Standing at a slight distance from the family at a graveside service, present but alone in thought the word sacred came into my mind. Being late January it was cold with a light dusting of snow and a very subtle drizzle of rain. I thought about how personal and private our thoughts would all be at that very moment. Everyone present had a connection with Frank, one through which their slightly different lenses saw a slightly different person.
It so happened that the man whose life was being celebrated that day had lived a really good life on so many levels. The presiding minister, having spoken to him in the days leading to his passing confirmed that he was content with life’s journey. Having chosen to dedicate his life in Christian faith he went beyond words. He was a genuinely kind man who took great interest in others. I had known him to be deeply faithful and dignified and as any school master of the era in which he grew would say, he was a good egg.
This word sacred brings all kinds of thoughts to us, often religious. Though we don’t need to have entered a church, synagogue or mosque to find images of what we might call sacred relics or rituals portrayed or performed. Indiana Jones will have covered more than enough of that stuff in the movies! To bring it closer to home, you may have a friend or family member who has something special that no one is allowed to touch. Jokingly we say ‘Don’t touch her cup, it’s sacred!’
Of course even the most serious of sacred objects spotters will accept these things are shadows or echoes of what the sacred things are pointing to. For something to be sacred is strictly speaking for that object to be dedicated or put aside for use in service or worship of a deity. It is totally appropriate to treat it with respect but not worship the sacred object.
A carpenter might have a dozen chisels, each one precious, sacred to her. They may at times be slotted into the toolbox together looking all the same yet in a sense different, very individual and unique. They all do different jobs as she makes a chair or cupboard. Over time one chisel has a small mark at the top of the handle from the way she taps with the mallet another is indented from her thumb hold when shaping a mortice. We can imagine as people get to know her work they will see her revealed in each piece she makes. The chisels and the cabinets lead us back to the carpenter.
At the graveside as we all stood I thought about how Frank was sacred. Yes, from a distance his, like yours, was the outline of a human being created, as we read in various places, in the image of God. Yet I sense that when we look more closely, beyond the outline of his human frame we can see where the creator – the great carpenter – had held Frank. I like to think the marks and indentations of God’s hand were visible in Frank’s character and care for others.
When I want to think about what God is like I sometimes open a book or close my eyes and meditate even look at the stars in the night sky. Yet there is another worthwhile place to look, in the lives of people, perhaps like Frank, people who live as though their life had been dedicated or set aside, a life in which the hand of God is visible.
Rob Wykes 