Rectangle of grass

Ruth visits her mother's grave in the California hills.

She knows her mother isn't there but the rectangle of grass

marks off the place where the memories are kept…

 

Those are the first lines of a poem by Tony Hoagland entitled, "Wasteful Gesture Only Not." In my years as a pastor officiating at scores of funerals and spending quality time in cemeteries, I've heard various opinions spoken by family members about death, grief, grave sites, funeral rituals, etc. I've come to appreciate those men in overalls who stand to the side with their shovels waiting for the ceremony to end and the drifting away of family and friends so that they can get to their work of covering up the hole. I've known people who never go back to that place after that day. And I've known people who go back to visit often—sometimes too often. Mostly what I've heard is, "She is not there; she is in heaven (or—she is in my heart); I have no need to go back there." So, the grave remains unvisited, a lonely clump of earth, with no earth-bound friends.

I like Hoagland's description of the grave: the place where the memories are kept. We humans need tangible 'places' to help us be in contact with invisible realities. Perhaps that is why the great majority of Christian churches in the world are of the sacramental type. Sacraments are tangible things: you touch, smell, taste, feel, and hear the water, the wine, the bread, the oil, the hands, the rings. Sacraments are 'places' where we feel the divine Presence. We remember Jesus. We remember the table and the wine. We remember the Jordan River. We remember the healing touch. But it is a remembering which re-members: it puts the members back together again. It reconnects us with the Body of Christ (the Church), with the members of our family, the members of the body, and recreates an organic union.

When we are in grief, the most helpful thing is to remain connected. Sure, there is a necessary 'letting-go,' but not a total disconnection. The grave marks the spot where we can remain in contact with memories and realities. Of course "she isn't there." But the rectangle of grass provides a geometric geography of earthy space that keeps us grounded in reality—the reality of loss and the reality of love.

Maybe that is why Jesus said, "I go to prepare a place for you." We all need places, even if it is just to grieve.