Country roads of northeast Texas are decorated with small community cemeteries.  You’ll see sections filled with the same last name.  Generations all buried together. Most plots are covered in scorched grass, others in freshly moved dirt. 

In recent days, I’ve had the pleasure of visiting three of these holy sites. Not as one grieving a family member, but as pastor.

I like to bring a sense of formality to rather casual graveside services. I have a preferred funeral attire – black three-piece suit, black shoes, tie to match my mood. I begin with the threefold purpose of a funeral – heal, honor, and hope. I thank God for his nearness in times of loss. I read a passage of Scripture and encourage the gathered crowd to cling to the hope provided by the gospel. I remove my lapel flower, place it atop the casket, and embrace the family.

Cemeteries are a crossroad where memory, death, grief, and the good news of resurrection intersect.

Follow a dirt road into one of these peculiar places. Read the tombstones. Notice the family names and death dates. Be reminded that life is fleeting. Remember that, in Christ, death does not have the final word.