Thoughts on Walking Through a Graveyard

I love old churches.  Given the choice between a new building, shiny, and an old church with wood and leaks I would take the latter and appreciate the former.   And I love that old churches place themselves – surrounded by graveyards.

Not some dark fascination with the macabre, those graveyards remind in some subtle way, or maybe not subtle, the place of those well worn houses of worship.   Their business … about the business of life, the entirety.  A place of life, death, resurrection, hope, sadness, joy, God, humanity.   Grounds reflected that.  Parishioners walked it.

The one where I stopped I saw from the road numerous times.  Ancient, small, stone, slate roof.  Beautiful.  Old grave makers … too old to read; for a church built in 1722 not a surprise.  Even remembrances of those passed carved right into the stone of the church itself.

And think, 100′s of years.  People walking to church. Sundays. Baptisms, Funerals, Weddings.  All winding to tall wood doors through a path where they saw no doubt family and friends, deceased, “At Rest”, “Gone Home.”  Nothing sad there.  Maybe a melancholy joy.  A reminder time is short.  Live deeply.  A labyrinth as beautiful and profound as Chartres.

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