In the month of October, my
entertainments moments often turn to horror stories. I recall the early
Frankenstein and vampire stories. I still like to watch them on Turner Classic Movies. As I got a little older, I liked the classic
stories as written. I read the stories of Edgar Allen Poe with intrigue and
enjoyment. For some people, the stories of Goosebump by R. L. Stine or the
stories of Stephen King provide the same type of enjoyment.
Halloween was a never a favorite
American observance of mine. Going up to strangers asking for candy was just
not appealing. I do not really like dressing up in horror costumes, although I get
enjoyment out of the joy others seem to find in doing so. One congregation of which I was pastor had a wonderful party. One year, one of the members dressed up in a "bag lady" costume that stumped everyone.
I have been pastor of congregations
that had a graveyard as part of their property. I actually like walking in
them. People used to put sayings on tombstones. In one such graveyard, I saw a
set of five stones from one family. The first four were children who died very
young, and the fifth was the wife who died at the birth of her final child. The
next stone, several decades later, was her husband. One easily imagines the
pain in this family.
In the past, if you wanted to visit
a graveyard, you would not go to one the cemetery of today or to a mausoleum,
but you would go to church. The graveyards of the past were planted around the
church, creating a community of the "quick and the dead" - quick
inside, dead outside.
For believers it was important to
be buried within the borders of sanctified ground from which rose both the
church building - the center of the living saints' worship life - and the
communal cemetery - the final resting place for all past generations of saints
who had lived and died as believers.
Some congregations are recovering
this tradition by having a memorial area where one can place cremated remains. When
I first heard it, it sounded odd. However, one person, who had clearly bought a
spot, found it comforting that her remains would be part of the church at which
she had worshipped for decades.
Such a notion of placing the dead
near a place of worship is the opposite of our usual experience of isolating
the cemetery from our line of sight. Rather, when we worship near the dead, we
have the constant reminder of the reality of death.
To whom do you belong?
You belong to God.
You do not belong to your parents.
You do not belong to your community. You do not belong to yourself. You belong
to God.
Steve Wilson of Meadow Grove
Baptist Church in Brandon, Mississippi, shocks our sterile sensibilities by
insisting that "God's power works best in a graveyard."
He invites us to look at the
Lazarus story:
"It is never hopeless with
God. God's power works best in a graveyard. What is happening in your life? Are
you ready to give up? Do you think it is too late for even God to help? Are
your plans dead? Are your dreams dead? Is your hope dead? God's power works
best in a graveyard."
Or look at the Luther story: At one
point in his flight from both civil and ecclesiastical authorities, Luther was
forced to take refuge among the bats and owls of a cold, dark and dank Wartburg
castle. Lonely and depressed, he wrote, "I had rather burn on live coals
than rot here." Smoke was rising from the charcoal burners outside his
room. But as he watched, a wind came up and blew the smoke away. In that moment
his doubt dissipated and his faith was restored.[1]
Or look at the C.S. Lewis story.
Lewis, an Oxford don and Christian apologist of the middle decades of this
century, married late in life and then lost his wife, Joy, to cancer. In his
graveyard of grief, he muses:
"Meanwhile, where is God? When you
are happy ... and turn to him with gratitude and praise, you will be welcomed
with open arms. But go to him when your need is desperate, when all other help
is vain, and who do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of
bolting and double-bolting on the inside. After that, silence. You may as well
turn away. The longer you wait, the more emphatic the silence will
become."[2]
Or look at the Jesus story: Wilson
writes,
"I wonder if in your pain, you
have lost sight of Jesus. Can you not see that he is at work all around you? Do
you not know you are in his presence? Listen, you can hear him calling your
name! He wants to resurrect your hope. He wants to give you life. When life
looks the worst, God is at his best. God's power works best in a
graveyard" (swilson@ucmail.com, May 18, 1998).
[Take a moment and reflect upon how the power of God works
best in a graveyard.]
Where is your graveyard?
Where in your life are you most
bereft of hope? Where do you feel most helpless? Where are you most at your
wits' end? It is there, precisely there, that God can work best. Where life is
worst, God is best. God does his best work in a graveyard.
In Lamentations 3:18, Jeremiah
complains, "Gone is my glory, and
all that I had hoped for from the LORD." But a couple verses later
(3:20-24), he affirms that, although his "soul ... is bowed down," he
has not forgotten, nor has he lost all hope: "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to
an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. 'The LORD is my
portion,' says my soul, 'therefore I will hope in him.'"
Hymnwriter Thomas Chisholm based
the words to "Great Is Thy Faithfulness" on this text. But at one
point Chisholm makes an error in his representation of the passage. Remember
the chorus?
Great is thy faithfulness!
Great is thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning, new mercies I see ...
Oops! Did the hymnwriter get it
wrong? The Bible clearly states that Jeremiah did not see. He didn't see a thing!
In the words of David C. Needham, who first brought this to my attention,
Jeremiah had no visible evidence of God's mercies at all. Morning by morning
brought horror, pain and dread, but not "new mercies." Jeremiah could
not say, "I trust you because I understand it all - because I've got it
all figured out." He could only say, "I trust you because you are God
and you cannot lie" (Close to His Majesty [Portland, Oreg.: Multnomah,
1987], 94-95).
No, the hymnwriter did not get it
wrong. God was working in Jeremiah's graveyard, enabling him to "see"
what no one else could see. Like C.S. Lewis, he could only say, "We cannot
understand. The best is perhaps what we understand least" (59). God was
working in the Thessalonians' graveyard, giving them the courage to bear the
name of Jesus. God was working in the graveyard of the early Church as they
bore witness to the faith. God was working in Luther's graveyard, and God is
working in our graveyards today.
God's power works best in a graveyard!
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