“A remarkable moment.” Such were the words that came to mind, shortly after returning to the quiet and comfort of my hosts’ home. The words themselves were neither the result of nor do they now evoke great emotion; and yet they are suggestive, like the deep currents of a mighty river, like a welcome cabin light within an otherwise uninhabited valley. For me they hint of “joy” and “peace.”
Yesterday morning, forgoing my efforts to establish any semblance of a routine, I was escorted to the home of Grant Mvumbwe, who had died the previous morning of cerebral malaria. Many members of Kaning’a CCAP had already gathered – perhaps 150 in number – once again the women seated upon the front porch, steps and front yard, the men seated on chairs beneath two tents of white awning. The singing was subdued and reflective.
Not long after we were seated, a service consisting of prayer and three eulogies commenced, during which another monetary collection was received for Grant’s family. I marveled: he had not been dead 24 hours, and yet a service punctuated with great decorum and respect (indeed very African) was being held in his honor.
At the conclusion of this service, pall bearers, men from the church’s guild dressed in white coats and shirts, and black ties, pants and shoes, bore the casket down the front steps and along a way separating the men from the women. The appearance of the casket beckoned us to the church.
Entering the sanctuary, I sat behind the communion table; the benches were filling quickly and quietly; many members of the women’s guild were already seated, they too were dressed in white and black. Soon, the still-growing congregation of 700-800 stood as the pall bearers guided the casket to a position before the communion table: women from the guild placed flowers upon the casket, and then some sat upon the floor around the casket.
After prayer and the singing of at least two hymns (including, “It Is Well With My Soul”), I stood, Amos, a very capable translator to my left. I spoke from John 11, underscoring Jesus’ words to a grieving but faith-filled Martha: “I am the Resurrection and the Life,” fully consistent, I think, with His weeping soon thereafter.
A remarkable moment: I stood before hundreds, the only Caucasian/American present (perhaps for many blocks around), peacefully aware of our profound bond: our common mortality and faith in Christ Jesus. Our differences, real and perceived, fled.
Hopefully,
Stan