What It's All About

The Rev. Whitworth Ferguson III
The First Presbyterian Church
Washingtonville, New York
April 3, 2005

What It’s All About
1 Peter 1:3-9
John 20:19-23

Drive through the imposing stone and iron gates
and it is as though you’ve left the city
and entered another world.
Blaring car horns, motorcycles on steroids,
people shouting into cellphones,
children laughing, singing, even crying and wailing:
the symphony of noise that is the city disappears.
The quiet washes over you and whispers,
“peace be with you.”

You shift into low gear, both your car and your pace,
there is too much to see, too much to take in,
and there is something about the place that says, “slow down”.
You follow a yellow stripe that goes down the middle of the road.
It isn’t there to keep cars on one side of the road or the other;
it is there to guide you, to pull you into the heart of the
pastoral beauty, the small lake that is right in the center.
It is called Mirror Lake,
but it really is not much more than a small pond.
Still it is lovely, tranquil,
with ducks skimming across the surface
as they land on the water like Top Gun pilots.
As geese rest on the banks, birds of every kind
flit from tree to tree, town criers announcing,
“spring is coming, spring is coming!”

There are two lovely sculptures in the lake itself,
each appearing to float on the surface of the water.
One is called the “Three Graces”,
a classic pose from Greek mythology,
daughters of Zeus, goddesses of joy, charm, and beauty.
The other is a small child, innocent, wide-eyed,
looking with wonder at the beauty and the liveliness
all around her.
There is steady traffic on the road that rings that lake,
but it is pedestrian traffic: Mothers wheeling babies
in high-tech strollers,
office workers on lunch breaks,
joggers who for a few moments seem able to forget about
time and distance as they take it all in.

With all the vibrancy, all the beauty,
all the life that is all around you,
it is hard to believe that you are in cemetery.
But that is where you are:
Forest Lawn Cemetery in the middle of Buffalo New York.
This enormous burial ground has been the final resting place
for the famous, the infamous, and folks like you and me
since before the Civil War.
The website for the cemetery will tell you that they currently
have more than 150,000 “residents”.

Every time I go to Buffalo,
I invariably take a drive through the cemetery,
partly to visit ancestors who are buried there,
and partly just to enjoy the beauty and the tranquility
of an oasis in the middle of a busy city.

I drive through the gates, downshift my car and my mind,
and then follow the yellow line for about a half-mile,
but where it veers off to the right to the lake
I take a different road, one that goes to the left,
that leads me to one of the oldest sections of the cemetery.
There the heavy granite stones that mark the graves
are more black than gray
with years of accumulated soot and grime,
a reminder of the days when we heated with coal.

It is in this section where my ancestors
on my mother’s side of the family are buried,
the Meech family: my mother’s mother, my great grandparents,
and my great-great grandparents.
There in the midst of the blackened stones
the Meech family stone is bright pinkish red,
gleaming polished granite.
It enlivens the area; it’s a beacon,
an adjective in a field of nouns.

Turn back the other way and follow
the yellow stripe past Mirror Lake.
Large mausoleums ring the lake:
This is where the wealthy of Buffalo built
miniature Greek temples to house their mortal remains.
The limestone, marble, and granite
all stand in silent tribute to money and power.
But they also provide a compelling, humbling reminder
that death comes to all,
regardless of wealth, status, or power.

Just past the lake is Section 27,
an area where most of the stones date from after World War II
and so don’t wear a coat of coal dust.
In the 1970s my grandfather Ferguson bought a plot there.
a large plot, big enough for at least 15 “residents”.
My grandfather bought the site very reluctantly.
Even though he was well into his 70s,
he did not want to think about the end of his life.
He remained strong and vibrant for another half dozen years
and died in 1983.
My grandmother joined him in 1995 at the age of 93.

Off at the right edge of the plot is a grave
that belongs to my cousin Richard,
who died two years ago at the age of 41,
following a long, brave fight with cancer.

Over to the left is the newest grave:
It is my father’s.
He died quite unexpectedly at the end of February,
while vacationing with his wife down on Florida.
He’s next to my grandfather:
Whitworth Junior next to Whitworth Senior.
You have not heard me talk about my father;
He and I were not particularly close.
My parents separated in 1968 and divorced two years later,
when I was in middle school.
He wasn’t around much after that.
He and I didn’t have a bad relationship,
we didn’t have a good relationship,
we just didn’t have much of a relationship.
My father was a good man – well respected in the community,
an honest and hardworking businessman;
he was genuinely liked and respected by those who knew him.
His blemishes and faults were no worse than most.
Throughout his 75 years, he tried to live faithfully and well,
and by all accounts I’d say he was successful.

I had taken a lily from our service last Sunday
and I put it in the mud by his grave.
As I stood there I found myself filled with a wonderful image,
an image of my father together with his parents
all bathed in light and love, peace and forgiveness.

And with that image in mind I thought,
that is what Easter is all about;
That is what the message of the Resurrection is all about:
that through God’s love given to us in the risen Christ,
reconciliation is ours,
peace is ours,
life is ours,
eternal life in God’s heavenly kingdom
with our Lord Jesus Christ.
As Peter tells us, through Jesus Christ God has given us
“a new birth into a living hope, into an inheritance
that is imperishable,
undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for [each of us]…
In this we rejoice.” (1 Peter 1:3ff)

Our lives here on earth are not even the blink of God’s eye.
We are made of dust and ashes,
and we will return to dust and ashes.
Nothing can prevent that: not money, not power, not fame,
not even being the Pope.
And yet we can look with confidence and hope to the future:
to eternal life in God’s heavenly Kingdom
through the promise given to us in the Resurrection of our Savior.

In his letter to the Christians in Rome Paul wrote,
“We do not live to ourselves, and we do not die to ourselves.
If we live, we live to the Lord,
and if we die, we die to the Lord;
so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.
For to this end Christ died and lived again,
so that he might be Lord of both the dead and the living.”
(Romans 14:7-9)

My father was the Lord’s in this life,
and he is still the Lord’s.
You and I are the Lord’s in this life
and we will be the Lord’s in the life to come.
This is the promise given to us in the Resurrection of our Lord.
This is the promise given to us by the grace of God in Jesus Christ.

Who would have thought a cemetery
could write such an eloquent Easter sermon?
Who would have thought a cemetery
could be such a joyful place?
He is risen!
Risen to give us life!
Amen