I hate to think of my son's body rotting in his casket. I use to treat graves as sacred, maybe I still should; I would walk around people's plots reading the headstones, but in a sense it has become common. I do not mind if someone walks over my son's grave. It is just grass. It is just a white box. It is not him. And yet it is him. It's not much, but it's what I have. Rotting.
Truly terrible is the mystery of death.
I lament at the sight of the beauty
created for us in the image of God
which lies now in the grave
without shape, without glory, without consideration.
-- John of Damascus
But...
We have seen a great mystery:
We shall all be changed.
We shall be raised in Christ
as we were buried in Christ.
Death is swallowed up in victory.
-- I Cor. 15
Behold, I am making all things new.
I am the Alpha and the Omega,
the beginning and the end.
-- Revelation 21
(Excerpts taken from Requiem: Eric Wolterstorff in Memoriam)
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