Hallowed Ground

Often, on visiting my grandparent’s home which was on the edge of country life in a Pennsylvania township, one exciting thing was to hop the cemetery wall of the old Quaker Meeting House. Strangely, there were no new grave markers, but many dating back to the American Revolution. One could say the place was either hallowed or haunted. Large trees provided the ultimate in privacy screening all along the five or six foot high stone wall. To add to the mystery, the Meeting House formed part of the front wall. As you passed through the mixed horsestable-turned-car garage, our young imaginations could only fantasize of the horse-and-buggy congregation. From inside the cemetery we could jump up and peer into the seemingly strange place of worship – nothing but benches along all the walls and lots of empty space in the center of the room.

Our imaginations were fueled even more, since we never visited on a Sunday when the congregation was there, if there even was a congregation. The Meeting House was still, the cemetery was quiet with antique stones with writing that was barely readable. We could see those seventeen something dates and the rest was to make believe and dare to spend some time in this uniquely still and haunted place.

Each visit to the cemetery was kind of a Halloween experience, since we thought our grandparents had no knowledge of our escapade. It took on the air of a forbidden and spooky thing to do. To be with all those dead people with their unreadable stories written on the markers was mysterious and strangely inviting at the same time.

Hallowed and Holy
Through the years, as was the custom among the Catholic community, I often accompanied my parents, family, and friends “to visit” several cemeteries, not infrequently adjacent to a parish church. There we would gather sometimes after Mass and other times “just to visit” or “just to say a prayer.” It wasn’t often that we prayed aloud – that seemed to be for official funeral rites. All in the family group would mark themselves with the Sign of the Cross and prayed quietly or thought. After a few minutes of this prayerful attitude the storytelling would begin. They weren’t sad stories, no, they were just stories. More often than not laughter punctuated the tales. Unlike the capers in the Quaker burial grounds, these

Catholic experiences of “visiting” the cemetery were hallowed events. There was something holy in the prayers and the storytelling. They became holy because God’s presence was found there in our human words and actions.

I came to learn why cemeteries were around Churches. I would later learn why in monastic communities the custom was to bury the monks near the entrances to the refectories, where the community passed on their way to eat each day. It all had something to do with the Communion of Saints, the holy communion between the living and the dead in the faith community. There wasn’t a lot of preaching about resurrection, just this “sure and certain hope” in Christ, which is spoken of in the Rites of Christian Burial.

Saints and Souls
Catholics approach death without fear, for cemeteries and funeral rites are not haunted events, but rather “holy.” The beginning days of November remember the saints and the souls, the living and the dead, as members of the Body of Christ. All Saints’ Day brings us to victory remembered in Christ. All Souls’ Day reminds us of the constant fidelity of God who walks with us from death to life forever.

Amazingly, I as the celebrant at many a funeral here at Christ the Redeemer, learn that laughter and tears go together, that death and resurrection go together, and that singing and storytelling are not so different. The local custom of many years of wakes and funerals celebrated in our chapel and church remind us that the living and the dead are gathered in our community, the Body of Christ. Unlike our society, death is not hidden and haunted, but in Christ we--as believers--live in hope.

Hallowed and holy is our baptismal font at the entrance of the Church, for there wonderful things happen. Christian people walk in the holiness of God himself. The beginning and end of life is celebrated there. Babies are clothed in baptismal white and the baptismal pall is placed on our beloved dead, for “in Baptism they have died in Christ and risen with him” to new life. Whether Halloween, All Saints’, All Souls’, or every day we can sing: “You have put on Christ, in him you have been baptized, alleluia, alleluia.” We have nothing to fear, but only to allow the holiness of God to embrace us.

CDH