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The Dash on Our Headstones
Whenever I travel, I walk through cemeteries and graveyards, looking at the graves and markers throughout. Sometimes I walk through them looking for the resting place of specific people like Samuel Beckett, Jean Paul Sartre, or Simon de Beauvoir in the Montparnassee Cemetery in Paris or Marc Chagall in the cemetery in St. Paul de Vence. Other times, I just walk through the grounds, looking at the names, dates, and inscriptions on the markers, thinking about the individuals laid to rest and memorialized in the space.
As I walk amongst those buried in these places, I think about the brevity of our own lives, the fleeting nature our very physical existence. As Job proclaims, “My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle, and come to their end without hope” (Job 7:6). Job compares his existence to the swiftness of a weaver’s shuttle across the loom, moving from one end to another at a rapid pace before moving on to the next level. Job laments that his life moves quickly, beginning and ending in a blur, a quick movement across the loom of time.
The author of James compares one’s life to “a mist that appears for a little while then vanishes” (James 4:14). It appears then evaporates in an instance, floating away into the ether without any evidence of its existence. In the grand scheme of things, we come on stage for our performance and once we complete it we maneuver off stage so…
