Easter in a Graveyard

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.