Park Bench

continued

And the railings were lined with figures. Wooden effigies of the people interred in the hollowed-out rock behind, they stood shoulder to shoulder, twenty or more in a row, staring down at the living community below: Jeweled, turbaned, clothed in their best, keeping untiring vigil. It was the most haunting scene of the trip, that silent, watchful throng above us; though we knew they were only wooden carvings, we found ourselves speaking in whispers.

Periodically, relatives dress the effigies in new clothes. They bring them little gifts and ask their assistance with problems. In Tana Toraja and many other parts of the world, the dead are anything but absent.

The Bible sternly cautions against any such deliberate invoking of the departed. Yet many people have shared with me their conviction that a deceased spouse, parent, child, was present at some meaningful moment - unsought gifts of grace. These subjective experiences tell us nothing about the life of our loved ones in the world beyond, but everything about our refusal to accept death as the wiping out of personality.

Our identities survive, universal instinct assures us; human ties forged here will be resumed hereafter. It's one of the mercies of age, I find, that the afterworld fills with familiar faces. When I first tried to picture heaven, forty years ago, its golden streets were inhabited by vague, faceless beings; today they're thronged with friends and family.

Different as the contents of each hope chest are, in this one way our hope of heaven is alike. We want to be again with those we've lost! When John and I invite others to play our heaven game, everyone's "perfect" world-to-come begins with joyous reunions.

He and I stopped for breakfast one morning in a small town in Texas where a row of pickups parked outside a cafe promised a substantial meal - grits, biscuits, scrambled eggs, patty sausage. A large table next to ours was occupied by five or six men in bill caps. Soon the screen door banged open to admit a newcomer.

"Here he is!" one of the men called out, as they scooted chairs around to make room.

There was an emphasis in the phrase that I hadn't heard before - that stress on the word "here." So glad, so welcoming. He's here at last! Things are right now! The circle's complete!

Over the next half hour, men left the table, other men arrived. And each entrance was greeted with that same triumphant cry: "Here he is!"

Ever since that morning, I've pictured diners at heaven's great banquet table, looking up eagerly as each new arrival approaches.

"Here he is! Here she is!" We've been waiting for you! The wedding feast is better because you're here!