The Funeral

We did something today we haven’t done before-we went to our first Indonesian funeral.  The funeral was for a boy named Robert, that was the nephew of one of our pembantus.  He got sick with malaria and diarrhea.  In the morning they took him to the hospital and by that evening he had died.  The funeral was unlike anything I have been to before.  Every eye was on us as we walked up to the house, as we were the only white skinned folks there. Among us were at least 100 people sitting around, crying and mourning with the family.  I was taken right into the house where I saw about a dozen women sitting on the floor around the dead body.  The boy was wrapped up in some sheets so that only his face was out.  They were chanting in an echo sort of way, over and over.  They had small branches of leaves from a tree in their hands and after a chant they would touch the body with the leaves.  The whole time they would rub his legs or shake his chest or lean in to breathe on his face.  After some time, a group of men walked in with the coffin.  The ladies started to get more intense in their chanting and rubbing.  It seemed to me that they were willing him to wake up, like it was his last chance.  They were acting like they expected him to open his eyes if they just yelled loud enough or shook his body just the right way.  So when the men began to pick him up they became hysterical.  Some men were there just to pry the women off of his body as they took him away.  He was buried with all his bedding and his pillow along with his clothes and tennis shoes.

I wish I had pictures of that part of the funeral but I did not think it would be appropriate.  I wanted to show you what their house looked like.  It was so sparse.  On the wall was a free calendar that one of the local stores was handing out, a old 8x10 picture of a baby, one outlet to plug in their phone charger, and then on a little shelf were 4 Indonesian Bibles.

Each one of the Bibles looked quite worn and well-used.  It was beautiful to see!  No furniture, no beds except mats on the floor, nothing in that house but what was absolutely essential.

I took some pictures later- the first two were from the walk to the house, and the rest are from the burial.

At the burial they sang the song, “When the Roll is Called up yonder” in Indonesian, and a pastor read some verses and prayed.  The whole experience was so moving.  There are times in life when everyone comes together for a common cause and little things like the color of your skin don’t matter.  This was one of them.  There was a wonderful old man that looked like an Indonesian Santa.  His name was Iganu.  He came over to greet us and shake our hands.  Along with many of the children.  We were all joined in heart - there to mourn with those whose hearts were breaking.  I wish we could always see past the outside and just love and accept each other as they are.  No stereotypes, no prejudices, no colors, or social classes-just people loved by God.  Precious people.

Rachel