From the Rector

This past fall I wandered into a graveyard during a break in meeting I was attending. We were at the Cathedral of St. Luke and St. Paul in Charleston, South Carolina. The graveyard surrounded the church. It was the prefect place to get a breath of fresh air and to stretch the legs after so much sitting. I was surprised to find that this cemetery was still in active use: mixed amongst two-century old graves were others from only a few years ago. The stones ranged from massive and elaborate (and obviously expensive) to extremely modest. I walked around looking at names and dates, reading the epitaphs.

What was carved on one of those stones struck me and has stayed with me. I found that I stood a long time in front of that grave. This is what it said:

Catherine Cordes
Wife of Franklin Gallard and
daughter of the late Philip Porche of St. John's Berkeley
died June 30th 1856
aged Twenty Four Years and Twenty Days

Into thy Hands, Oh Blessed Jesus, we commit her
for Thou hast redeemed her soul.

I couldn't help but wonder about this young woman whose death was so untimely, at a mere twenty four years of age. What about the families she left behind? It was poignant ... and begged so many questions. Did she die of disease, or perhaps in childbirth? What should be made of the prominent mention of her father? Was her family of birth that wealthy or prominent; were her relatives that overbearing to the grieving husband? What were the possibilities of Catherine's life which would never be, the promise and hopes and dreams unfulfilled? It was moving and I wished that I knew more of the story. But that story was lost to me, and most likely is now completely lost in the mists of history.

But what struck me most were the ringing words of faith. They were from a century and a half ago. Any who played a part in the drama of those lives have long since gone to their own graves. Yet that affirmation still stands: "Oh Blessed Jesus ... Thou hast redeemed her soul." In the midst of anguish and the loss, the family of Catherine gave voice to the Christian hope. Perhaps it was out of deep conviction of faith, perhaps reflecting merely the convention of piety, or perhaps out of the depth of their souls' struggle, just as the father of the sick child who came to Jesus cried out "Lord I believe, help thou my unbelief." But whatever the motive, the affirmation was made and stands as a testimony.

In the 1979 Book of Common Prayer we added to our burial service the Kontakion of the Dead. Taken from the liturgy of the Orthodox Churches, it has been a wonderful enrichment of our service. One line of this beautiful and haunting prayer captures a most profound truth. "Even at the grave we make our song, Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia." Alleluia: the Latinized form of the Hebrew word "Hallelujah" which means "praise God." Even at the grave we sing "Praise God." Because we are out of touch with reality? Because we deceive ourselves? Because we can't face the reality of death or the pain of separation from our loved ones? No, we praise God precisely because he has redeemed our souls.

This is why Jesus came. He came to redeem us. And as the oft-quoted John 3:16 reminds us, "God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." Jesus came precisely because of God's love for his world – for us, the human race, and for us, as individuals. It is for love of us that he died on the cross. And that love is made concrete in his work of our redemption.

In the incredible sacrifice of Holy week, in the glorious victory of Jesus on Easter, we see that love of God securing accomplishing our redemption. Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia! Praise God, praise God, praise God! For he has redeemed our souls!