Last weekend, we buried my grandmother’s remains. She died in March, but because the family plot is so far from where we all live, we waited until a time when the most people would be available to come to the service. My aunt planned a small-ish graveside service at the church cemetery where my dad’s and grandfather’s remains are also.
Every time I return to this cemetery, I am almost overwhelmed by its beauty. There are no headstones – only flat markers. A large cross stands near our family’s plot, and a huge tree stands guard directly overhead…its roots are pushing Dad’s grave marker up year by year.
To be at the cemetery in the Fall was a first for me. The colors on the trees were all around us – and they enveloped us with their vibrancy. A rainstorm threatened – but the rain ended as we gathered around the grave and started again as we left to head indoors. I forgot to bring a kleenex – and the wind dried my tears.
As we went through the service, the minister read the Gospel lesson for the day – John 11:17-27 – the story of Jesus coming to see Mary and Martha after their brother, Lazarus, has died. The resurrection language is apparent – but what got me – what absolutely choked me with tears to the point where I almost couldn’t breathe – was, “…if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
As I heard these words, I was standing between my dad’s younger brother, and my dad’s grave.
“…if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
The words resonated in me, again and again.
I’ll be honest – sometimes the stories of healing in the Gospels really piss me off. I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to figure out why Jesus healed so many in the Gospels and didn’t heal my dad. Later, I asked the same questions when my mom got sick and died. Really, this comes back to a basic human question – “WHY?”
I have to be honest – I don’t know. I don’t know why my dad died at age 29 and my mom at age 60. I don’t know why anyone dies, really, no matter what their age. I don’t know why some people suffer and some people die peacefully. There are some deaths which seem to make more sense than others, but I don’t even completely understand why that is. And sometimes, I just have to dwell with those very painful questions for a while, even as I know that I won’t find complete answers.
And in the dwelling with all these questions, there is tremendous learning. There is learning and growth, and somehow out of this, the Holy Spirit plants faith and hope, and soon, the questions matter less than they once did. Time heals the wounds.
