Soccer, Kebabs, and Injil, 05: Funerals

« The Missional Path

Every Part Doing its Work »

Missionary Lives

Soccer, Kebabs, and Injil, 05: Funerals

Posted by Justin Long ⋅ June 30, 2008 ⋅

Email This Post ⋅

Print This Post ⋅ View comments

This series has been generously contributed from a booklet by Stephen Jordan (pseudonym) entitled “Soccer, Kebabs, and the Injil.” Jordan spent a year in ministry among Muslims in a Central Asian country, and jotted down his experiences and interactions in these brief chapters. The lessons learned demonstrate that, given an open heart, a humble spirit, and adequate preparation, short-term missions among Muslims can still have a fruitful impact on listeners and evangelist alike. We are happy to make this little volume available to you in the hopes that it will 1) show what daily life is like for many Muslims, 2) encourage prayer for unreached people groups, and 3) perhaps even motivate many to go and be a part of what God is doing in what are usually referred to as “creative-access” situations. If you would like a copy of the printed version of the booklet, or you would like to be placed on the mailing list of ReachAcross (formerly Red Sea Team International), please contact info.us…@reachacross.net.

Life-cycle events such as weddings portray how people generally celebrate a joyous occasion, a life transition witnessed by family and friends. In the local culture, great importance is placed on honor and hospitality. As many people as possible have to be invited and given a meal as splendid as possible in order to maintain, and even gain, status in the society. Grooms and their family often accrue massive amounts of debt in order to accomplish these goals, and this debt is often not paid off for years, and even decades. The one life-cycle event that is accompanied mainly by sadness is the funeral, signifying the passing of a life, the arrival of death.

In the local culture, death is certainly not ignored, and not only the funeral, but also the forty-day period, and each anniversary of the death date is commemorated, and even celebrated as well. In its specific content, this event differs little even from the wedding: people are invited, come for a meal, talk very little, and then leave after they are done. However, one specific funeral day is engraved in my memory. Perhaps the very core values of this society were portrayed in this event more than any other.

Our driver had a young wife and a little toddler at home, and his wife was pregnant with another child. Sadly, there were complications in the pregnancy, and the child died shortly after birth. On that day, the local staff at our office, including our office manager who alone among them had professed faith in Christ, and myself drove over the house where our driver’s extended family lived. The driver and his father were waiting on us. They had wrapped the infant’s body in an embroidered fabric, and the driver started walking down the road, cradling the body, and with the rest of us following behind. Interestingly after a fairly short time frame, the driver’s father took the body from his son. Shortly after that, someone else took it from the father. This exchange continued until we reached their local masjid, the mosque, the place of worship. Rather than representing a profound individualized feeling, the burden of grief was taken up communally in this situation.

We arrived at the mosque just in time for the afternoon prayers. All the usual neighborhood worshippers were present as well. Nervous at the fact that I wasn’t a Muslim, or maybe that I would object to his participation in the ritual prayers, our office manager asked if I wanted to wait in the car. However, I declined, and after taking off my shoes, stood to the side in the corner of the building. While the thirty or so locals went through their ritual bowing, standing back up, and Arabic recitals, I stood and prayed silently for the grieving family, asking God to open their hearts to Himself. After the normal prayer time, the Imam, leader of the mosque, led us outside, the body of the baby in his arms, leading us in special prayers for this taken life. Unlike the ritual prayer before, he also spoke in the native language, not just in Arabic.

Then, most of the prayer community, all males, headed over to the burial site, off to the side of the road, marked by green flags. Two men had already done most of the digging, and the Imam laid the child in the grave. With prayers, heavy bricks were carefully placed over the body, and the rest of the grave filled back up with dirt. I did not understand everything that was said, and no doubt much was cited in Arabic from the Qur’an. All of us were crouching in typical local style, trying to shield ourselves from the burning sun on this hot summer’s day. No one was openly grieving – in fact, I had the sense that as soon as the ceremony was finished everyone went back to business as usual.

The driver never again mentioned the death of his infant child. Now I had seen and heard of women grieving openly, wailing the loss of a loved one. Perhaps the difference could be accounted for in different gender expectations. Perhaps, however, the strong local fatalistic belief system played a part in this as well. Death comes at the behest of God alone, and who can argue with Him? Whatever happens is the Will of God, and there is no use investigating earthly causes or wondering about the “what if’s”. Life moves on, and so must we. In a culture that has experienced so much grief, and where life has seemed unexplainable so many times, this coping strategy has kept people functioning a while longer.