Sorrow Not As Others Which Have No Hope

Date of original journal entry: Monday December 16, 2013

I Thessalonians 4:13 But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope.

I cannot count how many times I have listened to the mournful wailing cries of grief emanating from the burial grounds just through the bush to the west of our house.  Today, for the first time, loud songs of praise were raised from the hearts and voices as members of our little church gathered in that lonely, sorrow-filled place and sang of triumph, new life, and hope in Jesus Christ.  “There is a Fountain”, “Since I Have Been Redeemed”, “Solid Rock”, “In the Sweet By and By”; the sacrifice of praise to the Author of eternal life.

Culturally, women do not accompany the men to the burial site though they can visit it later.  As I sat on our veranda and listened to the rich voices of the men’s outpouring, I truly felt as though on sacred ground.  A change is being effected in lives and hearts; the suddenness of that realization brought tears to my eyes.  As the young parents bury their first-born, a boy only three days old, they show a difference.  Sorrow?  Of course, but not without the mingling of the comforting balm of hope in Jesus Christ.  Their darling is safe in the arms of Jesus and they know they will see him one day just over in the Glory Land.

This difference is also being seen by the town residents, most of whom are Muslim.  “They care for each other,” was the hushed comment heard several times during the burial service.  Tenderly, Alfred carried the tiny, linen-wrapped body as his friend, the father, was too over come with grief to do so himself.  Stephen, encircling the father with gentle arms, helping to bear his burden, offered the same words which consoled King David, “Brother, because of Jesus you will go to him; you will see your son again.”  As others of our church spontaneously offered hope and comfort from scripture, the typically chaotic gathering grew quiet; listening, watching, seeing a difference.

The day before this burial my own heart was touched by this same sorrow as late in the afternoon a messenger arrived with the sad news that “Little Laura” had died earlier that day.  You may recall her story recorded in the January and April 2013 issues of the Field Report.  Laura’s mother, Nyanda, had been bitten by a poisonous snake when six months pregnant and the doctors were uncertain as to the effects of the antivenin serum on the developing baby.  Three months later, following a lengthy labor in which the mid-wife erroneously declared the baby dead in the womb, Little Laura made her victorious entry into the world.

Though relatively healthy, Laura’s small body was not able to withstand the effects of a recurring fever.  Complicating the situation was the method of treatment; superstitions are difficult to overcome and often times something which is treatable turns deadly.  In vain I tried to help Nyanda understand some basic things regarding fever treatment; Laura’s was an avoidable death.  But my darling is safe in the arms of Jesus.  She will never know the cruelties of evil in the world; she will never feel the cold shadows of sorrow.  She had a happy 10 months of life in Tendabu, her small African village, surrounded by people who loved her.

Just behind Laura’s tiny grave is a larger one; fresh the same day as hers.  A woman, around 80 years old, died the same day as Laura.  Sadly though, this woman died a Muslim, without Christ and without hope.  How grateful I am that in Christ we sorrow not as those who have no hope.

 

 

David Johnny, Laura’s father, loves to robustly sing English hymns.  The third stanza from his favorite hymn is quite fitting:

“To our bountiful Father above, we will offer our tribute of praise

For the glorious gift of His love, and the blessings that hallow our days.”

 

 

Little Laura, because of Jesus I will see you in the Sweet By and By.