WEEP WITH THOSE WHO WEEP

I woke up to the sound of my telephone. I picked it up from my side table and opened a new message to find the heart wrenching news that one of our students passed away the night before. Immediately, tears streamed down my face. My heart sank into my chest, filling with anxiety. Who was it? Was is someone I knew and loved dearly? 

His name was Edmundo, one I could not quite recognize or put a face to. I rushed to my computer to find a picture of him and realized I did not know him well. Yet, instead of relief, my heart ached all the more. My tear drops got bigger. I laid down face first on my bed and started weeping. I pleaded desperately to Jesus for comfort and peace to his family, friends, and classmates. I questioned why this happens. Why an innocent 17-year-old boy was ripped from his family? Why a boy with a sweet demeanor taken from a place where those are rare?

I later found out that Edmundo was part of a loving family, a mother, father, and baby brother. They attended a local Christian church regularly. Edmundo was a good student, and well-liked by his peers and staff at Grace Emmanuel School. He has suffered from sickle cell anemia for much of his life, and was taken in the night by a terribly high fever.

Two days following his death was his funeral. Iselande and I walked in early together, to find Edmundo’s mother, brother, and two aunts sitting by the casket wearing beautiful white outfits. As we greeted them, I felt led to pray over them—so I got on my knees, grabbed his mother’s hands, and began to pray. As the first word left my lips, I started crying. Not because I felt the loss of Edmundo, but because I was broken for their loss. Weep with those who weep.

Not much later, KeKe and Wadly, students of GES and friends of Edmundo, walked in. As is customary in Haiti, they opened the casket before the funeral began for family and friends. Everyone, and I mean everyone, rushed over to the casket to take a last look. Moments later, KeKe came back with tears pouring out of his eyes. I pulled him over, put my arms around him, and he just wept in my lap. Of course, I could not help but cry with him. The pain he was experiencing broke my heart. Again, weep with those who weep.

The entire service, I couldn’t help but cry. KeKe sobbing to my right, Wadly emotionless on my left, and Docilienne, another student and cousin to Edmundo, next to him. Haitian funerals are unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never heard loud, dramatic wailing before. Almost every time someone started wailing uncontrollably, I’d look over to find Docilienne with tears streaming down her face. After the fourth time, I discreetly passed over my handkerchief; she needed it more than I did. 

Seeing students I love so much in sorrow and pain left my heart broken. Although it was terribly sad and heart-wrenching, I’m thankful God paved the way for me to be there. To love, to comfort, to be a presence for Jesus. And maybe for the first time, I truly grasped what Apostle Paul meant by weep with those who weep. 

What I experienced that day will forever be stamped on my soul. It’s something I can hardly explain with words. As Kristi (dear friend who lived here for two years) told me, it makes the promise, “He’ll wipe every tear from our eyes” mean something much different. Something more real. Now, more than ever, I can’t wait for the moment when we finally get to go home to Jesus and He’ll do just that.