I was out walking not too long ago, and came upon a cemetery. It was interesting to read inscriptions on the headstones. Many of the same tributes had been used through the years, while others were obviously original to a particular era and illustrated differences in attitudes and perceptions over the decades. A few of the headstones were quite elaborate; some were simply small generic markers.
One very plain wooden marker included the person's picture—a boy who looked to be about eight or nine. The words on the marker were in Spanish, and someone, maybe his mother, had made some flowers out of plastic drinking straws and left them there. And just then, as I looked up at all the headstones, both ornate and modest, I realized something I'd never understood before.
It became clear that all of these markers, and all of the headstones in all graveyards everywhere on earth, are ceaselessly making a statement about the nature of man. Certainly, they are meant to show love and mark the memory of a relative or friend. Yet don't they also stand there almost boastfully in the dirt, loudly declaring man's mortality? Each monument is essentially a statement that the whole of man is confined to events that occur between the birth and death of a material body.
