It is to such as these

I sit underneath the shade of an oak tree in Mount Hope cemetery. Its shadow uniformly protects me as I lean against the ridges of its trunk. I look past my bent knees and see grave markers. In front of me lies Terrill Scott. Dried grass obscures his middle name, but I’m too nervous to sweep it away. I hear a woman on her cell phone, frantically walking up and down the grass rows behind me searching for someone. She says this is weird because she’s been here so many times. Her young son follows behind with a playful hop.

I am thankful for grave markers. They only reveal a name, birthday, deathday and sometimes a hopeful phrase or Scripture, but they are important. They give honor to a life. Terrill’s says “In Loving Memory Of...” The dead should be properly buried and properly remembered, not as if they were still living, but a ceremony worthy of the gift of their life.

I catch a glimpse of the boy again. He is tromping on headstone and grave-site alike. Even his mother steps heavy on the grass above the dead bodies. It doesn’t seem right to be stepping on everyone’s dead body, but it doesn’t seem that wrong either. If anything seems wrong it would be to step above someone and not know they are underneath. I am thankful for grave markers.

“To another he said, “Follow me.” But he replied, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” But Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.””

Looking down again, next to Terrill lie the Cottner’s, sorta. Below their shared last name I read Ira E. (1889 – 1975). Next to her Mayme L. (1901 - ). She isn’t dead yet? That would make her 109 years old. Or maybe Mayme has died, but she just hasn’t arrived here yet while her grave waits. Waits for her to die, or to be buried, or for the money to move her body next to Ira. I stare down past the grass at the blank after the hyphen. I realize I have a grave waiting somewhere too. It seems distant, but real. I will die someday.

But I’m not scared. I have faith in the coming kingdom of God. I have faith that my final resting place will be a resurrection from the dead. I know that I sit on only bodies, lifeless bodies. God is the one who grants life, and life eternal. A life of
peace, not strife. Calm, not worry.

My thoughts are interrupted by the woman finally coming up to me. She asks if I have been here long? Have I seen two other men standing by a particular spot? I regrettably tell her I got here right before she did and she thanks me anyways. As she walks away her boy calls to me. He stammers through a child-like whisper, “The-flowers-are-so-pretty-and-smell-nice-in-the-water.” I look over and see a small bouquet of yellow and blue resting in a vile. He squats his body to drop his head on top of them, smiling at me as he breathes deep.

“Jesus called for them and said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.”