On Easter morning, I wandered in the graveyard on the
idyllic grounds of a 156-year-old church, scraping moss from aged headstones
and imagining the stories of lives represented by names and dates. For most, there was very little to be guessed
but a few tales of sorrow: a widow of thirty-six years, four infants lost by
one family. In truth, every gravestone
bears silent witness of someone’s loss, someone’s pain. Many of the stones in that churchyard are so
old that no one now living would even remember the owners of the petrified
names.
This might seem a rather dismal way to have spent a bright
Easter morning, no matter how lovely the cemetery landscaping. But I can’t think of a better place to
commemorate the first Easter, which also began at a grave. Because of that day so long ago, we have hope
that “six feet under” is not the end.
The glorious truth of this hymn by Christian F. Gellert echoed through
my mind on Easter Sunday and since – what a wonderful hope we who love the Lord
have on the other side of our graves!
Jesus lives, and so
shall I:
Death, thy sting is
gone forever!
He for me hath
deigned to die,
Lives the bands of
death to sever.
He shall raise me
from the dust:
Jesus is my hope and
trust.
Jesus lives – and
death is now
But my entrance
into glory;
Courage, then, my
soul, for thou
Hast a crown of
life before thee.
Thou shalt find thy
hopes were just:
Jesus is my hope and
trust.