In a matter of three days, my team has experienced an awakening reality to the pain and loss of living in an African nation. The ugly head of AIDS has made itself known to us, and it is no longer a number from the news, book, or doctor's office. The face of this disease is painful. The tragedy of the lives it affects and the families it destroys lies like a massive weight on the spirit. My team can no longer ignore this reality of the fallen, sinful world, even as we try to bring hope and light to this place.
Our contact, Pastor John Walusimbi, a few days ago lead my team to a home to pray for a sick woman. We had no idea what the person's condition was, or what she was sick with, until we reached the home. Normally, we come across people with joint pain, a broken or injured limb, maybe a headache or high blood pressure. All of these things we pray over, knowing that God's will is to restore his creation. But rarely can we measure or observe God healing that person. So we walk this out in faith, not ever truly understanding how these things work.
But as soon as we arrived in the home, we felt an intense saddened and heavy spirit in the place. Pastor knew the family through one of the boys, Michael, who was a student at his school. Michael's mother is the lady that we were to pray for, but as we sat down in the home, Pastor advised us to not to enter the room with Michael's mother, as she was on her deathbed and had only a few hours to live.
At this point, Pastor told us that she had been suffering from AIDS, and our hearts broke for Michael, who would be orphaned once his mother died. So we prayed for Michael and his relatives, for comfort in this time.
What else could we do?
The next day, we learned that his mother had indeed died, and the burial was being held that day. The family had little money, hardly any to pay for the burial. Fortunately, our team had a supplies budget with which we could purchase concrete to donate through Pastor John. It wasn't much, but it was a way that we could help provide for this family.
As I attended the burial that afternoon, I was struck by the reality with what I saw versus what I had heard about African funerals. I had heard they were occasions of a kind of drunken party, with animal sacrifices to ancestors, or something like that. But this was not the case in this situation. A heavy air. A somber spirit.
There was not wailing. It was too sad, even for that.
Attendees merely sat and silently mourned, fully aware of the tragedy of the death, but all too accustomed to the fact that this was more normal for them, than should be part of any human's life. I feel for Michael.
But what can I say to him? What words that I, who have no experience with such tragedy, could say would be of any comfort to him? I pray that Jesus comforts him, gives him hope, and gives him the daily strength to face the day.
I pray that our Father truly becomes his father. All I know is that our God is not unexposed
to this pain. He feels it every day. He grieves with His children. I may never understand how this can occur so much, and that His heart can endure it.
But the truth remains that His character is good, and I do believe that He gives a supernatural hope, and that He redeems all things.
