…From the Kandinsky painting All Saints Day
There is a very meaningful cluster of dates as we leave October and enter into November. October 30 is my brother’s birthday. He would have been 69 years old this year. October 31 is Halloween which is a date that always brings smiles and joy to me as I watch children (and adults) dress up and become someone they only dream of being. November 1st is my husband’s birthday and also the day we celebrate All Saints Day in the Church. And then today, November 2, is All Souls Day, the day we remember those who have died, or as the Book of Common Prayer says, …for those we love but see no longer.
While Tom and I were on our recent Great Autumn Adventure road trip we found ourselves in cemeteries more than once. We searched without success for the graves of my father’s parents. We found the cemeteries but not the graves. I wondered if there were ever gravestones as his parents were quite poor. Or perhaps the stones have just disintegrated in the last 100 years. So many questions but so few answers.
We found the grave of my great-aunt Sister Mary Gerard in the beautifully peaceful Sisters of Mercy cemetery in Cresson, Pennsylvania. The dates on her gravestone are the year she professed her vows as a Sister of Mercy—1907—and the date she died—1967. Her name at baptism was Esther; I find it interesting that a different first name is given when one professes one’s vows but you keep your family name—Finan.
We found Tom’s father’s grave near a Reformed Mennonite Church which Tom remembers attending occasionally as a child (he remembers that the sermon was very, very, very, very long…) surrounded by corn fields near Strasburg, Pennsylvania. While we stood at Tom’s father’s grave an Amish farmer was plowing the field nearby with his four draft horses.
We had an upsetting visit to Tom’s mother’s and grandparents’ graves in the historic but very unkempt Greenwood Cemetery in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. We discovered their gravestones had been knocked off their bases and scattered topsy-turvy on the ground.
It wasn’t vandalism—Tom is quite strong but could not even begin to budge these gravestones— but more likely a careless worker who knocked into the stones with a backhoe or some other piece of equipment while clearing away fallen tree limbs. Or at least that is my theory. Greenwood Cemetery could use about $ 100,000 of tree work. Remember this if you ever think of planting a tree in a cemetery.
Little acorns and saplings do indeed grow into mighty oaks that do indeed age, lose their large branches in storms and sometimes fall destructively.
We visited the beautifully designed Flight 93 Memorial in Shanksville. I am not sure I have ever had such an overwhelming sense of being on holy ground. The National Parks Service has done an incredible job in preserving this site in a respectful way that honors and remembers those who died on that September day in Pennsylvania, most likely preventing hundreds, if not thousands, of others from dying had their flight made its return to Washington, D.C. When Flight 93 crashed they were only 18 minutes away from the Capitol.
My brother is buried in the same cemetery in North Carolina with our parents, our grandparents, our aunt, and multiple great-aunts and great-uncles. He died very suddenly and unexpectedly at age 62. His death was a shock and heart-breaking in so many ways to those of us who loved him and who expected to have many more years enjoying his presence. His presence was so delightful. It really was. He was a fun and funny fellow.
We miss him. We miss him a lot. Cemeteries are places of sorrow but they are also places of love. A love that passes all understanding. I like it that my brother is not alone there but with many other family saints who touched our lives throughout the years.
It is a somewhat strange tradition to visit graves. Perhaps it is because it is the last tangible thing we have, the final way to be with someone, to remember them. It is our way of honoring a person, a gesture of showing that their life mattered to us, made a difference. It is a wonderful thing to remember all the joy and love someone gave to the world around them; it is a wonderful thing to stand at a grave and give thanks for that love and joy, for that wonderfully human person who blessed us in so many ways.
Or to stand at a grave and forgive someone for the hurt and the pain they caused us here on earth; for let’s be realistic, not every person has spent their earthly time spreading love and joy to others. Perhaps standing at a grave is the last chance to let go of the suffering we have endured, the deep sorrow that has haunted us.
Perhaps the other reason to visit a cemetery is to think about our own life and to ponder what our life means and how we would like to be remembered, but more importantly, how we would like to live
I often used this blessing (adapted from Swiss philosopher Henri-Frederic Amiel) at the end of a service when I was serving as a priest:
Life is short. And we do not have much time to gladden the heart of others. So be swift to love and make haste to be kind…
Dear Jeanne (& Tom).... what a moving tribute to those who have died. I have been feeling tears for some time now as my dear husband Anthony died November 8th, 2009. Your writing moves me and tickles me for the simplicity and heart felt way you express what we all share and feel at times. Just like your sermons, which I miss. Love, Anna
Thank you for this - All Saints Day and All Souls Day are two of my favorite days.