I have stood at the tomb of Napoleon in Paris, at the tomb of Lenin in Moscow, and before the burial places of many others of the mighty leaders of the earth. In their time they commanded armies, they ruled with near omnipotence, and their very words brought terror into the hearts of people.
I have reverently walked through some of the great cemeteries of the world. I have reflected quietly and thoughtfully as I have stood in the military cemetery in Manila in the Philippines. There, laid out in perfect symmetry, are marble crosses marking the graves of 17,000 Americans who gave their lives in the Second World War. Encircling this burial ground are beautiful marble colonnades, where are remembered another 35,000 who died in the terrible battles of the Pacific and whose remains were never found.
I have walked with reverence through the British cemetery on the outskirts of Rangoon, Burma (now known as Myanmar), and noted the names of hundreds and thousands of young men who came from the villages, towns, and great cities of the British Isles and who gave their lives in hot and distant places. I have strolled through old cemeteries in Asia and Europe and yet other places, and I have reflected on the lives of those who were once buoyant and happy, who were creative and distinguished, who gave much to the world in which they lived. They have all passed into the darkness of the grave.
All who have lived upon the earth before us are now gone. They have left all behind as they have stepped over the threshold of silent death. As I have visited these various cemeteries I have reflected, first, on the terrible cost of war. What a fruitless thing it so often is, and what a terrible price it exacts.
I have thought further of the oblivion of the grave. What would we do without the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, our Savior and our Redeemer? He has given us the assurance that life goes on beyond the veil, that it is purposeful and productive, and that each of us shall go on living after we depart this life.
