A Time to Cry

I wrote this back in May right before we left for our mission wide retreat and realized I never posted... sorry for the delay :)

Friday evening we heard something outside that sounded like cheering for a football match going on. We stepped outside to investigate and realized it was more of a steady wailing. 30 year old Birahanga, a long time friend of previous missionaries had died. Birahanga was local primary school teacher husband and father of 2.

Saturday I went to my first Ugandan burial. There were literally hundreds of people gathered on the compound and around the house. Some were sitting on school benches brought in from across the road. Others sat on the ground on pieces of cloth. It started to rain and I was thankful to be seated under one of the 3 or so tarps hung up to the house. Inside the house people crying audibly, a generator hummed and music played on the rented sound system. I greeted my friend Usta and she handed over her tiny smily niece who I rocked for a while. Until the tarps started to tip gushing water and I had to move, seeing my other friend Bahati I moved close to her. After a time the music stopped and the speeches began. In a culture where many people do not know how to read the spoken word one of the ways they best show appreciation. Friends and relatives took turns sharing. Tears streamed down the faces of grown men as they morned this great and unexpected loss. The headmaster of the school were Birahanga taught promised to waive school fees for his children for the coming year. It is the African way to come around a family or community member in need.

After an hour or so of speeches and some words of encouragement from pastor Kisembo, we sang some of the Lubwisi songs from church on Sunday. Then we all got up and followed the rough wood casket to its resting place on the compound. There was more wailing. Birahanga’s wife had to be carried. It the crowd some just curled up on the ground and sobbed, the sea of people moving around them. Perhaps the most sobering thing about this burial was all the children present that were crying. Birahanga was a teacher and these shaken kid were students of his.

While witnessing all of this was a bit difficult, it was also beautiful. Pain and suffering is a real part of life. But not a reality that I have to face often. And definitely not something that I do well. But grief for a time is good for the soul. It is good to be vulnerable to need each other. Life here is all about community people are all deeply intertwined in each others lives. They invest in each other and bear each others burdens. It is risky to invest like this, every thing is more intense. In loving well they pay a price when there is loss. I have to ask myself a lot, am I willing to pay the price to love these people. To be hurt... but also to have the great joy of sharing life together, and of knowing God together. Only the good news of the gospel of Christ can bring me to the place where I can answer yes and jump in. I am thankful for another lesson from the Babwisi.