According to The Book of Common Worship, which is the most recent compilation of Presbyterian liturgical settings, our funeral service in several ways pays due homage to this fact. No longer is it called merely a "funeral" service, but it is called "A Service of Witness to the Resurrection." It honors both the life of the person who is deceased and the fullness of the theological tradition in which we stand. In that service when it comes time to commend the person's body back to God, we recognize how in life and in death we are God's children, and then, the presiding pastor prays to God saying: You only are immortal, the creator and maker of us all. We are mortal, formed of the earth, and to earth we shall return. This you ordained when you created us saying, "You are dust and to dust you shall return." All of us go down to the dust, yet even at the grave we make our song, "Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia." For me those words are a stirring reminder of what it means to be completely and totally human, the dust of the ground, "worm food" as our bare-bones spiritual ancestors like John Calvin might have expressed it -- but we say this full well knowing at the same time that our whole lives are entrusted fully to the care of God. We say this knowing that, YES, even at the grave, woeful hearts will triumph by singing Alleluias.

But I also know that funerals as we know them are often somber, wearying occasions. I can just hear the words that happen in nearly every family when there's a funeral that someone feels that the whole family is obligated to attend. There's always one person, be it a spouse or one of the kids, saying, "Do I really have to go?" We weigh out the options. Could I just send a card or a casserole? Could I get there and get out quick enough to sign my name on the guest register and yet not be noticed? And then when the deceased was a close family member, sometimes we become even more nervous. Will it make us sick, or cry, or run away if we're in the same room with that dead body that really isn't the same person we once knew? There don't seem to be any simple solutions or ways around this subject that has become nearly as taboo as religion and politics in polite conversation.

As a society, we've created so many "ooey" associations with death, and watched so many horror movies and have heard about so many people getting killed on the news that we have a hard time seeing death as a part of real life anymore. Just think of all the war coverage now. It's more like watching a soap opera than an actual event. Therefore, we want to remove death from our real-life radar. At the very least, we want to hospitalize it, sanitize it, or ignore it. Although most people, when pressed, would choose to die at home, only a few are beginning to make that a conscious choice. Many of the people I talk to are still reluctant to make wills or talk about death with their children. It's much easier to get a new hamster than explain what happened to the last one!

Oddly enough though, the church is the place where we come to hear about "all things bright and beautiful," and what happens in our best Christian stories??? -- Death. Not just any death either -- awful death, painful death, death that could have been prevented perhaps, or death that is plotted out by unscrupulous leaders who want to get rid of a religious nuisance. The whole Easter saga is a tough story to tell, especially if you need to get it to come across as a "good thing" either to a child or another person unfamiliar with the general Christian story. As an example, last year I stopped by the "Family Bookstore" in Altoona to pick up a video for Cade's birthday. You'd recognize this kind of store immediately as something not unlike Cedar Springs or any number of the other Christian bookstores around. As I went on this shopping adventure, I made my way through quite a crowd to see a young woman giving a talk on the events of Jesus' crucifixion to very young children. She was holding up a crown of thorns, telling really YOUNG KIDS about how it made Jesus' head bleed. No doubt she was heading towards some more gruesome details, and there I stood dumbfounded, knowing that my own son certainly thinks of toy bunny rabbits and chocolate as the greatest blessings of Easter morning!

As a Mom, I was shocked and appalled! I'm not a fan of violent toys and fear tactics that are designed to make children behave. But as a Christian, I got pretty nervous. Do we do a disservice to our children by letting them think that Easter is about chocolate bunnies and coloring eggs? Maybe we do -- if we adults are not able to embrace the whole story for ourselves. But maybe we don't if we want to give them a glimpse of the joy that truly belongs to them as children of God.

You see, as children of God, they are 100% entitled to the hope of resurrection. You know, and I know, that resurrection only happens in cemeteries, but children really don't know that yet. They do know intrinsically that all of life is connected. The cocoon that turns into a butterfly, the mouse they find dead in the yard, the animals they cherish as their pets, and the people they love most dearly are all connected. The flesh laid to bone is real to them. I'm convinced that's why babies are inclined to poke you in the eye, toddlers pull hair and throw fits, school kids ask embarrassing questions, and teenagers push the maximum boundaries of your love for them. Young people need to know that there is hope for their future. They need to feel it, touch it, and experience it. You can't just tell them "it will all turn out" and expect them to believe it. They live pretty darned close to exactly what's expected of them -- for better or for worse.

But as adults we need to know that hope for our future too. However, our experiences aren't always the most reliable indicator of what God intends for us. We get depressed from working too hard, playing too little, getting aches and pains, and not knowing if the future will turn out anything we hope it will be. That's why talking about death within the community of faith is so very important. If we don't get a handle on the whys and wherefores of death -- our hope may die along with our questions. We need to know that the echoes of the hurtful past are not all that God has in store. We need to know that the "unanswerable" questions do somehow have purpose or meaning behind them. We need to know that our suffering counts somewhere.

Dr. Barbara Anderson of the Pasadena Presbyterian Church made these beautifully true remarks in one of her sermons, "I remember that resurrection happens only in cemeteries. Resurrection does not happen in good times, in times of rest and respite and easy hope. Resurrection happens in cemeteries where grief is heavy. Resurrection happens in tombs where hopelessness hangs heavy in the air. Resurrection happens after a heavy cross has been carried, a difficult journey made, after the weeping of tears and the gnashing of teeth, and even after the cry, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

Children will grow up into those hard lessons -- some earlier, some later. My opinion is that there's no need to rush it! However, you grown-ups, know this today, death and resurrection walk hand in hand, and you can't really know the latter until you've been touched by the former.

The two scripture readings that I read are stories of what it means to have a "resurrection faith." Lazarus, stinking dead Lazarus, is brought back from the grave -- Alleluia! The dry bones that represent Israel rattle back together, and flesh is put upon them as a sign to the prophet that the nation has not been forsaken -- Alleluia! Christ is risen -- Alleluia! So remember this -- even at the grave -- EVEN AT THE GRAVE -- do you hear what I'm saying? -- We make our song, singing "Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia!" trusting that resurrection happens, not in church, not at the movie theater, not in the well-lit corners of our lives, but in the dark and scary places, in our cemeteries.

God says through Ezekiel, "And you shall know that I am the Lord when I open your graves, O my people. I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live; and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act." Jesus also has that power: the power to open graves, to open hearts, to open mouths parched from pain, in song. Do you trust that the graves we know will be opened, that death is not the final answer, that we can talk about death as a great unknown, and yet still be secure that God gives life to God's beloved children? It's one of the hardest things we face as human beings -- to know our own mortality. We all know that we will one day return to the dust, push up daisies, pass on, buy the farm -- whatever expression you happen to use -- because it's not a matter of "if" but a matter of "when."

In the meantime, those resurrection moments still overtake us in alarming ways. I can tell you this because I've seen it happen -- not quite like Lazarus walking out of the tomb -- but more like Ezekiel's vision for the future of Israel. We can be presented in life with situation after situation that seems hopeless, things that for all logical and practical reasons seem purposeless, and God infuses meaning, purpose, and most importantly hope. It simply cannot come from anywhere else. The hungry caterpillar goes into the cocoon and comes out a butterfly. It defies reason. It seems like magic, and yet in God's eyes, it's all part of the plan to show these "dust creatures," these human beings, that life is all a wonderful, incredible gift to be enjoyed. Amen.