Moments before I took my position in the pulpit I received word that one of our prominent members had finally passed away after 15 years of sickness. Willie, a refugee from the DRC, had joyfully endured an illness (unknown to me) that attacked his liver, kidneys, heart and other of which he brought with him in his ten years of life in America. At forty years of age, he left behind his wife Winne and eight children. I made the announcement to our congregation and we paused and prayed. Needless to say what came out of my mouth next was more than likely a fog that disappeared as minds were fixed on the loss.
Obviously, Winne was not there. She was at home. But not alone. Her culture would never allow for that. And I wondered if mine would be so generous.
In my duty, and I emphasize duty, I realized that I would need to change my plans for the rest of the day. This duty is one that befalls to those God calls for gospel work. Upon arrival at her house I found myself walking upon a familiar scene from other visitation duties I had performed. The house overflowing with people and now standing room only emerging out the front door, spilling onto the stoop. Willie was a common man but to the American eye it would have appeared as if he was a dignitary of sorts. And in that moment my heart gave way to a culture expression I find slowly infusing into my own personal worldview. As nearly my entire congregation arrived at the house I came to my senses and joined among ones who came to this visitation not out of duty but out of fellowship. As I entered Winnie wept aloud as other women wept with her and held onto her. And as our choir began to sing the whole house joined in a mixture of song and weeping. Shameless in expression due to their culture’s shared bond that says, “It’s Ok. It’s ok to grieve.”
This kind of visitation will continue every day until the funeral and then some, be it a day, two days, or even two weeks. The funeral will likely last an uncomfortable 6 hours (which in my opinion is a little long). But in the midst of it all I’m somber at my culture’s response to grief and pain. In her book, “This Too Shall Last”, K.J. Ramsey writes of American culture saying, “When the notes of your life are in a mono key of somber limitation, you come to hear the sounds of shame screeching and scraping in all our lives under the pulsing beat of progress. Most people silence shame reflexively with busyness.”
This explains why most of our culture believes that one can loose a loved one, no matter who, and efficiently return to work after three days. Not only do our workplaces believe this but often our peers and family. I come from a strong Christian family and yet watched my grandmother after two days of her loss attempt to muster up enough strength to return to an empty house and sleep alone in a bed absent of a husband of over 60 years. And innocently, we let her.
It’s not that we don’t believe in grief. But as I participate in the process of grieving among other cultures I recognize how much we shame the extent to which one really needs to grieve.
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