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 The
funeral is over. Family and friends have gone. The echo of songs
and sermon has faded. Silence settles like fog over this
cemetery as I walk amid the graves. Serious reflections flood my
thoughts uninvited.
Look
at those two headstones side by side. One is inscribed to Susie,
a three year old victim of a childhood disease; the other marks
the grave of “Granny” who died a few months later at the age
of eighty. What solemn reminders of the unannounced visits of
the grim reaper. None are exempt. All tread the way to the
grave. The dust claims the moldering body; all are penniless.
The influential could not persuade death to pass him by; the
rich could not buy another minute. “And as it is appointed
unto men once to die, ...“ That even includes me! It seems so
unreal that I must die! The haunting refrain returns — ” As
the life of a flower, as a breath or a sigh, so the years glide
away, and alas, we must die.”
Look
at the inscriptions. All express hope for a resurrection.
Doubter’s words are not inscribed on tombstones. Scriptures
best express man’s hope. But no doubt some would prefer ‘ever
to wake. Many are not prepared; many have been deceived.
Resurrection means judgement.
Ah,
look at this grave — the plot and plight of the
procrastinator. “I am going to come as soon as I get all
straightened out.” And my joking barb in reply, “Don’t
wait until the undertaker straightens you out.” Somehow I
found no humor in the thought when they called to say he was
dead.
However,
I remember a funeral that was
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even harder. Let me see There is the
grave by that big Oak. He was a faithful Christian for years
before he quit — said he wasn’t having much fun. He knew his
duty and expected to return to the Lord before he died. I guess
he died sooner than he expected. What a gamble to lose!
I
learned at his funeral of the sorrow of people without hope. The
family knew the Bible, and they knew his willful sin. He robbed
my sermon of all comfort and his family of all hope. It was so
sad!
It
was such a contrast to the funerals of the righteous. All lament
their death; none doubt their future. It is not difficult to
find words of comfort and hope. Even more, righteousness must be
consolation to a man on his death bed knowing that life is
ebbing away. He could say, like Paul, I have finished my course,
I have kept the faith: henceforth there is laid up for me a
crown of righteousness...“
Over
here lies my friend. He was not a Christian — it may have been
my fault. I wanted to say something to him about his soul but
never did. I was afraid I might offend him or say the wrong
thing. Oh, how I wish I had tried! May God forgive me! A cold
shudder passes over me when we sing, “You Never Mentioned Him
To Me.”
The
sun is setting. I must leave, but I will come again to think. It
is strange to learn such important lessons about life in a
cemetery. Joe Fitch
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