Christmas

This Christmas was… different.

In between church services, I spent my afternoon at a funeral. That’s right. A funeral. On Christmas. In the words of a five year old friend of mine, “Dying on Christmas? That must be a bummer!” Agreed.

But in the words of her very wise mother, “Isn’t it cool though that he was getting ready to celebrate Jesus coming to earth, and he got to go be WITH Jesus instead?”

I didn’t know Pak Santo very well. He made the best fried rice I’ve ever had though, and he always served up his food with the biggest smile. He also memorized my name the very first time I met him, and he always greeted me every time he saw me, even if I was just passing by.

Pak Santo had a heart attack on Christmas morning shortly after waking up. He was 58.

I thought that since I wasn’t very close to him, the funeral wouldn’t be a big deal. I thought it would be nice to stop in and pay my respects to a man who was always so gracious and welcoming to me. I forgot how raw death is here.

After going in to the front room to see Pak Santo’s body and shake hands with his children, we were directed to a few empty chairs in the yard next to the house rather than sitting in the street in front of the house with the rest of the funeral goers. I was seated right next to an open door that led into the back rooms of the house where Pak Santo’s wife was screaming and wailing in bouts as wave after wave of shock and grief washed over her. Her husband had only been dead a few hours, and she was inconsolable. Female relatives streamed in and out of the open door, all entering dry eyed and stoic, and all exiting tearful and shaking. Pak Santo’s sister also came out that door in hysterics, screaming and yelling, crying for her brother. She collapsed in the yard, and members of the family had to carry her away, sobbing and moaning, only half conscious. It was gut wrenching and heart breaking, and I couldn’t hold back the tears.

As I sat there in the midst of all the hurt and pain, all I could do was pray. I prayed prayers of hope and peace over that home and that family. And then I had a moment. A moment where I was reminded that the very things I was praying for are what this day is all about. Jesus came to bring us hope. Jesus came to give us peace. Jesus came to defeat death. And this is the day that we not only remember it, but we CELEBRATE it.

A funeral stands in stark contrast to the normal festivities of the holiday. And I’ll be honest, today felt a little less joyful after sitting through that. But it also felt so much more meaningful. Seeing death on Christmas day reminded me of how much we need hope and how much we need peace and how much we need Emmanuel. And above all, it reminded me of how God knew EXACTLY what we needed. He knew the end from the beginning, and He sent His Son to be God with us. To be Emmanuel. To be the light that cannot be overcome.

I hope you never have to go to a funeral on Christmas day. But I also hope you never forget the depth and the beauty of God’s gift to you.

“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.” – John 1:14

Merry Christmas!