By Rev Richard Bennet
My Grandfather Lyon, in addition to being a white collar exec with American
Brass, was also the administrator of the Pine Grove Cemetery in Ansonia, CT. As a
child, I remember the cemetery as an imposing and most exotic space filled with
birdsong, frogs in the ponds, and undulating small and often steep green hills
bespeckled with old and new gravestones.
- my mom and dad are buried in this cemetery … and
- goodly numbers of the Lyon side of the family, relatives I never knew …
- and …. my older brother Frederick Lyon who died mangled in childbirth.
- (the Bennetts were buried in a Catholic Cemetery cross town.)
As a youngish child, I didn’t understand what an early start we were having with
such an immersion of life and death images. Both topographically and spiritually,
the multi-layered burial ground ran up and down a rather broad rolling sweep of
small hills replete with mini-valleys, small ponds, cul-de-sacs, and tight little
pathways all ably abetted by a narrow crushed stone road wending its way
here/there/round-abouts. Grandfather’s cemetery crew was first rate; the
grounds were always perfectly manicured. Up to a point, it was a super place for
exploring.
Weekends we’d often go with Grampa Lyon when he’d ‘look in on things.’
With little awareness, with the innocence of childish eyes we were unknowingly
experiencing multiple visual juxtapositions of Christ on the cross against counter-
poses of ‘empty crosses.’ Just over there in the valley stood a marvelously ornate
cross bedecked by a suffering Jesus. And, only a knoll or two beyond the hanging
Christ, but still in plain sight, an empty cross reached up and up high enough so
that under the right conditions, if we lay down in the grass deep enough under
the sweep of a massive ancient oak, we could appreciate cloud formations
rolling/dancing/drifting on by.
Down by one of the ponds, backed into a hillside was moss-covered crypt. Its
outermost doorway was an old rusted black iron gate; the iron gate which could
swing only ‘so far’ (we tested its swing) had been fashioned with ‘a stop’ so that
it never could be completely closed up. Later on in life, Grandpa Lyon told me that
before the gate finally rusted into its own firm stillness, it used to swing &
sway in various attitudes of openness. Seems the family wanted it this way; had
it constructed this way … always open … never completely shut tight!
Being so young, it was some time before we could appreciate all the graces
and nuances of what we always called ‘Grampa’s cemetery. Layer upon layer of
death lived here. But! Life lived here too! Beneath crosses with the Christ affixed
& crosses stark plain empty, lay stories of immigrants, mill workers, the high and
mighty, the well known and the long forgotten.
Oh, how we used to play in this extensive and beautiful grave yard. We used to
play ‘hide and seek’ until one day, (probably when he decided it was nigh time to
begin teaching us about the ranges of life) Grampa yelled at us; said we were on
‘holy ground,’ that playing ‘hide ‘n seek’ no longer was proper behavior. You see
up until then, we didn’t personally know any of the folk who’d been laid to rest
here. We’d no idea that over time, this was the place which would mark the
beginning of new life for our own family; and for sure, we didn’t know that
Grampa Lyon would be the first of our family to be placed in the hillside plot
where perpetual light would season the view. It probably wasn’t until about age
ten or so that I learned that Fred, my older brother had been placed in the ground
only four days after his birth.
Sooner or later, for all of us, it happens. Confronted with death’s stark realities,
cemeteries may seem more like prisons than playgrounds: prisons holding hope
hostage, locking away dreams & memories, and slamming shut any door leaning toward the future. Whenever this happens, graveyard visits more regularly find companionship with more
shades of tears than shouts of joy.
Just ask Mary & Salome & Mary Magdalene! After the unthinkable horrors of
Good Friday, on the first day of the week, in the early morning darkness, raw
shock amplified their grief. The stone had been rolled away! The tomb was
empty! Jesus’ body was gone! ‘They’ – whoever ‘they’ were – had won! The
powers of evil were just too strong. Now closing my eyes, I see them, Salome &
the Mary’s, confusion abounding as tears of fear, frustration, helplessness, and
anger flow freely.
Mark’s telling us the white robed man’s saying: “Don’t be amazed. He isn’t here;
he has risen!” didn’t help them overmuch. No doubt, that early Sonday morning
their grief was rapidly multiplying. Listen now! Maybe if all we get real quiet we
can hear their keening. It’s a universal sound being lifted daily in places of war-
torn confusion. What’s more proper than weeping and wailing in these
moments? No respect for the death? Sad but true, the ‘powers and principalities
of evil’ still run rampant.
When we’re held captive to technological tyranny (“your call is important to us –
please keep hanging”), crass consumerism (“buy now,” “take a tuck & find your
years melting away to a younger you”), nationalistic militarism (of course …“to
make the world safe”), and when we’re suffocating in tombs of ‘corporate
advancement’ (where oil execs get $400 million dollar retirement packages at
the same time many regular folk are forced into tough choices between
medicine, food, and fuel), when all hope appears to be on the wane, what can we
do but weep?
It wasn’t so long ago that Mary and the other disciples had been playing ‘follow
the leader’ with Jesus … running through graveyards, thumbing their noses at
death. Remember Lazarus? From beneath the earth, Lazarus walked right out
when Jesus called “Allie, Allie in free!”
Back then, in Galilee, itself ‘the Promised Land,’ Jesus dared them to imagine a
different world, a world where Masters wash servant’s feet; and ‘the winner’ is
the one who comes in last, a world where the controlling myth of scarcity is
blown apart by a multitudinous 5,000 person hillside banquet served from the
contents of a little boy’s lunchbox. In a world where, instead of survival of the
fittest the richest and the most heavily armed find themselves in the company of
the Christ where wolves and lambs sit tableside together!!!
Then they had been children playing in the cemetery. But now, now, “they’ve
taken away my Lord?” Their dream is lost … surely! Back then, the graveyard’s
silence echoed bondage to the powers of death, defeat, dis-ease, and despair.
Depending on which Easter story we read, there’s a moment when Mary
does/does not recognize Jesus in the gardener/young man. You and I do know
from our life experience that in moments like these, sometimes we’re graced to
get it all-at-once (Ah! Epiphany!). But most times it takes significant time and
space, and even more life experience, before things can ‘settle in.’
Maybe the Mary’s and Salome really didn’t say anything to anyone immediately …
would you? But later on in John’s telling of the story we find the Mary’s moving
‘from weeping to witnessing.’ Coming to a deep place in her heart … that deep
place where God’s Truth transcends mere fact … Mary knows what we all can
come to know.
At the edge of despair, hard by an empty tomb it comes to Mary that that ‘young
man dressed in a white robe’ (John says ‘angel’) was no ordinary young man.
Understanding begins to rise; ‘astonished and trembling’ new possibility &
purpose find their dawning.
It begins to come to Mary that disciples, believing & trusting in God’s mercy don’t
have to play by any conventional rules, that the God of all Creation is an
unconventional God, that miracle/mystery/majesty are, (definitely for sure) basic
to all of life! While Mary begins to know this out of her own graveside moment;
most of us come to it ‘after the fact’ when death has touched us and we come to
find ourselves spending the rest of our lives holding loved ones in ways we never
before could imagine. In Jesus’ rising to new life, bondage to the evils of death is
broken. We’re set free for new life. Set free to imagine the world in a whole new
way.
I remember sitting in the cemetery some several years after Grampa Lyon died.
I’d gone back as an adult to spend some time at the plot of mom and dad and my
brother Frederick I never knew. I was watching the clouds dance above that
rusty heavy black gate that still never closed completely. (Yes! I tried it, touched
it!)
It wasn’t morning at all. It was in the midst of the afternoon of my own life when
a family, with children too young for funerals, came in. The boys, I’d guess
5sh/6ish or so, piled out of the car crying out … “where’s all the people?” The
mom/grandmom said, “They’re all with Jesus …”
Hard to know how the lads understood this; but they sure didn’t linger for long
beside any gravestone. Soon they were running, as children will, playing in the
cemetery, exclaiming over the variety of old tombstones. Suddenly the youngest
stopped, stared, and ran over to the crypt with the gate still wide open … “Look
he cried, “That must be where Jesus lives!”
Oh! The wonderful logic of a child. As the breeze was just right for over-hearing, I
heard the mom/grandmom confess quietly to the dad/granddad … “Could be …
but he’s long gone now. He’s long gone and he’s already come back more than
once or twice, and no doubt he’ll be coming back again soon’s they’re able to
begin to understand a bit more.” She took up the hand of the dad/granddad,
looked up into the swirling whirling late afternoon dancing of light cirrus clouds,
the wind freely whisping her hair about and she said: “He’s free … and so are
we!” Indeed! Christ is Risen …(and still Rising indeed!) Amen.
A true story of my own experience …
A Children’s Story “The Easter Turtle”
God told his angel, Ripley, to find some volunteers to help the people of the world celebrate Easter. Because Ripley had been a Racoon when he lived on earth, he went to the woods by the lake where he had many friends.
Ripley Raccoon put a sign up on the big tree. It said: HELP WANTED – WORK FOR GOD – EASTER SUNDAY – MEET BY THE ROCK AT 2 O’CLOCK. SHARP! As two o’clock approached, several animals gathered by the big rock eager to hear how they could be God’s helpers.
Fletcher the Turtle had been taking a nap in the sun on top of the big rock for another several hours. Eventually, the chatter of the animals woke him up … but Fletcher didn’t bother to stick his head out of his shell. You see, Fletcher, like many folks these dayze, would prefer just to go back to sleep.
Ripley stood before the excited group of animals and told them to quiet down, especially Sir B.R(abbit) Bunny, aka Bunny Bunny, who was hopping up and down in the front row. Ripley told them that he needed two volunteers to help the people of the world celebrate Easter.
“First,” Ripley said, “I need someone to deliver Easter candy.” B.R. Bunny jumped right on it! He was hopp-hop-hopping up and down, shouting “Ooh, Ooh, pick me!” He certainly seemed qualified, in having sufficient quick energy, for the job. So, Ripley said, “OK! Sire Bunny, you can deliver the candy.”
“Now,” said Ripley, “I need another volunteer to deliver the Good News of Easter.”
He looked out over the group. Several of the animals had their hands up. But just then he saw something moving on top of the big rock.
“Hey! You there in the back, the one nodding your head,” said Ripley, “you can deliver the Good News.”
Fletcher Turtle, since he couldn’t sleep because of all the noise, had just then decided to see what was going on. Slowly, he stretched out his long neck to get a good look. All the animals turned and looked straight at Fletcher.
“Are you talking to me?” Fletcher asked (note: Ed Norton voice!).
“Yes,” said Ripley, it will be your job to go to every house on Easter morning and deliver the news that Jesus is Risen! You will be ‘The Easter Turtle!’”
Well, you well can imagine, Fletcher was very excited to be chosen to do such important work for God … but, you know it is pretty hard to tell when a turtle is excited. In fact, pretty quick, even for a turtle, right soon Fletch pulled his head back into his shell and went back to sleep.
The bunny, still hopping up and own, said to Ripley, “Don’t worry, I’ll wake him up bright and early Easter morning and we’ll start out together to bring Easter to every family.”
Question? Did the Easter Bunny AND! the Easter Turtle come to YOUR house this Easter morning?
What? Only the bunny came? There was no sign of the Easter Turtle. Hmm, well, maybe that’s not so surprising. We have to remember that turtles don’t move very fast. I’m thinking that ‘The Easter Turtle’ is still on his way. At his own pace and rate, Fletcher just might get to your house by next Tuesday, or on the Seventh of July, or the day before Halloween … but he’ll get there! He’ll get there because he is carrying The Good News!
You will have to check every morning to see if the Easter Turtle has come. Look under your bed; look in your yard. But don’t ever stop looking! The Easter Turtle will come with the Good News, JESUS IS Risen! It will be a bit of a surprise and then you can look forward to having Easter once again.
“If you (children, no matter what your age) haven’t seen the Easter Turtle telling the Good News that Jesus has Risen, then you’ll just need to tell your friends … telling your friends & your neighbors the Good News. And when the Easter Turtle shows up maybe next Tues, or on July 7, or next Halloween, you can celebrate with Fletcher that the Good News is traveling even steadier than a turtle can hurry, steadier than a bunny running/rushing on short-lived, high octane, pure sugar, quick-as-a-blink and then he’s gone before you can even begin to know what he said.
You see … the Easter Bunny is for ‘quick time.’ The Easter Turtle is for ‘deep time.’ You see. … Sometimes God’s own Good News doesn’t come to us too quickly. And the Easter Turtle’s message is definitely no temporary ‘bunny-born sugar high.’ … it’s a message that grows slow and deep, it’s the solid message of God’s Love that lives even longer than a turtle’s own life.
Rev Richard Bennett