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The last two Saturdays of my life could not have been more different. Two Saturdays ago my family
attended a quinceañera, a grand celebration in Latin America of the 15th birthday of a young lady. Last Saturday our family went to a.funeral of my wife’s grandfather, a sad affair because he wasted most of his life on alcohol, and nobody is sure where his eternal soul abides.
We were invited to the quinceañera by a dedicated Christian woman who spent some years helping out at the home for needy children where my wife and I serve. Now her lovely Christian daughter was celebrating her 15th birthday in a big way, with a beautiful new dress, six handsome young men decked out with tuxedos, super decorations, delicious food and great music. What could be better? A good time was had by all.
On Friday, my wife Anitas grandfather died in a freak accident, perhaps caused by drinking, even though it was only 11a.m. He was sitting on a rock ledge. He leaned back and tumbled onto a concrete floor where he cracked open his skull. He was 83 years old.
The next day the funeral and burial took place. His estranged wife of many years was there. His two daughters and three grandchildren were there. He lived with and was cared for and loved by his family in Mitla, Mexico. He had lived in Mexico city with some family until they found it extremely difficult to deal with him due to his drinking problem. They basically just dropped him off in Mitla for his daughter and her family to try and manage. They seemed to be saying “He is your problem now.”
Anita’s younger brother is in his twenties. He has Down Syndrome. He was the only person who cried at the burial. He cried with all his heart. When he prays and sings he does it with all his heart. He seems to be in touch with God on a higher plane than most of us. Some people feel sorry for the poor kid with Down Syndrome. Sometimes I think that we should feel sorry for ourselves that we are not in touch with God like he seems to be. I think he was mourning for more than his dead, alcoholic grandpa cold in the grave. Maybe he was mourning for a weak, troubled spirit who couldn’t overcome his problem; a man, created in God’s image who never experienced the joy and peace that comes from living in right relationship with God. That is most tragic thing in the world, and maybe everyone present at the grave site should have been crying with all their heart.
Anita’s older brother is pastor of a little church in Mitla, and is also owner/operator of a Christian radio station. At the funeral he talked about how his grandfather had made some poor choices in life, and then talked about how we have all made some poor choices in our lives. How we have all fallen short of God’s glory, how we have all sinned. The cure for poor life decisions is found at the foot of the cross, in the forgiveness found in trusting our lives to Jesus of Nazareth. “Confess your sins to God, and he is faithful and just to forgive us and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” These were the words he used to end the service. A great encouragement to those of us who could look at everyday of our lives and realize that we have fallen short of God’s holy expectations of us. A great appeal to those who have never trusted in the precious blood of Christ to change bad life decisions into a new Life.
A grave side burial in Oaxaca Mexico is unlike any I ever experienced in the U.S. The word that comes to mind is Raw. It is not “pretty”. It’s not ugly either. It’s just real, maybe like it was in the U.S. 100 years ago. There is a big hole in the ground with a big pile of dirt beside it. Family members and friends of the deceased put a couple of ropes under the casket, and lift it up and lower it into the hole. Sally and Kelly were very interested in the whole affair and care had to be taken that they didn’t fall in. Once the casket is in, a bag of clothes belonging to the dead person comes out, and one by one the clothes are dropped in. In this case, Anita s younger brother did the honor, dropping in some pants, a couple of shirts and a couple of sweaters, his tears falling in along with the clothes. After the clothes, some flowers are added and then the dirt begins to fly. Again, family members and friends are the ones shoveling the dirt, filling the grave.
When the shoveling is done, there is a mound of dirt at least two feet high over the casket. On this mound of dirt was placed flowers in five gallon buckets, along with candles and a cup of soda pop. Finally everyone goes home. My Saturday experience was finished.
Ecclesiastes 7:2 Says it is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of everyone; the living should take this to heart.
Death is the destiny of everyone. Physical death, that is. Praise God that He has made a way for people to live eternally, and that eternal life begins the second a person has faith in Jesus and in his work on the cross. Thank God we can look forward to that day we will be seated at the heavenly banquet, the celestial quinceañera, but instead of honoring a 15 year old lady, we will be adoring our Lord and Savior.
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It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for this is the end of all mankind, and the living will lay it to heart. Ecclesiastes 7:2
I recently went to a house of mourning. A neighbor of the mission died of a heart attack. His friends called him Toto. He was in his forties. He was a taxi driver. A real nice guy. Occasionally I would get rides from him, and sometimes he wouldn’t charge me. I did not go because we were such great friends, but because his wife, Guermina, used to work at the mission as a cook. My wife, Anita, who is a cook at the mission, was friends with her, as were others here. Toto left behind his wife, a son, and three daughters.
Sunday morning before church, Anita and I walked down the road to the house of mourning. In this part of Mexico, when someone dies, a large tarp, resembling a circus tent is erected in the front yard, and this was no exception. It was clearly visible as we made our way down the road. Walking into the yard, we were greeted by Guermina’s mother. Anita hugged her and I shook her hand. There were staff members from the mission there helping out. Mainly helping with the cooking and serving of food. At any special occasion in Oaxaca,Mexico, whether it be a baptism, wedding or funeral, there is always the large tent, tables, chairs, and lots of food.
We went into the house of mourning, and there was the widow and her children, flowers, candles and an open casket. Anita and I hugged Gueremina. Anita hugged the daughters. Anita told me that when you go to the house of mourning, you either bring white flowers or food or money, or all three. We brought some money that I was supposed to give to the widow when offering condolences. I forgot. After Anita looked in the casket, we went out of the house and sat at one of the tables under the tent. Enrique, the mission’s prison minister, who also lives a short distant from the bereaved, brought us bread and hot chocolate, a standard at all Oaxacan “events”. It was then that I realized I had forgotten to give the money to Gueremina. I told Anita. She wasn’t pleased.
We ate a bit of our bread and drank our chocolate. They had also brought us some beef soup. At these events they always give you more than you can eat, and knowing that they also thoughtfully provide “doggie bags”; plastic bags that you can put the uneaten portions in. At wedding celebrations they often supply buckets since they give you so much. After putting our bread and soup in bags, we made our way back into the house of mourning to say goodbye and to give me a chance to give the widow our humble gift.
Ian and Elaine are workers at the mission. They are from Canada and have been there longer than any other North Americans. They were the ones that initially hired Anita and Gueremina as cooks, and Elaine was especially close to Gueremina. They picked us up later that afternoon and drove us to the funeral.
We went across the highway that seperates Gueremina’s house from the little town of Tanivet, where Toto was to be buried. There was a very long line of cars, trucks and taxi’s that made it’s way to Tanivet. In Tanivet, the procession stopped at Toto’s father’s house for a few minutes, and then continued down the street to a small Catholic church. A band led the mourners, playing what seemed more like a lively polka than a dirge for the dead. Family members and friends following behind, carried the casket on their shoulders . The little church soon filled up, and a lot of people just waited outside. Ian, Elaine, Anita and I found a place to stand at the back during the funeral service.
I didn’t understand everything the Priest said during the mass for the dead, but I know he mentioned sins and forgiveness a few times. I think that is a good theme for a funeral service. I think that is one reason why the writer of Ecclesiastes says that it is better to go to the house of mourning than a house of feasting. Normally at a house of feasting, at a party, you have fun, get full and go home. What goes on at a house of mourning is deeper, more significant, At the house of mourning, or a funeral, you are more apt to think about your own eventual demise. You think about the meaning of life and your purpose on this planet. You think about sins and forgiveness and getting into heaven and what is required. A Christian’s thoughts, I think, turn toward the work of Christ on the cross, the resurrection and what was accomplished by those deeds. A Christian puts his or her faith in the atoning work of Jesus for salvation from the power of Sin, and for forgiveness of sins. A Christian can celebrate the death of a loved one who has put their trust in God for eternal life, knowing that that loved one is in the immediate presence of Jesus, and is happier now than at any point in their existence this side of paradise. A Christian can look forward to the day when their body is in the casket, but their soul is with Christ.
After the funeral service we walked about a mile down a long, dusty road to the cemetery. Everything got a little crazy as we got to the cemetery. Three taxi drivers were honking their taxi’s horns. There was a mound of dirt beside the grave. Young men drinking beer and smoking cigarettes were close to the hole. I looked around and saw older men standing behind the scene, filling plastic cups with mescal, strong drink like tequila. Some people had tears in their eyes, others had smiles on their faces, and others simply looked about with a kind of oblivious, blank stare. A grief stricken daughter started screaming for her papa, and had to be restrained by family members. As the casket got closer to the hole in the ground, Gueremina’s tears flowed freer than I had seen before. The family had trouble taking their place beside the grave since such a crowd was pressed in, wanting a good view. Those carrying the casket set it on some ropes on top of the mound of dirt beside the grave. At this point the priest and people shushed the band to quiet down. The priest said a few words, and then a few of the drunken men tried to speak some nice words about Toto. Then the casket was precariously lifted up by men holding on to the ropes, and slowly lowered into the hole. One of the men put a six-pack of beer in the grave. Another person handed Gueremina a large, clear, plastic bag full of Toto’s clothes; and then another one, ostensibly to accompany him into the great beyond. Finally an uncle started shoveling dirt into the grave site, and then the son grabbed a shovel and added a few shovel fulls. People close to the grave dropped handfuls of dirt on the casket.
At last it was over, and people began making their way back to their cars; some staggering and being helped by friends. Ian had gone back early for the car and drove it close to the cemetery, for which we were all grateful, for two reasons. One, so that we didn’t have to make the long trek back into town on foot, and two, so that we could be out of there before the intoxicated men got behind the wheels.
On the way back to the mission I pondered my time spent at the house of mourning. Death slaps us in the face – especially the sudden death of a relatively young man. It reminds us of our earthly mortality, How do we deal with that? Some people try to drown the certainty of death with alcohol or drugs. Others bury themselves in work or good works, hoping to make it to heaven by their own merit. Others are confident that God loves them and wants them to be happy, and has taken away the sting of death with a true and sure promise of an eternity of enjoying God.
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The resurrection of Christ has determined our existence for all time and eternity. We do not merely live out our length of days and then have the hope of resurrection as an addendum; rather, as Paul makes plain, Christ’s resurrection has set in motion a chain of inexorable events that absolutely determines our present and our future. Christ is the firstfruits of those who are his, who will be raised at his coming. That ought both to reform the way we currently live and to reshape our worship into seasons of unbridled rejoicing. Gordon D. Fee in The First Epistle to the Corinthians
To Enjoy God 