I wrote for an hour this morning about death. I kept coming up with an empty tomb, though. Everywhere I turned, I found an empty tomb. Borrowed tombs.
Many who were, are, and shall be buried, will not remain buried. Not even the corporeal. At the appointed time, we will look back on our empty tombs. For those who are expecting no such thing, you’re in for a lovely surprise. I wish you were living it already, as does the mystical Body of Christ, that you might have that tiny oasis of true peace in this life.
I wish I could tell people how fun Jesus really is. How merciful, too, how welcoming, and how generous. It defies all credence. All. Well, I’ll let Him tell you about all that.
Meanwhile, the tombs are inhabited for a time, and it is sad. There is little that is more shockingly sad than to bury someone who let you bathe first for the abundance of hot water, and who made you French toast once you decided as a teen that not eating much would make you svelte. To bury someone who knew you (thank you, thank you) at the end when you curled up on her bed, so that she could rub your head, and in that, could know you were there, could know you weren’t the sister or the caretaker, but the one she truly trusted. There is nothing worse than consigning that one to a grave of dirt.
I don’t, however, believe she resides there. I don’t believe any of our loved ones are trapped there. Nor are dead. Nor shall we be. When the body of Jesus was deposed, the Cross remained but death was about to be dismantled! Whether we know or know not, we are Known. Desired. Treasured. The desire of Mercy Himself is to restore us properly and forever. We just need nod yes, now. And in a minute from now… It’s hard, I know. But there is nothing to lose in doing so, and everything to gain. Love can be trusted. Unconditional love can be unconditionally trusted.