Traditional funeral in Taiwan...some observations

Last August my Taiwanese father-in-law passed away. Below are some observations regarding his funeral. I only post what I considered interesting aspects of the many traditional customs during this event. I am no expert on Taiwan customs. Comments on what I observed and heard are my personal feelings and may not jive with what an expert knows about these customs. I did not prod people to describe the customs in detail to me and my Chinese is definitely not good enough to go into that level of detail…and then some people could only describe in Taiwanese.

I break my comments into separate parts. I hope not too long and boring…but then again only those that are interested will read. I did not take many photos….mostly out of respect…and I am not a big picture taker. A few shown are sourced from others. The location was in Douliou county area….in a small neighborhood mostly filled with farmers in a small town.

Timing and body
Since my father-in-law (Mr Lai) died during Ghost Month the funeral needed to wait until 13 days later….of course, needed to check which day was best. Mr Lai’s body lay in rest at the house starting the day after he died. The body was in a freezer.

Main events
Seven days after Mr Lai’s death a special prayer service was arranged. From 6:00pm to 9:00pm a group of ladies led the family members in prayer. Afterwards a large bonfire was lit.

The funeral was a day and a half long event. The first day was comprised mostly of praying followed by a large bonfire. The next day visitors paid their respects. The family also had a ceremony involving Mr Lai’s body which included family members saying some words…like a niece living in Spain asked her brother to read a letter. Then Mr Lai’s body was pulled out of the house and prayers were said with everyone in attendance. Then a small marching band comprised of 8 young women playing saxophones paraded around the body. Then Mr Lai was loaded into the vehicle to take him to the cremation facility. However, first, the marching band led Mr Lai’s vehicle on a parade to the outskirts of town….family members and visitors walked together for about a mile. Then we left the visitors and drove with Mr Lai to the cremation facility. Mr Lai’s ashes were then brought to the storage tower.

Funeral/ancestor plaque
I am not sure what the official formal name is for the plaque honoring Mr Lai which is to be placed at the home ancestry worship area. Well, we picked up this plaque at the cremation facility and brought to a temple which hosts such plaques. Because someone needs to attend this plaque daily with prayers and incense for 100 continuous days with no interruption…nowadays you can bring to a temple where they will attend to the plaque every day for 100 days. After 100 days you can bring the plaque home.

Funeral alter and daily monitoring
A small funeral alter was erected outside the house for daily prayers. Every morning some food and water was placed at the funeral alter. A set of Mr Lai’s clothes was put on a stand next to the alter. A large incense stick was lit and could not be left unattended so new stick needed to be lit to replace the old. Visitors to the house would pay their respects to Mr Lai at the alter.

According to tradition someone must be attending to the funeral alter 24 hours a day. I took the midnight to 6:00 am shift because I could not help with assisting guests/visitors during the day.

Politicians
In addition to friends of the family various politicians came to the house to pay respects. I found this a nice touch as Mr Lai was definitely just an ordinary citizen. Of course, politicians have their motives but nice to see Mr Lai’s wife hosting some influential people if even for a few minutes.

Incense sticks
A large incense stick was placed at the funeral alter which needed to be lit 24 hours until the funeral day. This stick was watched very carefully and replaced regularly. Small incense sticks were lit for every visitor to the funeral alter when paying respects. Also, incense sticks were provided for everyone who attended the funeral.

Small fires and large bonfires
Next to the funeral alter a small fire pot was used to burn various types of paper. This fire was supposed to burn 24 hours per day until the funeral. However, most of the family tried to discourage the Mr Lai’s wife from keeping this lit all day long so probably was burning about 12 hours per day.
After the seventh day prayer service and on the day of the funeral large bonfires were lit inside large metal cages. The prayer service bonfire included many bags of paper, Mr Lai’s old clothes, some new clothes, and shoes. The funeral bonfire was more paper, clothes and paper replicas of a house, a benz, and a refrigerator. The bonfire was quite large and burned for about 2 hours. The bonfire metal cage was put in the small alley next to the house.
For the Seventh day prayer service the funeral service company suggested two bags of paper to be burned by each close family member at the event which was usually 7….meaning 14 bags. For the funeral the funeral service company suggested 4 bags of paper per person….meaning 28 bags…but my wife and a few others rejected and only used 2 bags per person.

Meat hanging near funeral alter
Since the funeral alter was erected during ghost month a piece of meat (wrapped in plastic) was hung near the alter. I was told this was to protect visitors to the alter as the ghosts would be attracted to the meat instead of to the visitors.

Road closure for funeral tent
My wife went to a police station to inform them we would close the road in front of the house for day and a half. The police only asked her to draw a map showing where and how she planned to close off the road.

Prayer ladies
Five prayer ladies assisted with the Seventh day prayer service and the funeral. They basically led everyone in prayers and also prayed separately in a chant style. They rang bells and small drums during the prayers. I was amazed at their stamina. You try to chant while dinging a bell for 6 hours in a day without missing a beat. They did take water breaks but those breaks were for about 30 seconds then back to chanting.
For the funeral day they did a specific chant that the family members could join so a booklet was passed out with the chant lyrics. I was amazed that one of the ladies chanting had memorized the two hour chant. I was also amazed that they did not charge for their services….all were volunteers. I was dead tired just participating…they were doing all the work.

Lights on
All the lights in the house had to be left on all night long….for over 10 days until the funeral I was told this was to help Mr Lai find his way home…if he did come to the house. My wife finally convinced her mother that not every bright light in every bedroom had to be on….so eventually people could sleep in a dimmer lit room.

Spouse cannot attend funeral
Spouses of the deceased are not supposed to attend funeral events. I was told is because fear that the deceased might want to take their spouse with them. For me a little sad seeing Mr Lai’s wife of so many years not being able to participate in her husband’s funeral.

Traditional clothing
Family members wore what I deem traditional clothing during the funeral. Basically was a hat and a loose shirt. Each category of relative wore different outfit. Sons were one type. Daughters another type. Son-in-laws and daughter-in-laws also had their own styles.

Flowers and other gifts
Besides flowers the family received gifts of packaged drinks of various types. This included packages of beer cans. My brother-in-law would cut open the packaging…drink some beers and then put the empty can back in the package…which he would tape back up.

Two towers of drinks were about 2 meters high on a base which was a meter high. The top included flashing lights which used solar power and would turn on at night. The delivery man had to assemble the 7 tiers of drinks which took him close to two hours. He also had to wrap the drinks to keep them from falling over. If you want people to notice your funeral gift then this is what you send….there is no place to stash such a big gift.

Final nail in the coffin
There was a small ceremony to officially nail the coffin shut. The oldest male relative performs this task.

The good and bad of these activities…just my personal opinion of course…
A lot of burning of incense, paper, clothes, etc. I mean a lot. Since I took the midnight to 6am shift I could refrain from burning so much paper and my wife tried to cut down as much as possible in the daily paper burning…but still a huge amount. For the two big bonfires the family basically had to consider any safety issues…no one else was around.

A lot of fighting caused by what I deemed selfish relatives. Some activities were not held but requested by relatives. For example, one relative wanted Mr Lai’s wife to hire the professional cryers. However, if hired that meant the female family members must accompany the cryers and crawl on their knees down the road to the house. My wife and her sisters refused….they had done this task before at their grandmother’s funeral

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What a lot of work, interesting description , I expect many of these ceremonial activities will not be performed in future.

The brother in law drinking the beers and putting them back was a nice touch.

I also attended some interesting funeral in my homeland not they only went on for about two or three days in total. We couldn’t attend the grandmothers funeral here as would be bad luck for the young children!

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beverage tower with flashing light


burning paper, clothers, shoes, etc.


container for burning


beer beverage gift


benz for burning


hanging meat to ward off ghosts


paper used for second bonfire

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I didn’t realise they burnt the clothes etc.
It’s very wasteful and a lot of pollution indeed.
Maybe the burning all the clothes thing comes from the plague times.

The refrigerator thing I know of, seen before …Kind of creepy with the body there for a week or two. Misted up fridge. It’s not exactly traditional is it!

How are they gonna drive if they don’t give the afterlife some gasoline?

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I did a piece on my Hong Kong funeral experience.

A FUNERAL IN HONG KONG

Introduction:

The wife’s dad had been in hospital for a while. He was an old dude, and shuffled off his mortal coil, as is the wont of old dudes. Wife was understandably grief-stricken.

Her: We have to go to Hong Kong next week for the funeral!

Me: Fuck that shit. I Don’t do funerals. Let the dead bury the dead. I didn’t even go to my mother’s funeral!

Her: It’s a family obligation. You’re married to the oldest child. You’re fucking going!

Me: Ah, fuck it. But what do I wear? I don’t have a suit.

Her: That shit is provided.

Me: perplexed What? They’re going to dress me? Hire a suit?

Her: Shut the fuck up and buy the fucking plane ticket.

I was extremely neurotic at this time, as I hate a) Hong Kong b) funerals and c) flying.

Day one:

We get to vile Hong Kong on Thursday night and have to wait for two hours for a vile overpriced taxi to take us to our vile abode, which, ironically, resembles a coffin in its spaciousness. Luckily, there is a vending machine that gleefully dispenses beer at exorbitant prices . I’m aching for a cigarette, and can’t smoke in the sarcophagus, so I take the elevator down from the 3256th floor. This takes an hour or two.

I get down eventually and light up a smoke, only to have a crowd of drunk Chinese tourists push me aside, screaming and shouting and bashing the shit out of each other.

Although I enjoy watching brutal spectator sports, I preferred to cross the road in this instance, and enjoy my vile cigarettes in relative privacy.

Day two:

It’s six a.m. I funnel myself into one of the coffin’s cubicles, weirdly named “the shower” and manage to wipe off most of the vile Hong Kong filth, and start my two-hour journey downstairs for my morning cigarettes. I pick up a beer from the gleeful vending machine on the way.

A bloke approaches me outside.

Him: Hey! Where are you from?

Me: I live in Taiwan, you?

Him: I’m from Sri Lanka.

Me: Decent cricket team. Haven’t been too good lately, though.

Him: Can I bum a cigarette? So where are you REALLY from?

Me: Yeah. South Africa, I suppose.

Him: Jacques Kallis!

Me: Yeah. Whatever. Isn’t he dead?

Mortality is top of the agenda this weekend.

We smoke a couple of cigarettes together, and then he asks me where to find a vegetarian restaurant. I’m like, “Dude, I dunno. I told you. I’m only here for a dead people weekend”. He glares at me, and much to my relief, slinks away.

I trudge back up to the 3256th floor. Luckily there isn’t a 4th floor because Chinese superstitious shit, which renders my ascent marginally less exhausting.

My darling wife is sitting on what could, in normal parlance, be described as “a bed”. If chopsticks ever slept, it would be perfect for one of them.

She’s folding bits of colorful paper.

I glace outside, through the unopenable, impenetrable window, and see a crane, about 2 km tall, tossing shit about.

Me: What are you doing?

Her: Making stuff for my daddy in the afterlife. Shoes, clothes, money, etc.

I know she doesn’t really believe that nonsense, is just going along with tradition, but is in a state of despair, so I sit down and help her make the little paper things. I actually excel at some of them, rendering me an origami aficionado.

She’s very grateful.

Later we go out to a ridiculously overpriced restaurant with the nieces. I sit outside, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. Eventually I go in and chomp on a piece of fish that is full of bones.

What little joy I had before is rapidly evaporating…

Day three, aka Dead Person Day:

It’s funeral time. I dress real nice, so that my gut isn’t spilling out. All in black, of course, which is not particularly unusual. Black is the colour of mourning, right? Wrong! In Chinese culture it’s white. More about that to follow.

We take an overpriced taxi to the death celebration.

Here’s where it starts to get even more weird.

The place is like a funeral factory. It’s somewhere on the outskirts of Hong Kong, and is ten long, separate halls, all in a row. Outside is a massive garbage heap of decaying flowers.

Me: Which one contains our corpse?

Her: I think it’s number three.

We head off to number three.

Outside, family members greet us. Some lackeys start to dress us appropriately. Because I am the husband of the oldest child, I am, bizarrely, afforded much respect. I seriously don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I blow with the wind.

They put white pants and a white gown on me, and then wrap a red headband around my bald pate. Apparently I am an important person. I don’t feel important; merely confused.

We go inside. It’s a large hall, with seats on the left and right. An enormous picture of the old guy is on the wall at the front, adorned with wreaths of flowers. I am told to sit in the specially demarcated area for immediate family, right in the front.

I sit down and take in the scene. The workers, nonchalant, who obviously do this on every auspicious day, start putting bouquets of flowers on all of the surrounding walls.

What catches my eye is a wreath right next to the dead bloke which says something in Cantonese, yet mentions my father’s name.

Me: wtf?

Wife: I did that. I bought a wreath from your dad.

Me: Okay. It probably cost a lot, but that’s nice of you.

I’m sitting there, and it’s baking hot. I’m sweating. Over my clothes are nurses’ attire and I’m wearing a headband. I look like a kung fu doctor, and feel like an American POW in the Vietnam war.

In front of the dead bloke’s picture is what could possibly be described as an “altar”. It’s packed with fruit, vegetables, and a ridiculous amount of unidentifiable, arcane objects. Oh, and incense. Tons of the shit. It resembles the aftermath of the carpet-bombing of Dresden in WW2, or the fiery finale of the incendiaries on Tokyo.

And behind this, is where they store the cadaver, in repose.

I told my dear wife, even before we left Taiwan. that I’m not going to look at dead people. She said “That’s fine. I’ll tell my family it’s a cultural thing”

Hence, I was spared the trauma of having to go around the back to gaze upon the dead dude, as all the family members had to do.

People kept arriving. Family, friends. Always, one of the siblings had to take them to see the corpse. It was pretty unsettling to see them come out weeping.

The hall is filling up now. Most people are dressed very casually: flip-flops and shorts. All banging away on their smart phones. Not my preconceived idea of what a solemn occasion should be. On the left side are family members. On the right side, friends.

And here’s me, sitting around, looking like a fat Bruce Lee, in the “special” section of this macabre vaudeville.

Wife goes around to the corpse. and arranges her gifts for the afterlife in his coffin. Luckily, I am spared from this joyous occasion. She is told by the paid ritual dude that the paper gifts are “nice”. I’m flattered, since I made a few of them in my high-rise casket.

The rituals: Too many to describe. I can’t remember half of them, but every few minutes I had to rush out, with incense in my hands, and bow when the paid ritual dude screamed “one, two, three!” In Cantonese, My poor wife has to be on her knees during these strange ceremonies. Luckily, I’m spared that hardship.

I’m burning for a cigarette. The lights are dimmed. The paid ritual dude charges around with a sword, banging effigies on the floor. Firecrackers go off.

Me: Honey, isn’t this costing a fucking fortune?

Her: Shut the fuck up. My daddy was an important man.

Me: Okay.

I eventually get a break to charge outside for a smoke. The nieces are there, looking as confused as I feel.

Me: What the fuck were those rituals all about? I didn’t understand a word of it.

Nieces: Neither did we. It was done in some ancient dialect. Anyway, we’re Christians.

Me: That’s nice, but what do you think it means or symbolizes?

Nieces: Beats the fuck out of us. Don’t have the faintest idea.

It was mildly relieving to learn that I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

The immediate family have to go outside to perform a money-burning ritual. Luckily I’m not included in this fascinating festivity.

After four hours of this shit, just when I think it’s all over, there comes another surprise.

The lackeys wheel the dead bloke out from the back, in his coffin. Paid ritual dude starts barking orders and incantations. People (some still banging on their phones) start lining up for one last look at the cadaver before it gets incinerated.

I avert my eyes.

Me: Honey, I’m not doing this.

Her: That’s fine. I told my family it’s a cultural thing.

After the crowd have taken one last look at the dead dude lying in state, I think, “At last I can get the fuck out of here!”

I’m seriously mistaken.

Wife: Get on the bus outside.

Me: Can’t we just go back to our cubicle?

Wife: Shut up and get on the fucking bus.

Now I’m exaggerating. My wife rarely uses foul language. But poetic license, and all that.

Me: Why the fuck are we travelling for an hour, in a tour bus, up to the top of a mountain?

Her: To burn him. Show some fucking respect!

Me: Okay.

We get to the cremation site. Paid ritual dude is charging around (having changed his attire for the 52nd time), barking orders and “one, two, three!” in Cantonese.

Just when I thought I’d avoided the gates of Hell, I enter the Abyss;.

The cremation torture area is a death conveyor belt. Imagine a dead people shopping mall.

I have to bow and scrape a few times (incense in my hands), and the eldest son is afforded the privilege of pushing a green button that sends the dead bloke in his coffin to his fiery doom.

Then I have to go outside, where they take off my nurse’s garb and burn it.

And it’s not over yet.

I still have to go to a horribly expensive aftermath - the “reception”.

I want to sit at the kids’ table, because that is where my nieces are, and they seem to be having a rollicking good time. But no. I am ordered to sit at the Very Important People table. I don’t feel important. I just want a fucking drink.

Eventually the wife brings a quart of beer over. It’s tepid. And I have to share it with everyone at the table. Luckily, I’m seated next to a drunken auntie with about two teeth in her mouth, who charges off to grab three tepid quarts of beer.

The eldest brother, who seems to be in charge of this afterparty, upon learning I’m vegetarian, generously orders a large bowl of mushroomy gloop for me.

I want to vomit. but I stoically sip on my tepid beer.

Day four:

Wife and I do a bit of sightseeing, and eventually fly the fuck out of brutal Hong Kong. I’m overwhelmingly happy to see my home and cats again.

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Just to be clear, Taiwanese funerals can differ by a lot. It looks like Mr. Tai was a Buddhist, so his funeral is based on Buddhist traditions.

I went to my grand fathers and my grandmas funerals in Taiwan. They were completely different experiences. My grandfather was Taoist, his funeral was much more straight forward and easy.

My grandma was Buddhist, and it was much longer of a process. Especially with the whole ceremonies and group chanting to help them reach enlightenment.

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Jeepers. For what its worth, i also MUCH prefer the street funerals outside the family home compared to those funeral company styles in those county selected districts. To each their own. We are there to support living family, in reality. Let them be comfortable, even if we are not :slight_smile: the practices during most religious ceremonies are normally nothing short of insane and a painfully obvious money grab from those taking advantage of such affiliated folks. But it makes them happy and justifies ther past…so, let it be?

Beer costs money and makes me and @jimipresley happy. Others cant grasp the use of narcotics for comfort. But a few hundred thousand to cartels vs a few thousand in drugs, and better results, speak for themselves :slight_smile:

Live and let live is what i say. Let them go crazy and grieve i say. the time for logic is exactly 6 months after. Later is fine, but some real skeletons can be decloseted if its still a little fresh…

To each their own. And…

RIP (just in case its not a scam).

My grandparent’s funeral was a bit different, I had to hold his picture in the front seat of the hearse as I am the eldest grandson.

Their body was not taken to a cremation facility, but they actually had a plot they had purchased way back when it was cheap, so their body went into a coffin and buried.

Having a dirt burial is like a special privilege in Taiwan.

Is a Viking funeral a possibility in Taiwan? Saves on having to purchase a plot and all that. There are plenty of sea for this too.

I hope to rot in the forest. Seems proper.

Your post is giving me flashbacks. Congrats on breaking your Taiwan Buddhist funeral cherry :laughing:

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Great quote .

That is not a practice / superstition that is easy for me to understand.

Guy

Ouch! You trying to get them to burn down half of Hualien?

Guy

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It suited us at the time, kids are incompatible with hanging around day and night.

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My uncle used to say, just roll me into the ditch. What a contrast to what is written above.

my family also doesn’t take young kids to funerals, not because of superstition as much as it not being a good fit for the kids and adults.

It’s also to protect their innocence. Take a young kid to a funeral and you guarantee they will become depressed.

I used to not think about mortality and death until I went to Chang Jin Guo’s funeral back in the day… it really made me scared. Especially seeing his lifeless body as we had to bow to him and all that.

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Squid game already took their innocence

For me it was Bambi.