Yesterday I did a little bit of a heritage tour. I traveled to three different places in the region and each place held special reasons and memories for why I was there. Those memories have helped to shape me into the person that I am today.
Actually, this heritage tour started a week ago by my mom and I carrying on an annual tradition. For the past 4-5 years on the Thursday or Friday before Memorial Day, mom and I load up flowers in one of our cars and head out to visit area cemeteries to place flowers on the graves of various family members. We usually start out at the Underwood Cemetery, north of White Lake. That’s where my dad is buried. Then we go to the Ebenezer Cemetery out in the country northwest of Corsica. That is the site of the church that mom grew up in and was married in. The original building burned, and the second church structure was moved away years ago. But the cemetery remains and that’s where Grandpa and Grandma Isakson (mom’s parents) and other relatives from her side of the family are buried. And finally, there is a stop at the Corsica Cemetery on the east side of Corsica, where mom’s sister is buried along with several other close family members.
Some cemeteries have a time limit of how long flowers can be on graves, so usually about a week after the flowers are placed, someone picks them up. This year I had the honor of doing so. I kind of went in the reverse order of what we usually do. I headed to the Corsica Cemetery first. There I thought of Aunt Reva, Mom’s sister, who died just months after I was born. Mom tells of how Aunt Reva got to hold infant me, and then several weeks later she died from what was then called Juvenile Diabetes, which had plagued Aunt Reva most of her life.
I also took the flowers from Uncle Ed and Aunt Joyce’s grave, remembering how last August I helped carry Aunt Joyce’s casket to its final resting place. She and Uncle Ed were such faith-filled people. When they said they were praying for you…you knew they were praying for you. I also took the flowers we had placed on Cousin Darwin’s grave. Darwin was Uncle Ed and Aunt Joyce’s son, who was a couple years older than me. Darwin was severely injured in a car accident in the early 80’s and was a quadriplegic for the rest of his life until his death in 2005. I was asked to officiate at the funeral. Darwin taught me about how even in tragedy God is present and it also taught me about how fragile life can be.
The stop at the Ebenezer Cemetery brought me to Grandpa and Grandma Isakson. Grandma Isakson I never knew. She also died when I was an infant. But Grandpa Isakson I remember quite well. He too was a man of strong faith. I got Grandpa’s grey felt hat after he died. There was a time or two when I wore that hat that Mom said she could see her dad in me. Lots of other relatives are buried there. They too left a legacy of faith.
The final stop at the Underwood Cemetery took me to the church I grew up in. That’s where various Sunday School teachers poured into me. That’s where I was baptized, confirmed, received communion for the first time, lit the candles, collected the offering, shared with them about my giving my life to Christ, the people of that church voted to approve me as a candidate for ministry, and that is even where I did my very first children’s sermon (I hyperventilated – seriously!). The Underwood Church building still stands, though the church closed long ago. The building is slowly deteriorating but the memories are rock solid.
After looking at the building I entered the cemetery and removed the flowers from my dad’s grave, thanking him for life, the values he taught me, the fun, and some not so fun memories I look back on, all which helped shape me. I thanked him for the quiet and gentle man of faith that he was and how he supported my decision to go into ministry and not come back to the farm. I took the flowers from Grandpa and Grandma Nelson’s grave, giving thanks for their faithful witness and their loving presence. I stood there at Uncle Walter and Aunt Janet’s graves, thinking of their presence and influence on my life. There was Cousin David’s grave, as well as other family and neighbors’ graves. I had the sense of being surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses.
It was a Holy Moment…it was a Holy trip. There have been so many stops along my journey of faith and many people that have influenced me in my faith along the way, but that journey on Thursday afternoon helped me reconnect with my heritage. It helped me recognize that faith is not an individual journey…there truly is a great cloud of faithful witnesses that nurture, support, encourage, teach, and that bring faith to life. Maybe someday my kids or grandchildren will take their own heritage tour and stand at my grave and recognize that in God’s love we are still (and always will be) connected!
Pastor Keith