Easter in Romania

Today I'm going to highlight a Missions organization by the name of Word Made Flesh [WMF]. Here is their vision statement:

Vision Statement:

"Word Made Flesh is called and committed to serving Jesus among the poorest of the poor. This calling is realized as a prophetic ministry for, and a holistic, incarnational ministry among, the world's poor. We focus our energy to make Jesus known among the poor while reconciling the Church with the poor."

"Our involvement for the poor is primarily through serving the Church as a prophetic voice articulating God's passion for the poor through Scripture and further educating them concerning the needs of the world. We seek to reconcile the Church with the poor as a means of communicating and testifying of God's redemptive work in our lives. This movement of bringing the Church and the poor together is done through Biblical preaching, teaching, discipleship, exposure experiences, music, media and other creative means. As we participate in this movement we pray that our lives will answer both the cry of God for the poor and the cry of the poor for God."

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At the end of this post I am also including a letter from a friend of mine "Rachel" who is a missionary in Romania with WMF.

As Disciples of the Christ we are called to participate in spreading God's message of hope and salvation. Part of this can be in the area of Missions. I don't mean you have to pack up your gear and quit your job or leave your family [unless you're called to].

We, as disciples, can participate and derive a great joy and blessing that comes from missionary support. THIS is the other way to participate! Whether it's praying or writing or sending monetary support, God will honor your participation.

Read in Philippians 2: 10 - 20. It is there that Paul is thanking the Philippians for their gifts [not that he was looking for one, though] It is in verse 17 where Paul indicates that their, the Philippians, gifts will be credited to their account [in heaven]. He goes on to say in verse 18 that their gifts are a fragrant offering, an acceptable sacrifice, which is pleasing to God AND that "my God will meet all your needs according to His glorious riches in Christ, Jesus."

Now for Rachel's letter. She has served in Romania for sometime now, I think 6 - 8 years. Rachel left (I should say was called and she accepted) the comfort of her home to go to Romania and work with the street children.

Be listening for God's voice in your lives.

A Fellow Christian Sojourner and One More Disciple of the Christ, Jesus

Solis Deo Gloria

OMD

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WORD MADE FLESH

Hi friends,

Easter on the Orthodox Church calendar falls at the end of April this year, which has caused a little confusion for me as I think about observing a season of Lent. My Western calendar says I should have begun early in February, but that would mean two and a half months of observing Lent! Nope, I'll stick to the 40 days, thanks very much. Due to this difference of calendars, it feels early for me to share an Easter reflection, but I have an encounter that I am eager to share and I also know that most of you reading this letter are already well into the Lenten Season and will be celebrating Easter in March this year. The following is based on a journal entry from November 2007.

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I approached Ron and Audra's apartment building, puzzled by the police officer and medical vehicle parked out front. Two black printed words across the side of the yellowed-white station wagon announced: "LEGAL MEDICINE." The back trunk door was popped open, and I thought, "Funeral, at this hour?" The police officer, chatting with a slightly distressed middle aged woman in her long black overcoat and furry hat, rested his arms against his chest and casually watched me as I approached. When I passed by, I heard the officer utter in a low tone, "Let's see what she does." I pretended not to hear and proceeded on past the medical vehicle which was backed up to the front entrance of the apartment building. A single glance inside the opened back confirmed my fears – dead body. "But no," I thought, "That was just a blanket bundled up in the shape of a body. I've never seen a funeral without a casket, and never a body simply wrapped up in a blanket!"

As I entered the building, a solitary light bulb cast long shadows from an open apartment door beneath the stairwell. I quickly mounted the stairs to my second floor destination. Then I smelled it. That smell. The unforgettable smell of rotting human flesh, an odor of putrid decay. My stomach turned. I knocked on the door. No one answered. I knocked again, harder, louder. The odor of human decay wafted all around me as I took short, quick breathes, desperate for an escape.

Ron answered the door with a smile and I rushed inside, closing the door securely behind me. He seemed puzzled by my rapid, flustered entry, but I had no time to explain before I was tackled by his two little boys, full of stories and happy to see me. In an effort to protect the boys from the trauma outside their door, I said nothing until after dinner when I was alone with their parents and the boys were occupied with toys. I explained which apartment door I had seen open and Audra recalled having met an old man crawling on his hands and knees near there once before. She had asked another neighbor if anyone should help him but she was told to just leave him alone. Was he alcoholic? Probably.

Who was inside that blanket? How did he die? We could only guess that an old, lonely, possibly alcoholic man died in his apartment and was discovered later on by a neighbor or relative who called the police to investigate and take care of the body.

So here I was confronted with the putrid odor of a cold, motionless, lifeless body. This is a peculiar smell that one does not forget. And this was not my first encounter with the smell of death. Romanian funerals are traditionally three day events, and almost always open casket. Since my arrival six years ago, I have attended an average of one funeral per year. In 2006, I attended three funerals in the space of four months.

In Romania, after a person dies they are placed in an open coffin in a room of their home where family and friends mourn their passing for three days. After the three days have passed, an orthodox priest comes to the home and reads or sings the funeral liturgy. The open casket is then placed on a flat bed truck and a procession of mourners line up behind the slow moving casket, accompanying the deceased on their journey to a final resting place. As the procession nears the cemetery, the gate keeper rings a huge bell and the procession passes through the gate under the sounding bell. Gathered at the grave sight, the priest performs the final rites of the liturgy, the family is asked to bid their final farewell at which point the women usually wail and kiss the hands of the deceased. Finally the cemetery workers slide the cover onto the casket, nail it down on each corner with stinging blows, and lower the casket into the pit.

As I walked home that night my thoughts were flooded with scenes of flickering candles and funeral processions and the piercing cries of weeping mothers as four large nails are pounded into the coffin to secure the cover before lowering the dead into their grave.

But even as these painful memories swirled through my mind, my spirit was stirred by a peculiar hope. That very morning during chapel we had read through the entire account in John 11 of Jesus raising his good friend Lazarus from the dead. Resurrection!

Jesus arrived in Bethany four days after Lazarus' death. They warned him not to go near the tomb because of the smell -- the smell of death. Jesus wept. But then he went forward, refusing to listen to Martha's concern. "Lazarus, come forth!" And out he came. That was all, just three simple words, and the dead was restored to life. No putrid odor, no decay, no bodily fluids staining the ground. Just life. Lazarus, living and breathing and alive!

And this Jesus, this Restorer of life, He is our God and we are His friends. This one who raises the dead without fear of their odor, He is the one we serve. He is the God of life.

He says to Martha, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?" (John 11:25-26).

And now Jesus is asking us the same question, "Do you believe this? Do you really believe that I have power over death?"

I believe He does. And I am convinced that if we truly believe in God's power over death we would live our lives much differently than those around us, not with fear or anxiety but full of hope, peace and joy. This Easter I am challenged to ask myself if my life reflects my belief in a God of resurrection, the God who weeps over the death of His friends but also restores them to life!

May the God of peace whisper words of hope to each one and stir our hearts to live in the light of our radiant resurrected King who is not afraid of the smell of death, our God of life who promises us life everlasting. May He have mercy on us and grant us peace.

~Rachel

WORD MADE FLESH