The Resurrection and the Life

I had some professional business that required my attention down in Cordele last week. That part of the world holds a special interest to me. The area of Vienna and Cordele are where I find my roots.

Though I was born and reared in Macon, my folks migrated there after the close of World War II from the black dirt of Crisp and Dooly Counties.

My mother’s family came from along the highway between Vienna and Americus while my father’s tribe was from the Vienna, Cordele and Hawkinsville environs. I’m not a genealogical expert, though there is a cousin on my father’s side of the family who has researched everything back to Adam, but I still can’t name all of the ancestors from those parts. However; I do feel a certain kinship to that part of the world when I drive through its cotton fields and soybean patches.

As I crossed into Dooly County which has Vienna as its county seat, I decided that I needed to ride over to the Vienna cemetery and make sure everything was in order. I exited the interstate and drove through the Vienna square and into the cemetery. There are actually two plots in the Vienna cemetery that interest me, one for the Harden family who are my mother’s folks and one for the Browns who are my father’s folks.

I drove by the Harden plot and saw that the lot needs a little attention but that it was not in a total state of disrepair. The first funeral I ever attended was finalized in that plot. Little did I know that now over 40 years later that conducting funerals would be a part of my vocation. Most of my relatives on the Harden side of the family have passed and there are no family members in the area today.

The Brown plot on the other hand had new flowers and was in good order as there are still a few cousins around Vienna and Cordele. There is a lot of history in that plot with some of those buried there having observed the Civil War.

I made my way on down to Cordele, had lunch, attended to my duties and began the drive home. For some reason I felt a little nostalgic; so, I choose U.S. Hwy. 41 for part of my journey eschewing the freeway. After rejoining the Interstate 75 I pulled into Macon.

In Macon, I stopped by Glen Haven Gardens where my parents are buried. In as much as I looked in another cemetery I thought it important to visit my own parents’ burial plot as well. I have a cousin in Macon who is a wizard with floral design and she had placed a beautiful arrangement on my parents’ graves. I stood there for a moment and then drove away.

While I visited two cemeteries and three burial plots, I will not say that I spent time with my parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, or various aunts and uncles. Instead I will say I visited their monuments. I will say that I visited the places where the bodies have been buried. My parents, grandparents, great-grandparents and various aunts and uncles are not there.

The gospel of John tells us of a lady by the name of Mary who went to a cemetery one day. She went to visit the grave of a man named Jesus. Like my visit to the cemetery Mary found that the one whose grave she visited was not there. She discovered that he had risen from the dead. She didn’t quite understand all that had taken place.

Many years later as we contemplate Mary’s trip to the cemetery we don’t understand everything that happened that day. What we can say is that the power of God overcame the power of death. What we can also say is that because of what happened that day in the cemetery with Jesus means that when we visit the cemetery, be it Vienna, Macon, Monticello or anywhere else that we do not visit those whom we love; rather, we visit monuments to their lives. They are not there.

In rising from the grave Jesus Christ has declared that death does not have the final word. Instead, God has the final word and God’s final word for his children is not a word of death but a word of life. Jesus Christ is the resurrection and the life. For that reason we celebrate this Sunday on the day we call Easter.