Holy Week Count Down – Day Two

When builders dug in modern Rome to secure the footings for a new parking garage, they uncovered an ancient cemetery. Construction stopped and archaeologists were called in to uncover and assess and preserve.

Hundreds of first-century graves were identified, most of them marked by simple stones, all were etched with the same seven letters: N F F N S N C.

Strange!

These letters spelled no Latin word. What could they mean? Other gravestones later uncovered solved the mystery. These larger markers bore seven words matched to the seven letters on the smaller stones: Non fui. Fui. Non sum. Non curo.

What did they mean?
“I was not. I was. I am not. I don’t care.”

Can you believe it?

What a sad testimony about the lives buried beneath! They came, they lived, they died, and they meant nothing!

But that is what death without resurrection asserts, doesn’t it?!

Years ago, I bought many of my shirts and pants, and even a suit from one particular men’s clothing store. I got to know one salesman well. He was a good man and a very good salesman. We talked often about my job as a pastor. He was born into a Christian family and raised in the church, he said, but that nonsense had long ago left his self-made life.

Until one year.

During Holy Week his mother died. She had no lingering connections with any church, so the salesman called me, wondering if I might meet with him and his family, and perhaps saying a few appropriate things at the cemetery.

We met on Silent Saturday, between Good Friday and Easter Sunday.

I thought of the testimonies from those ancient Roman gravestones.

I spoke about Jesus’ friends, beaten down and confused when their dear friend died.

Was there more that could be said?
Was there a better end to this story?

Oh yes…