The Circle of Life

Last week, I wrote about my first up-close experience with death in Africa.  Well it appears as though that was only the beginning.  God decided this week to give me several lessons about the circle of life (cue The Lion King instrumental).  Two days after the death of Nora’s mother, I held a brand-new-born baby, and five days later, there was a sudden funeral that hit very close to home.

The Tiny Miracle

After mass on Sunday, I tagged along with a group of girls to visit their friend Joice¹ (my former student/footballer) and her newborn baby.  We crammed into her house and took turns holding the precious little angel who was – get this – only 24 hours old!  When I took her into my arms, I was completely unprepared for my reaction.  I was instantly captivated, entranced, and mesmerized, my gaze held hostage by the tiny (tiny!) pale face in front of me.  A surge of love rushed through me like an electric shock, and my eyes welled with tears.  A haze of awe surrounded me, and the other people in the room faded from my vision, their voices quelled into silence.  “What is happening?” I thought.  “I love kids and all, but babies have never made me feel anything like this.  This is amazing!  God’s craftsmanship is... I mean, just… this baby girl is pure perfection.”  Hercules with all his might couldn’t have turned my face away from the precious life I held.  I was intensely aware of the miracle that God had gifted to the world, and my mind swirled round and round thinking of the spiritual significance of what I was holding – pure potential for whatever God has in His great plan for the world.

Being exactly where I was, seeing/feeling/experiencing exactly what I was, was nothing short of sublime.  There was no doubt in my mind that a serious slice of Heaven had fluttered down into the tiny, cramped mud hut in the middle of “the bush” in Africa.  I was standing on holy ground.  While it is normally interpreted under the context of death, a Gospel passage I recently read sprung to mind.  “And Jesus said unto him, ‘verily I say to you, today you shall be with me in paradise’” (Luke 23:43).  I felt the weight of Christ’s words in that moment.  It felt to me like I was in paradise.  Being in this place that I love so much, with these children that I love so much, paying tribute to all the glorious possibilities of the beginning of a human life, was absolutely perfection to me.  It’s not so surprising, though, is it, that a passage about the end of life brought to mind the beginning of it?  They are so intrinsically connected. 

A BIG Miracle?

Time-wise, we are never so close to Heaven as the moments we enter and leave this world.  A spiritual paradox, the time when a person leaves Heaven to become born on Earth is universally acknowledged as the most joyful time there is, while a loved one returning Home (after an arduous human journey) is seen as one of the saddest times.  You would think people would “prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord” (2 Corinthians 5:8) but since this is the only world we know, that’s usually not the case, especially for the loved ones left behind.  The pain involved in letting go of someone we cherish can be unbearable.  I had to witness this unspeakable pain in our kids for the second time in a week when Mary died.  Mary was a rock star of a woman with several children I am close with who are involved in our school/church/oratory/community.  When we heard the news it simply came as “Mariam’s mother died”.

By the time I found out, the body had been moved to a church so we rushed right over (community support is everything, people are what matter; the rest of my classes for the day would just have to ‘suffer’ through a free study period).  The experience was very different from when Nora’s mother died, and if you’re interested in the cultural details of what went on, dear reader, I’ll be happy to explain via email, but this post isn’t about that aspect.  After consoling the children for a couple of hours, and shedding several tears myself, I was gazing forlornly at the ground when an outstretched hand appeared under my face.  When I looked up to see who was greeting me, I came face-to-face with the living dead.  I blinked several times and stared in utter disbelief right into the face of, you guessed it, Mary herself.  It gave a whole new meaning to Jesus’ proclamation that “[s]he that believes in me, though [s]he were dead, shall live” (John 11:25). “Why isn’t everyone else reacting to this?” I thought.  “Why aren’t 200 people celebrating that she’s alive right now?  Or is this her ghost appearing only to me?”  I’ve witnessed an inestimable number of small miracles here, but this would be the one to top all miracles.  No such luck.  Long story short, apparently Mariam is actually the biological daughter of another one of her father’s wives (the people are polygamous), despite the fact that she lives with Mary’s family.  Big mistake to make, but actually understandable in this culture.

What a difference it is between someone being “dead” one minute and alive the next!   …But how much of a difference is it really?  After the whole experience, I was reading about the mortality of man and came across an intriguing quote from Romans – “If we live, we live to the Lord; and if we die, we die to the Lord. So whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord” (14:8).  Certainly something for me to ponder more deeply.

The End.

¹ Background: Last year, Joice was my student in P5, the leader of the Daughters of Mary, and a very promising football player.  Then she disappeared for the same reason droves of young girls in South Sudan drop out of primary school – she got pregnant.  There is no adoption and no support for a girl to remain in school or get a job, so when she gets pregnant, she becomes a full-time, stay-at-home, usually unwed mother, and that’s it.  In my time here, I’ve heard story after story of home abortions done to “escape” this reality, and it absolutely breaks my heart every time.  Sitting next to Joice, I was struck by her strength accepting her new role and the grace that surrounded her.  I was profoundly touched by how grown-up she felt to me.  Ten years my junior, this girl exuded Motherhood.  I thanked God for the gift of her to this world and to the new baby girl she brought into it.  The Bible speaks much better than I can about the perfection of her motherhood.  The same passage seems a fitting reflection for me on these last 7 days here in South Sudan -->

“This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love the Lord your God, listen to His voice, and hold fast to Him. For the Lord is your life.” (Deuteronomy 30:19-20).  (Credit to Miss Rondon for calling up this passage for me to read in her blog and apply to my own recent experiences).

Death as a Teacher

Death here is a sadly common thing.  Yet despite the frequency of students being absent for deaths in the family, I still hadn’t had a terribly up-close encounter with how the people here deal with it in terms of rituals.  The closest I’d come was a couple of visits to the students’ houses in the days following their loss, as the family did what I would most compare to Jews sitting shivah.  Until yesterday.

During lunch, the entire student body suddenly dashed across the field towards the road because “somebody just died.”  We got to the road in time to watch a pickup truck fly past filled with people screaming.  All the girls took off sprinting after it like their lives depended on it.  One of the kids informed me that a student’s mother had just died, that the truck held her body, and that the people were going to her house.  I followed them to pay my respects and support my student.  During the experience that followed, I learned (or re-realized) a great deal about the culture here in South Sudan:

Word travels fast:  I have absolutely no idea how 100 kids simultaneously knew that a corpse was about to pass the school and exactly who had just died and how.  (Needless to say, they don’t have cell phones.)

People are what matters:  There were well over 200 people gathered at the woman’s home within minutes of the arrival of the body.  The adults and elderly literally ran from wherever they were, pouring into the compound from every direction of the surrounding “bush” (forest), and the kids didn’t give a second thought to immediately leaving school.  No one cared about anything in the world but supporting the family of the deceased.  They literally dropped whatever they had in their hands and came.

Dealing with death is personal:  In America, when someone dies, the next of kin are spared a lot of the “messier” aspects of dealing with the body.  Here, it’s strictly a family affair.  The family members carried the deceased around the property simply on a sheet while friends processed after it.  The women formed a circle to shield the body and used buckets of water and their hands to wash it, while the men constructed (out of branches) a tent to use for a sort of wake.  The men in the community dug a hole for burial in the middle of the woman’s yard to lay her alongside the others who’ve passed in their family (there are no cemeteries, so each family creates their own).

Community = family: The family of the deceased, obviously devastated by the sudden death of their loved one, mourned deeply, loudly, and with much movement.  As I tried hard not to stare, I thought to myself, “if my mom died, I would not want the entire town watching me just after I found out.”  In the States, the deepest mourning is done in private, alone or strictly with family.  Then I realized why it’s done here the way it is: everyone watching was family.  The whole community is family.  As I looked around, tears were silently streaming down most people’s faces.  There was a glaring difference between the sympathetic reactions I’d expected to see on the girls’ faces (as classmates of the woman’s daughter) and the profoundly sad tears I saw.  It looked as though the woman had been a real part of all of their lives as well.  Never before have I seen as tight-knit a community as we have here in our little village in Africa.

Afterthought –

I am definitely an outsider:  My mind was teeming with questions about the way they were doing things.  There was a lot that I saw that I didn’t understand, and I’m sure there was much more going on that I didn’t even pick up on.  I had the sense to keep my mouth shut (no one but immediate family spoke), but I was very very aware of my ignorance and out-of-place-ness.  I nervously questioned if I should even be there.  It didn’t help that I wore a sports shirt that screamed my name and favorite number, which I felt made me stick out even more (as if my ghostly skin tone wasn’t enough).  “I am not one of these people,” I thought self-consciously, feeling extremely insecure.

…who belongs?: Though I was trying my absolute best to stay in the very back background, the villagers’ respect for me (which I flat-out don’t deserve in my own right) still showed through.  One old woman came to where the kids and I were huddled under a small tree for shade, and seriously scolded them because I wasn’t being sufficiently sheltered from the sun.  Family members who were shooing others away from the body motioned for me to stay and pray.  Very few people gave me a second glance, and no one looked at me with judgment or questioned my presence.  On the walk back to school, I led the girls in prayer.  All of these things were obviously blessings from God, sent to ease my fears of being an unwelcome intruder into the lives of these people.  “They are allowing me to become one of them,” I thought gratefully, feeling (despite my unworthiness of such an honor) extremely blessed.

The Big 2-5

I’m 25.  As my brother kindly reminded me, I just had the last birthday anyone will remember or care about for at least 5 years.  I am now at that age where I absolutely cannot deny that I am in fact a “grown up” and actually responsible for my own life (uck).  I am at that age where I recognize, across the board, that my mother was right.  I am at that age where I have just the starting twinge of wisdom and life advice to impart to the bottom half of my generation.  I am at that age where I start using the phrase “I am at that age where”.  In thinking about my life, all 25 years and then most especially this past one, two thoughts struck me most:

1. We must be happy in our lives.  God created us why?  To be joyful!  To live in love and love living in it.  He never intended us to “just go through the motions” or to sacrifice our happiness for the sake of perceived responsibilities.  If we are dissatisfied or stagnant, that is a problem we need to act on immediately.  Ultimately, only we are responsible for our lives.  We cannot sit in mediocrity or idleness.  That’s not God’s plan for us.  His plan, as His love, is grander and more wonderful than we could even imagine.  So do what makes you happy!!!  Yes, it is that simple.  Spend your time with people who make you smile and laugh and think good thoughts.  Do the things you enjoy doing.  Be fulfilled.  Those feelings of inner joy, satisfaction of the soul, and inspired energy are God lighting a fire in our hearts.  He wants to give us His Kingdom of Heaven so much that he makes it possible to experience a piece of it while still on Earth – if we want it.  The choice is ours.

2.  There is a holiness that pervades life.  Each moment of our lives, every millisecond, is important and miraculous and should be celebrated.  I mean, think about it for a second – we’re alive!  God loves us so much that He breathed life into our bodies and souls.  Every moment is divinely planned, and thus cannot be anything but deeply and profoundly holy.  Every experience, however minute or seemingly mundane, is in His plan.  Appreciate that walk with the dog, the drive to work, that cup of coffee.  Think getting ready in the morning is meaningless or valueless?  Remember that Jesus is there with you!  Bam – that moment is now sacred.  The same need to appreciate life goes for painful experiences as well.  God doesn’t say, “this is my plan for you, but I’m sorry, you’re going to have to deal with xyz in the process.”  Instead, he says, “xyz all are hand-crafted experiences put specifically in your life by Me for countless reasons you will never understand."  He has a hand in everything.  He Himself is in everything.  Therefore, bless and praise every moment as holy and divine.

Of course God decided to speak to me loud and clear on my birthday so as to give me a hint as to what the new year has in store for me spiritually.  I have a book with all the mass readings for 2013 which I bring it to mass on Sundays so I can follow along (weekend masses are said in Zande).  When I opened it up on my birthday, I was very surprised to see that the illustration was the headshot of a redheaded, blue eyed woman.  God was telling me to pay attention!  The Gospel reading was one I need to hear often, the story of Mary and Martha.  Basically, the story goes that Jesus came to visit the home of two sisters, and while Martha tended to the work of serving Jesus, her sister sat down to listen to him.  Jesus told her that Mary had chosen the best thing to do.  I need to be more like Mary.  I need to slow down, come to a full stop even, and just BE with Christ and his people.  Message received.  This past year has been full of many changes in me.  For this next year, I am clearly supposed to focus on becoming a Mary.  It’s amazing to me the ways God gets my attention.