touching the dead…

I have never seen a dead body before. 

In America we don’t interact with death like they do in other countries. 

The dinning room was cleared and in the center of this cold cramped Romanian row house lay the body of a slight elderly woman. 

She was adorned with a headscarf and scraps of beautiful fabric; flowers lay at her feet and a picture of Jesus lay across her folded arms. 

I was surprised to find I was not scared.

All I could do was pray. First, as most any curious world racer does, I prayed to see her come back to life. So she might bring glory to the father and testimony to her faith. God quickly placed it on my heart that this woman was indeed alive in eternity, and I needed to start praying for the eternal life of her family left in that room, so I did! 

Becky asked us to sing Amazing Grace after the prayer, so the 5 of us began the hymn in soft low voices. The candles cast bright flickers of light across the shadowed faces that crowded into the room, and I couldn’t stop smiling. Through death God brings eternal life. It was so with His son’s sacrifice on the cross, and it was so with this woman. Her death was ushering others in her family into the Kingdom! This room of people hung on Becky’s every word and hope fell in tears down their cheeks, light was entering the room! 

Then something changed. The family began to frantically hush our singing. The Orthodox priest was here early and he was not going to like that Christians were in here singing and sharing the gospel with the family. Fear fell over the room, and the fight began. 

I have never given the death stare to a priest before but this wasn’t about religious tolerance anymore it was about the eternal state of the lives in this room. I stood on the other side of this woman’s body wearing the peace of Christ on her face, praying in tongues, and staring down the priest. He slurred his speech as he drunkenly stumbled through the book of prayers and more than once wavered as he crossed himself. The incense hung thick in the small room, as he finally finished his readings and turned to the family without one word of solace and demanded to see when this woman had died because, “she stank too bad to bring into a church for a funeral.”

“That is it!” I thought, I wanted to use my tongue as a sword and pierce the demons that surrounded these men with words of righteous truth. Instead I prayed. I wanted to throw myself over the ears of these women and the body that lay before me and shield them from this man. Instead I just smiled as big as I could and looked them in the eyes and hugged each woman. 

When he finally left the room literally brightened and I could physically feel a difference. We stayed with the family. We brought them food to help feed all the guests that would come for the funeral, we sat in their small cramped house and played with the kids and took plenty of photos. They loved taking pictures and then looking at them on the small digital camera, “instantly reminiscing.” (name that quote) 

They kissed us and hugged us multiple times each and asked us to return again soon. They told us they felt like they had met angels and wanted to hear more about the God Becky had shared with them.