It’s an unusual place for friendship, the cemetery. In life, we usually make friends who were born a few years, or maybe a few decades, apart from us. In this cemetery, built in the 1800s, people born in different centuries, who never could have known one another on earth, are buried side by side. Nowhere in society is there a greater variety of people spanning all walks of life than in the cemetery.
Coming here is not only a reminder of death; it is a reminder of life. For these people, though dead, once lived. Their headstones are a testament to their births as well as their deaths. They were babies once; then children, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, grandparents, friends. They woke in the morning and read the paper over breakfast; they agonized over bills and rejoiced over homecomings and sat with coffee mugs at the kitchen table and opened their front doors to friends. And in their dying, they entered a new phase of living; for just as I entered the stone gate to this long driveway lined with trees and graves, so these souls entered the celestial gate after a long journey on earth, and their eternal life lay before them.
Were they ready? Were they prepared to meet the Lord when they died? I don’t know, and so I walk, and read the headstones, and pray.
No, these souls don’t live here. Their eternity is elsewhere, but this hallowed ground is a place to honor their memories, and I can’t think of a better way of doing that than praying for them. Our faith assures us that our prayers for the dead can help their souls reach heaven sooner; and not only can we help free souls from Purgatory, but we can also help them at the moment of their death. For, as Padre Pio said, “For God, everything is an eternal present, …so that even now, I can pray for the happy death of my great-grandfather!” (Read more.)
A Former Nunnery
6 hours ago
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