“But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who have died, so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have died.” -1 Thessalonians 4:13-14
Every time I drive east out of Arcade to head to Rochester I have the same thought: Where did they come up with these names? It first happens when I drive through Castile and see Elitsac Lumber. I mean, who decided spelling Castlile backwards would be a good name for a lumber yard? And, of course, there is this little town name Leicester that all the locals insist on adding an ‘h’ to (they pronounce it LeicHester, and I for one, won’t stand for it). But by far the biggest question mark of them all happens on the east side of an all-American town named Perry as I pass by a cemetery named Hope.
Now don’t get me wrong. I love the name Hope. I love the name Hope for a little girl. I love the name Hope for a soup kitchen. I especially love the name Hope for a church. But for a cemetery? Come on.
Cemeteries are places of death. They are somber reminders that life ends and that our loved ones leave us too soon. They prove to us that even if we can escape illness and one another, time will claim our lives. I can’t imagine a greater paradox than a cemetery named Hope. Talk about upside down.
But then I think about Jesus. I think about God.
I remember the story of God’s love being so great for this world that he entered it, but not as some mighty king. God came as a helpless infant born in a barn.
Talk about upside down.
I think about how that man when he grew to be a person of influence used his power not raise up the nation of Israel, but to reconcile Israelites and their neighbors (even their oppressors). How he used his power to break social norms. How he used his power to set his table for the last and the least.
Talk about upside down.
But mostly I remember how that man, when his life was on the line, didn’t cast down his enemies, but prayed for them. I remember that he freely gave himself, a sinless man, for the sins of many. I remember that God died.
And that’s upside down.
So maybe Hope Cemetery in Perry, NY isn’t that far of a stretch. Maybe they couldn’t have picked a better name. After all, it is only through Jesus’ death that we can see his resurrection. And since he died and rose, so too shall we. Because Jesus died, we hope.
This Sunday we remember that reality. We call it All Saints Sunday. ASunday to celebrate death, but also a Sunday to remember our hope. ASunday centered on the hope that God has made the resting places of our loved ones holy, as they circle his throne in praise and surround us with their witness. A Sunday centered on the hope that death, even though it certainly comes, is but a birth. Centered on the hope that God is wiping away all our tears.
He died. We hope.