals in Japan are as much business functions as anything else. If it is an important person at a big company, the grieving family needs to organize a ceremony for thousands, many of whom have never met the deceased. This company is one of our biggest clients, so it was important that the president of my company attend along with his family, which includes me.
Getting There
Driving, once we got as far as the nearest station we simply followed the ant trail of men in black suits to the temple. And before long there were temporary signs posted with the name of the deceased and the direction to go. It was like going to a concert. The temple is big, and the grounds include expanses of parking and networks of roads. With glowing batons we were waved along from one uniformed attendant to the next until we were guided into a parking spot. A few spaces over there was a bus that had brought people straight from work.
Just before entering the main hall I presented an envelope of money to a uniformed attendant at a long receiving table. Like at Japanese weddings, one is expected to give money in a fancy envelope at a funeral. Ordinarily, one would solemnly give this to a family member, but there was no way a family could deal with a crowd this size. Indeed, the crowd was too big for a single attendant; people seemed to be lining up to give at designated slots according to last name. He smiled and thanked me as if it was the only one he received, and he gave me a slip of paper with something official written on it.
After we removed our shoes, shelved them, and received a shoe ID tag, we entered the main building. And here the bowing began in earnest. Many high ranking officers of other companies came to pay their respects, and you can’t walk past these people without the proper deference. It seemed we were stopping to bow to someone every thirty feet, whether they wanted us to or not – whether we wanted to or not, for that matter. Inside the main hall a uniformed attendant seated us, but the bowing continued. As we saw and were seen by various associates we would either do a full stand, hands at your side, feet together bow, or just a lifting of the butt a few inches off the chair and a nod of the head, depending on the relative social levels. One client was so superior that our president gave up his seat and trotted away to find another one. There were about 500 people there.
The Ceremony
There was no bowing during the ceremony, but no lack of action, either. Yet more uniformed attendants with CIA style earpieces and wrist microphones, padded back in forth in stockinged feet (almost all were women) making last minute adjustments and arrangements, for what I cannot begin to fathom. And they had to dodge the camera man videotaping the event for posterity. Because who doesn’t like to watch old funeral videos? His camera and sense of entitlement were of the usual exaggerated proportions, and he sported a comb-over that rivaled both. Maybe the other camera man had the night off, because this one seemed to be doing double duty. He would shoot seventeen seconds from one spot, gather up his tripod, run ten feet, bang a woman’s chair as he extended the tripod, do another seventeen seconds, run back and repeat. He knocked the woman’s chair every time.
We shuffled out once the ceremony ended, and this too was carefully orchestrated, and took longer than the actual ceremony. From front to back, each row was directed to approach the altar and perform a small ritual: bow several times to the altar, pick up a pinch of incense, touch it to your forehead, sprinkle it into a smoldering bowl, then bow to the family of the departed. Not being 100% on this ritual, I watched the people who went before me very closely. Each of those steps is apparently optional. Usually, this is done on your own, but since there were so many people, the long table at the front of the altar accommodated about a dozen. On the way out of the ceremony hall the departed’s close relatives stand in a line. It had been a trying week for them, and an even harder day, and they did their best to give each guest a sincere thank you. Being the only foreigner, I was the only one who got a handshake and a “Nice to meet you” from the departed’s son.
The Wrapup
I thought we were done at this point and was relieved that the ceremony hadn’t been that long. But there was some snacking in store for us. In the reception room guests stood around circular tables, heaped with beautifully carved sea creatures, tea, and of course beer. More than three people cannot gather in Japan without drinking beer. The degree of bowing and greeting that went on in this room shot to stratospheric heights. This was bowing plus beer-pouring, which is every bit as complicated, subtle, and important. Fortunately, the other workers at our company were lowly enough to stay out of the crossfire, so I could avoid participating without being even more awkward. Meeting associates in this context is as much, probably more, work than what is done at the office. I wouldn’t have been surprised if absolutely nothing was said in that room that wasn’t entirely ritualized.
And after about fifteen minutes of beer pouring (more pouring than drinking) we fought the throng of people hunting for shoes, and went out into the rainy night. Another column of 500 waited to enter the main hall for another ceremony.
The next day when I got home from work our company’s president was there with his black suit and tie. “Another funeral?” I asked.
“For the same person. I’m going back tonight.”
But what about the ceremony itself? The monks, the chanting, the centuries of ritual in a modern setting. No idea. We had been sat behind a huge pillar and I couldn’t see anything except the camera man with the comb-over smashing into that poor woman’s chair.
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I’ll assume that you have a life and were not at home last night watching Kouhaku, the annual New Year’s Eve extravaganza on NHK. Well, you missed it, my friend.
Last week on Penn Jillete’s 
Despite the Spartan English, it’s pretty clear what you do. The fries come with a seasoning packet, spicy basil or American B-B-Q. You “in” the fries into the bag (note: in the event that the fries are served in the bag, which is always, instead of “inning” the fries you will want to “out” the napkins and seasoning packet). Next you “sprinkle” the seasoning in with the fries. Then you shaka like you just don’t care.
