2 months in Africa and I’ve seen more than I can articulate.
I’ve seen the poorest of the poor, walked miles to get water, held children I could only pray and dream for, exchanged conversations with grandmothers, traveled on trucks that should have died years ago, been mocked by children, eaten the same food for weeks, felt hopeless and joy.
But yesterday evoked something new.
I went to a funeral yesterday.
If someone dies here, within this area of Africa, a representative from your family must show up to show respect. It’s not a matter of worrying whether you’ll crash the party; it’s a matter of them discussing who didn’t show up afterwards to know who not to give respect too.
So I went, with some of my other squad mates.
Now, funerals generally aren’t the highlight of anyone’s day. It was honestly the last thing we wanted to do. Because whether we know the person or not, grief comes with death. And it reminds us of our own mortality. It opens wounds. And we don’t like going there.
Yet, we had too.
The funeral lasts all day long, as the family only has until the end of the day to grieve. After the first shovel of dirt is laid on the body, the family is no longer allowed to cry in public. We had to sit outside the house in which the mourning, singing, and body was being prayed over until the sun began to set. Women sit on one side, legs crossed, sorrowful and quiet, and men sit on the other. And you just sit. You sit to show respect.
I’m not going to lie, it was a long time to sit.
But, for the first time in Africa, l didn’t stick out. I wasn’t a tourist, or some weird white person. I wasn’t someone that kids run up to and shout, ‘Give me money!”. I was me. To the woman sitting on my left, and the lady with a kid on my right. I was there and showing respect for an intimate reason.
Love.
An opportunity to love.
Ministry doesn’t look one particular way. There’s not one church service we have to attend, not one missions trip to take, not one kids church program, or youth group extravaganza you have to participate it.
It can.
But sometimes the best ministry happens when God foils our plans with a funeral service. And makes you sit in a place for a period of time wondering, ‘why?’
After the burial, multiple woman came up, shoot our hands and with warm smiles invited us to dinner the following day. More ministry was done that day, then what we could have anticipated.
You never know when plans changed are the victories in which God wants us to experience.
