Humanism needs a quango, think-tank, and all round marketing campaign

Yesterday I went to a great-aunt's funeral. Not only that but I saw a woman who helped look after me when I was a baby. It was all so overwhelming I cried. So did many other people.
Aside from the sermon, my father's words reverberated in my head, like the muffled unwanted bumps I can hear made by the neighbours.
"She said some very hurtful things. You just don't know."
This were his words after I explained that I wasn't happy with his reaction to the news of the death: "Your mother will be richer."
Oh well. I don't need to know what she said. I can guess. Maybe she had a point.

It was a Humanist funeral. We walked in to the crematorium to the sound of Mozart. The Humanist speaker (leader? orator?) was middle-aged, frizzy-haired, and curiously recounting my grat-aunt's life with a dry humour. Our memories of my great-aunt will be the last permanence of her life. Some people spoke, remembering her love of rail travel , good food, thriftiness, the Telegraph crosswords and Scrabble. Interesting mix, all things considering - environmentalist, conservative, gourmand, scrimper and talented wordsmith. She did well on it.
My grandmother, the Little Sister, rose to have the final words. At 88, five foot two and with vertigo she swayed up to the lectern, held on with both hands, and let rip with passion. Of all the people there she had the most reason to cry. I don't know if it's repression, or strength of character, but I don't think she even sniffled. She had written a poem on the way down to London the train. It was about her belief that there is an amazing powerful force, which she wants to think her sister joined. The Humanist frizz was very impressed. "Very rare to hear people speak with such verve."
I think, and maybe this sounds negative in a way, but I don't think I've ever been as proud of my grandmother until then. I hope my great-aunt would have approved. Dryly humourous yet serious appreciation of a person.

I had explained I was attending a humanist funeral to 2ND-In-Command in my office. When I came in today he asked jokingly how the weird funeral was.
"Scientology, wasn't it?"

I think he managed to achieve a moment of odd disrespect and great irritation in just three words. And one of those words was was 'it'.