I was out at our local cemetery this afternoon, and was struck by the number of graves that have fresh flowers on them.
It’s not mother’s day, father’s day or any other special day. Today’s the middle of the week, actually.
But so many graves had fresh flowers in the receptacles in their concrete headstones.
Which is just one window looking into life in a country town.
It’s not that relationships are more loving.
It’s not that families are closer.
But there is a proximity of people.
I saw it again after our funeral today.
People whose families have known each other for scores of years gathered together in respect and sympathy.
I don’t know if life in modern cities, if modern vocations, will allow those relationships to exist.
Maybe big city cemeteries look like that too, and I’ve just been away too long.
But today I saw a field of flowers that reminded me of a community.
And I was privileged to tell that community about the one who is the resurrection and the life, the one who conquered the grave, the one in whom true community is realised.
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