One of the notable features of rural churches is the presence of the cemetery next to the church building. Sunday I realized that I missed this juxtaposition of life and death. A mid-morning phone call interrupted my preparations for the Sunday gathering–my youngest was worn out from his bike ride to church. So off I went in the van to pick him up. Mountainview Cemetery is a fantastic corridor for walking or riding between our house and the church building. As I drove through the cemetery I was able to praise God for the framework He has given my life through faith in Christ. I was able to wave at friends who were walking through the graveyard to join us at Cityview. I was able to pray for Vancouver, seeking God for the peace of the city. I was able to reflect on the memories I have of people who have blessed my life but have died. I was able to attend again to the fact that my body is mortal. I was able to ask again that God would give me grace to convey words of life to our congregation.
It seems to me that urban people in Vancouver are able to access much of the despair of death. However, many keep personal reflection on the common end of us all at arms length. I have been astonished at the number of thirty-year-olds I have met who are attending their first funeral. I miss the juxtaposition of life and death that was afforded me as a kid. It was the positioning of life and hope. There were more songs about heaven, hope, and perhaps even more conversation about the messy realities of life. There was a greater sense that though I enjoyed a rootedness to life, I am still a stranger, just passing through. This is not my final address. What I do here, and the manner in which I live though matters–and that is a great message contained with the Gospel of Jesus that can get lost without the physical juxtapositions of life and death.
