Growing up near a cemetery gives a kid an interesting perspective bred by proximity to what on the surface prompts fear and uncertainty in most people. The cemetery bordered the neighborhood and as kids we used that vast space as a place to play.
There was a large, flat grassy space that with a row of tombstones on one side and the old road on the other made a perfect set-up for football as the boundaries provided natural sidelines and end lines. In the summer we road our bikes, go-karts and skate boards down the big cemetery hill and walked through the cemetery on the way to the community park.
Being kids and needing something to do on a summer’s evening, we issued dares and challenges to one another about who could walk around the cemetery in the dark of night. Our bravery was boosted by going in small groups and sticking together. However, that game plan came apart, quite literally, on one particular evening when one adult snuck into the cemetery and hid in wait for us to approach. We screamed and scattered leaving discarded flip-flops in our wake.
Through all this, we maintained respect for the cemetery. We were silent and respectful whenever we saw the long line of cars in a funeral procession. For several of us, it is where our families are laid to rest. Following the example established by our parents and grandparents, we continue the tradition of planting flowers on the graves of our family members in conjunction with every Memorial Day holiday.
I am not one who goes to the cemetery to visit the graves of my loved ones. I’ve used this line several times at funerals I have officiated and I believe its wisdom holds true, “Though the ones who have passed on are no longer in all the familiar places where we are used to seeing them; they are now wherever we are and wherever we go, they remain a part of us.” In many ways, that truth is a wonderful, working definition of a saint.
At the graveside service for my mother, as the last Amen was lifted and persons went back to their vehicles, each person in our family went to and touched my mother’s casket…leaving our fingerprints; a symbolic gesture signifying how my mother and her love and influence touched each of our lives individually and collectively and would remain with us. Saints do that and we are blessed.
Today, 2 November, is “Look for Circles Day.” I understand saints as being big circle makers and circle finders. These are folks who always make room for one more at the supper table; who notice and talk to and invite the “outsider” into the circle; who look for ways to join hands with others and “draw the circle wide and wider still.”
sj;
©kitetails_sjs
