An Afternoon in a Graveyard

I’m eating my lunch in a graveyard.
Human seeds have been planted in neat little rows. Stone stakes label the crop.

~ N.D. Wilson in Notes From The Tilt-A-Whirl


I like cemeteries.
The names, the epitaphs, the iconography, the quiet.
I like the sadness, the melancholy, the stab of pain, the bracing reality of death.

I hate death.
I hate the ripping and tearing, the long separation, the disruption, the destruction.
Death is my enemy.
I whisper John Donne’s words, “Death, thou shalt die.”


I believe.
Weekly, we quote the Apostle’s Creed:
I believe in the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting.


Grief for Little Charlie. Grief for Little Charlie’s mom.




So personal: My Mother. Our Son.

A hollow emptiness.

Spring time is perhaps the best time to visit a cemetery.

 Spring’s blossoms sing an ancient melody ~
after death comes the resurrection.


Our favorite epitaph.

 Your life in five words?

6 thoughts on “An Afternoon in a Graveyard

  1. I wonder who James Rumley was.  Moving epitaph certainly.  And I wonder where this graveyard is.  Incidentally, Jurgen Moltmann points out that whereas graveyards used to be in the center of a community (often at the church) they are now located on the outskirts of towns and cities.  As if death can be relegated to the margins of life.

  2. @jackug – My thoughts ran along the same lines. I love the idea of the church being the caretakers of graveyards. Actually the rise in cremation is making graveyards obsolete.PS – we are vacationing on the coast of North Carolina. Beaufort, where this graveyard is, was settled in 1709.

Leave a Reply to jackug Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s