Jesus Paid It All

We drove down the long, winding, bumpy road, with our headlights illuminating aloe trees, rocks in the road, an occasional goat and cow along the road as we neared the homestead.  I had picked up my friends at 4am to head to the funeral of a gogo that cooked for one of our carepoints.  We arrived at the homestead as the night vigil was ending, people tired and cold from singing all night to honor this woman's life. 

I hear the Savior say, "Thy strength indeed is small;
Child of weakness, watch and pray, Find in Me thine all in all."

 

I parked the car off to the side and as we quieted the engine, we could hear the singing, see the few light bulbs in the tent & smell the fire that was cooking the food that people would eat after the funeral.  We slowly walked over to the tent, greeting a few people along the way.  I tried to hide in the shadows so that my white face wouldn’t stand out in the sea of dark skin, as if somehow I could be a silent observer to this beautiful tradition of a Swazi funeral.  As the family and friends of this woman spoke & sang, the women’s voices carried the tune of “Jesus Paid It All” and I worshiped with them.  Though the words were in Siswati, the tune was familiar in my heart and I rejoiced in that promise as we huddled on the side of a hill in the middle of no where in the dark. 

Jesus paid it all, All to Him I owe;
Sin had left a crimson stain, He washed it white as snow.

As they finished up singing, people began stacking the plastic chairs and the family came out carrying the casket to the car.  We got in our car to drive from the homestead to the church, along the dark dirt road.  The stars were bright as there is hardly any electricity this far out in the bush.  As we slowly drove along the road, our headlights lit up the lines of people walking towards the church.  The women’s outfits were so colorful as they were layered in most of the clothes they owned in order to stay warm on this cool morning.  As we parked at the church, I looked back down the road behind us and saw cell phones and candles lighting up the line of people going back as far as I could see.    

Lord, now indeed I find Thy power and Thine alone,
Can change the leper's spots And melt the heart of stone.

We sat on a cement wall outside of the church because the inside was already packed, with people sitting on the floor, against the walls, and anywhere there was room.  The family carried the casket inside and sermons were preached, people were singing and sharing.  From where I was sitting, I could hear the sounds of the funeral inside, but was watching the sun light up the sky over the beautiful countryside of Swaziland.  At one point, someone came and asked me to speak on behalf of our organization to thank the family for their sister/mother/daughter/aunt/friend’s service of cooking at the carepoint.  As I shared with the family about Paul’s words in Thessalonians about not having to grieve as those without hope if we know Christ, almost every eye in the room was glued to me to hear what I was saying about the eternal hope we have when we die.  I went back out to my place on the wall as the funeral finished up, praying my words fell on fertile soil in the hearts of these people who witness death all the time around them.  In this area, they don't bury all people on their homestead, but have a side of a hill where many people are buried, so as the sun continued to rise and people began to warm up, we headed to the burial site.

And when before the throne I stand in Him complete,
"Jesus died my soul to save" my lips shall still repeat...

The sun had come above the horizon to light up the path to the burial, and as we drove in our car, most of the people started walking, a snake of color weaving its way through the countryside to a hill a little ways off.  They walked, clothed in many colors, silent as they reflected on the death of this friend, and tired from the night vigil, down toward the valley and back up the hill on the other side.  We got to the gravesite, where the grave was already dug by male family members over the past few days.  The men separated to one side of the grave, many of the women sat on the ground on the other side and one of my friends said “come, let us go with the women to collect the rocks.”  As I marveled at how everyone knew what they were supposed to do, I joined in the women as they did what they do at every funeral.  We walked a ways away to collect basketball size rocks that would be used to build up the grave after the men filled it with dirt.  After a few trips back & forth to bring rocks, we joined the other women, sitting on the ground on the side of the hill.  The men were still standing on the other side of the grave as women sang & then the pastor started sharing more about the woman who had passed away.  I counted over 300 people there on the hillside that morning, yet the way things were moving, as everyone knew their role & place, was more like a single organism with many parts.  

Jesus paid it all, All to Him I owe;
Sin had left a crimson stain, He washed it white as snow.

The women continued to sing as the men lowered the casket into the grave and then began to take turns shoveling the dirt into the grave.  As the level of the dirt evened out with the ground, the men began taking the rocks that the women had brought to pile them up on the grave.  As the last rocks were placed around the grave, the men all knelt as a family member thanked the community & the pastor said one last prayer.  I had to open my eyes and take in the moment as 350 people were sitting & kneeling on the hillside to celebrate & thank God for the life of this one woman.

 
O Praise the one who paid my debt
And raised this life up from the dead.

Jesus paid it all, All to Him I owe;
Sin had left a crimson stain, He washed it white as snow.