It’s been a year now since I last saw this small patch of earth. Then it was piles of dirt and a hole. Now I can scarcely tell. Then it was surrounded by teared humanity. Now just mother and father, sister and brothers. The gardeners are gone, the neighborhood children are gone, only the wind in the oaks abide. …
I walk around the patch where he was buried, not over it nor onto it. Why do I do that? Walking on it seems like desecration. I begin to understand why humanity has regarded its burial grounds as sacred sites. Under each of these plots have been laid to rest what remained of one of God’s images on earth, one of his icons. Those icon-remains hallow this place.
I wonder how it will all go when God raises him and the rest of us from the dead? Giving us new bodies seems no great problem. But how is he going to fit us all together into his city? … And what about the different characters and temperaments that all these people bring? Eric was loyal and gentle and loving, if sometimes a bit self-centered. Some people are nasty, ill-tempered, unpleasant to be around. How will God handle that? Seems to me there’ll have to be a lot of purging first.
And so many, so innumerably many. I see them stretching way back, their faces eventually becoming just a brownish haze from here. Everybody is known by somebody in that crowd, but the memories usually trail off somewhere so that up front here we know only a very few. God alone has them all in mind.
I don’t see how he’s going to bring it off. But I suppose if he can create he can re-create.
I wonder if it’s all true? I wonder if he’s really going to do it?
Will I hear Eric say someday, really now I mean: “Hey Dad, I’m back”?
“But remember, I made all this, and raised my Son from the dead, so. …”
OK. So goodbye Eric, goodbye, goodbye, until we see.