Before I dive into this, I want to post a disclaimer: there is absolutely nothing wrong with visiting a loved one’s grave site, in quiet remembrance of the joy you shared with them. I absolutely don’t want to convey a sense of “right or wrong” on the matter, but rather my own personal reflection over time.
Many moons ago, my father, like many other fathers, would require his kids to indulge those absurdly bad comedic attempts we know as “dad jokes”. One of his most favorite ones was when we would drive past a cemetery, he would ask us, already giggling to himself, “Do you know why they put a fence around the graveyard?” Of course after the 50th time, we knew exactly what the answer was, but we were more than happy to oblige. “Why, dad?” Hardly able to contain himself, he would exclaim, “Because people are dying to get in!”
Me personally, I looked at it as a warning zone of what line you don’t want to be on the other side of. I prefer to be on the outside looking in on this particular topic, and well, so far I’ve been able to do so (thank you, Jesus).
Four years ago, my dad was finally given admission to the other side of the barrier, or at least his earthly body was. As he was a constant jokester, he would often say, “There’s two things you can’t escape in life: death and taxes.” Little did I know he’d have the last laugh, as he died on tax day, meaning I had to do his taxes. Nice one, dad. You beat the system.
So now his earthly body rests in a graveyard in northern Kentucky. A beautiful hillside, with lots of trees. I took my mother there a couple of times at first, but she is really no longer able to make the climb needed to stand in front of his marker. I started to feel a bit guilty myself of not going, but then I asked myself a question that was asked of the women at the tomb of Jesus so very long ago, “Why are you looking for the living among the dead?” (Luke 24:5)
I think it’s natural to want to continue our relationships with those that have gone before us in some manner of speaking, but I take comfort… no… I take joy in knowing where my earthy father has gone, and it’s not to a small plot on a grassy hill, but to be with our heavenly Father, experiencing the promise of everlasting life, in the place He went to prepare for us.
I think it’s important, therefore, to talk about what this life transition really means. In 2 Corinthians 5:1-10, Paul talks about the contrast between earthly and heavenly life.
1For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. 2 Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling, 3 because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked. 4 For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. 5 Now the one who has fashioned us for this very purpose is God, who has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come.
6 Therefore we are always confident and know that as long as we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord. 7 For we live by faith, not by sight. 8 We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord. 9 So we make it our goal to please him, whether we are at home in the body or away from it. 10 For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each of us may receive what is due us for the things done while in the body, whether good or bad.
Paul makes the contrast quite clear, comparing our life here in the “earthly tent” to the “heavenly dwelling”. I think even more interesting is that in Psalm 91:9-10, our existence again positions us in a tent.
If you say, “The Lord is my refuge,”
and you make the Most High your dwelling,
10 no harm will overtake you,
no disaster will come near your tent.
Obviously both the psalmist and Paul thought this was great imagery for our challenges while in this world. We all are living in a battered, tattered tent against the elements that this world throws our way. Our only protection is our Heavenly Father.
And so it is, that while I too experience the sorrow of losing a loved one, I rejoice in the fact that they are no longer a resident here, but living in communion with our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. He has Risen, and in turn takes us home when it is our time.
So that’s why I don’t visit graves. There’s nobody to visit there. Maybe it is a good place to get some quiet reflection and honor their life, but our loved ones are not there. We are seeking the living among the dead. Their tent has been folded up and put away, and they are in the arms of the One who saved us all from ourselves.
I wish you a glorious Easter, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit that lives on in each of us!
