God's Rod and Staff

          The saying goes that a house in mourning is not ignored, because of the cries and wailing, the religious music often played loudly, and of the large number of people coming and going. In fact, neighbours, members of the near and distant family, members of the church and / or ethnic associations take turns assisting the family, so that they do not feel alone. 

But when there are conflicts, due to broken relationships and opposition between Christians and non-Christians, that moral and physical support may be lacking and one may feel alone in the crowd. This is what happened when we lost our mother on April 11, 2017. 

To explain the background, my sisters and I had just moved into the neighbourhood; we hardly knew anybody and we were not yet part of any group, choir, neighbours' meeting or ethnic association. As for the wiring of the house, it was still very unstable and did not allow the use of the devices. As a result, when that day came, we couldn't even count on the crowd or religious music to alleviate these difficult times.

Our close relatives were living in other towns and couldn't travel right away. The only ones who were there on the 11th, were two aunts and an uncle. They had arrived that same day, having learned that my mother was in a coma. However, they had come with plants for some rituals. Their traditional methods and our prayer programs clashed at the bedside of my dying mom, and we had an argument over it. The Lord having finally called my mother to Him, we brought her to the mortuary and returned home, in a mood as gloomy as the house plunged into darkness and silence. Despite the suddenness of the news, a few neighbours came to offer their condolences and then returned home. I almost begged them to stay with us, I dreaded that night so much. I dreaded painful conversations, reproaches, questions, and even the silence. It might not have been that bad, but it was more than I could handle that day.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. It was Benedict, a young friend and member of our church. She and her family came in Cameroon a couple of years ago, as refugees from the Central African Republic. She had learned of my grief and had come to console me. But the taxi she had taken had made so many detours that she arrived after dark. She could only spend the night with us. I was so grateful. The presence of someone other than a relative prevented any form of awkward discussion. Besides, this dear sister was so caring that she got up at night to read the Bible with me, as I couldn't sleep. She was sorry that she had nothing to give me, but I told her she was God's special envoy in my life at a crucial time, the manifestation of His rod and staff in the darkest valley. 

The second night which promised to be distressing was the wake keeping. The trip to the village had gone without major worries. But when we arrived there, we encountered the same problems of family dissension, conflicts between tradition and faith, and old grudges. As a consequence, nothing had been prepared for the wake, no program, no choir, no exhortation. Speaking of the electric system again, the hastily hooked up wiring failed, so we found ourselves in the darkness and silence. This was so unusual for a funeral wake. While the others sat in the courtyard around a flickering fire, I was there, lying next to the candle-lit coffin, chilled with cold. It hurt so much to see my mother spending her last night with us in such conditions. Why was nothing working ? Why so many divisions ?

Suddenly I heard a voice outside singing a hymn, picked up by two or three other voices. 

“ They'll probably stop after a few minutes,” I told myself. 

But the voice sang a second, then a third song. The choirs resounded louder and louder. What surprised me completely is that at one point, the leader stopped the singers to harmonise the voices and start again. 

" How serious they are!" I wondered. “Who are they ? Has anyone invite a choir without us knowing ?” 

I made up my mind to step out and see. A few other people had also stood up like me, including my grandmother, my dad's mom. There, around the rekindled wood fire, a dozen young people were standing up, singing hymns, clapping their hands. Who were they ? Classmates of my younger sister,  who came from Foumban, a nearby town, to support their bereaved friend. And they were doing it in the most beautiful way. They sang all night long until dawn, in different languages ​​of the country. They even made my grandmother dance, and brought smiles to our faces. These young people who did not even know us, changed the course of the night, and helped us to find the courage to face the following events.

I saw God's intervention through my Central African friend and my sister's classmates, and this really brought me comfort, because I knew that God was by our side in the trial. We were not alone. God has helped us during that time in many other ways and through many other people for whom we are grateful.

Certainly, we will always have to face physical death as long as we live on this earth. But in Jesus-Christ we have the assurance of salvation and eternal life and the assurance that we'll see again those who died in the Lord.

If you are walking through the darkest valley at this time, I pray that our Lord comfort you, and help you to see His rod and His staff, so that you may be strengthened and encouraged.

“ Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me, your rod and your staff, they comfort me (Psalm 23: 4)."