Goodbye Boaz...

I heard wailing louder than I have ever heard before, everywhere I
turned there was crying. Boaz, 24 years old, studying in Ndjamena, died
last Sunday. All the people here say that he was different than most,
always visiting everyone in the village when he was home, providing for
his family, and kind to everyone; not your typical Tchadian. He seemed
fine Sunday morning, going to church as usual, but no one knows for sure
what happened, maybe poison, maybe witchcraft, but two hours after
throwing up Sunday afternoon he died. While his body was being
retrieved by his older brother Franco, the 14 days of mourning began.
Wailing every night. Drumming every night. Singing every night.
Praying every night. The people of this village said goodbye to Boaz
on Wednesday, the 8th of February. I watched as hundreds of people were
coming from all different directions to lay their brother, friend, and
son into the ground. As his coffin was put into the grave, the wailing
began again. The sound of such pain was enough to give me the chills,
and to break my heart all at the same time. I took my eyes, for a
moment, off the faces of the people, and looked to the ground. I saw
feet that were dirty, cracked, broken, lame, and I thought of all the
roads that these people have walked. Roads to happiness, roads to pain,
roads to starvation, or roads to sin. I wished that the feet could
speak English to me and tell all that they have seen, all the roads that
they have traveled, but on that day, all these feet were at the same
place, to look pain in the eyes once more. After the grave was filled a
group of women with small sticks in hand, sang and danced around the
grave. One woman had the equivalent of almost $20 on a stick as she
danced. After that everyone went back to the house to continue the 14
days of mourning. Aaron, one of the older brothers who comes to church
with us asked a group of us to stay for a few songs and a prayer around
the grave. The last song that Aaron started was "It is finished my
brother, it is finished little brother, it is finished my friend." I
couldn't help but cry as he continued singing the song. The pain that
this brother was feeling, I couldn't comprehend, but I still hurt. I
thought of the people that came that day, all thinking of their past
losses, knowing that there will be another next week, and the week after
that, how much can these people take? They go to funerals almost every
week for a family member or friend, God how can you comfort so many?
But as I thought of the words to the song, I found joy, because it is
not finished, Jesus is coming again! He will wipe every tear from our
eyes, he will take away death forever, He will give us new feet, and
gold paths to walk to the market on! Oh wow, how amazing that day will
be, how amazing eternity will be! There are many people who have yet to
hear the song "it is not finished my brother, my friend, my sister, it
has just begun". Many ears have not yet heard, many lives have not been
changed, but that is why he has sent us. We must tell the world of the
Good News, we must tell the world of His love. He wants us to be
ready...He wants us. Even now I can still hear the drumming, the
singing, the wailing, I know they will continually have pain here in
this place, but Jesus is coming soon, tell the world.