Rzejowice, Poland
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
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First Funeral in Poland
Yesterday, I attended a funeral in Poland for the first time. Over the weekend, one of the dear old ladies from the village church passed away. I was supposed to go with Andrzej to lead the service at the village church last Sunday, but it was cancelled due to this lady passing away.
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A pastor friend of mine called me the other night and asked if I would like to join him as he was going to leading this funeral service. I was happy to go. I have never experienced a funeral in Poland as of yet. And besides, I had known this dear old lady, who was an awesome believer from the village church. On the way to the funeral, I heard stories about one woman’s father who was the pastor at one time in this village. When he passed away, the only plot that he was given to be buried on was in a far off corner in one of the local cemeteries. You see, the Catholic Church owns all of these cemeteries, and because the man was an evangelical pastor, he was considered a heretic, and not fir to be buried with all of the other Catholics from the village. Not only this, but during his funeral service at the gravesite not many years ago, young people climbed up on the fence and began making cat sounds during the service. Many from the Catholic Church here believe evangelical Christianity to be a sect, and call it the “religion of cats” (not sure why). But this blatant disrespect and persecution, if you will, of evangelical believers wasn’t just toward this pastor, it has also been aimed at this dear old lady from the village church who had passed away. It is aimed at all of the evangelical believers in the village.
.
Funerals in Poland are a little different than in the States, and not so long and drawn out. We first went to the family’s house. Then everyone traveled together to the cemetery. And when I say everyone, I mean most of the village. Even though most are catholic and resent evangelical believers, it is still a village. Everyone knows everyone and the entire village goes to the cemetery for the funeral service when someone from the village dies. There, at the gravesite, the pall bears pulled the coffin from the vehicle and opened it for the family (who wanted) to view the body. Then we traveled to a little place, far off in the cemetery, along the fence (which I understand to be a place for people who are “not important”) where there was a hole dug. It was bitterly cold, windy and snowing as well. My job was to hold the umbrella for my pastor friend as he led the people in one song from the hymn book. Then he gave a message. This message was an “in your face” kind of message. In his eloquence my pastor friend spoke about this woman’s life with words of affirmation of a life spent pursuing a close, personal relationship with Jesus. This, of course, was in itself offensive to many of the Catholic hearers. But he didn’t stop there. He then began to confront the fact that this lady had been looked down upon by the people in this village for pursuing such a close, personal relationship with Jesus. He said that this is what we should all be pursuing in our life. At these words, many of the people in attendance began to turn and leave. Others, though, surprisingly stayed and listened. I stood there, not able to feel my hand due to the extremely cold weather, praying that the words of my pastor friend would penetrate the hearts of the hearers. I am very proud of my pastor friend for taking such a public stand for the truth.
.
The funeral service was actually cut short due to the bad weather. One more song was sung, though I hear that usually, at evangelical funeral services, more songs are normally sung. Then, the pall bears attempted to drop the coffin into the hole that was dug. Strangely, the coffin did not fit in the hole, as the hole wasn’t dug long enough. They used big sticks to try to shoe in the coffin without success. (This seemed a bit unprofessional and disrespectful to me, anyway). They then pulled the coffin back out, dug the hole bigger, and finally got the coffin into the hole. Then friends and family went to the family’s home for herbata (tea), bigos (hunter’s stew with sauerkraut) and other snacks. As I looked around the table at many leathery old faces and wind-burnt rosy cheeks, I shared in this meal and listened to them reminisce in their beautiful Polish language about stories that took place here. I found out that the woman who had died was actually born in the house I was sitting in (where we also hold village church meetings at times). What a history. What a story of faith and perseverance in the face of adversity and opposition. These people here must very much “love not their own lives” for the sake of a personal, hand-holding relationship with Jesus. I felt blessed to be in their presence that day, and to share in the celebration of a life lived for Jesus.
.
.
First Funeral in Poland
Yesterday, I attended a funeral in Poland for the first time. Over the weekend, one of the dear old ladies from the village church passed away. I was supposed to go with Andrzej to lead the service at the village church last Sunday, but it was cancelled due to this lady passing away.
.
A pastor friend of mine called me the other night and asked if I would like to join him as he was going to leading this funeral service. I was happy to go. I have never experienced a funeral in Poland as of yet. And besides, I had known this dear old lady, who was an awesome believer from the village church. On the way to the funeral, I heard stories about one woman’s father who was the pastor at one time in this village. When he passed away, the only plot that he was given to be buried on was in a far off corner in one of the local cemeteries. You see, the Catholic Church owns all of these cemeteries, and because the man was an evangelical pastor, he was considered a heretic, and not fir to be buried with all of the other Catholics from the village. Not only this, but during his funeral service at the gravesite not many years ago, young people climbed up on the fence and began making cat sounds during the service. Many from the Catholic Church here believe evangelical Christianity to be a sect, and call it the “religion of cats” (not sure why). But this blatant disrespect and persecution, if you will, of evangelical believers wasn’t just toward this pastor, it has also been aimed at this dear old lady from the village church who had passed away. It is aimed at all of the evangelical believers in the village.
.
Funerals in Poland are a little different than in the States, and not so long and drawn out. We first went to the family’s house. Then everyone traveled together to the cemetery. And when I say everyone, I mean most of the village. Even though most are catholic and resent evangelical believers, it is still a village. Everyone knows everyone and the entire village goes to the cemetery for the funeral service when someone from the village dies. There, at the gravesite, the pall bears pulled the coffin from the vehicle and opened it for the family (who wanted) to view the body. Then we traveled to a little place, far off in the cemetery, along the fence (which I understand to be a place for people who are “not important”) where there was a hole dug. It was bitterly cold, windy and snowing as well. My job was to hold the umbrella for my pastor friend as he led the people in one song from the hymn book. Then he gave a message. This message was an “in your face” kind of message. In his eloquence my pastor friend spoke about this woman’s life with words of affirmation of a life spent pursuing a close, personal relationship with Jesus. This, of course, was in itself offensive to many of the Catholic hearers. But he didn’t stop there. He then began to confront the fact that this lady had been looked down upon by the people in this village for pursuing such a close, personal relationship with Jesus. He said that this is what we should all be pursuing in our life. At these words, many of the people in attendance began to turn and leave. Others, though, surprisingly stayed and listened. I stood there, not able to feel my hand due to the extremely cold weather, praying that the words of my pastor friend would penetrate the hearts of the hearers. I am very proud of my pastor friend for taking such a public stand for the truth.
.
The funeral service was actually cut short due to the bad weather. One more song was sung, though I hear that usually, at evangelical funeral services, more songs are normally sung. Then, the pall bears attempted to drop the coffin into the hole that was dug. Strangely, the coffin did not fit in the hole, as the hole wasn’t dug long enough. They used big sticks to try to shoe in the coffin without success. (This seemed a bit unprofessional and disrespectful to me, anyway). They then pulled the coffin back out, dug the hole bigger, and finally got the coffin into the hole. Then friends and family went to the family’s home for herbata (tea), bigos (hunter’s stew with sauerkraut) and other snacks. As I looked around the table at many leathery old faces and wind-burnt rosy cheeks, I shared in this meal and listened to them reminisce in their beautiful Polish language about stories that took place here. I found out that the woman who had died was actually born in the house I was sitting in (where we also hold village church meetings at times). What a history. What a story of faith and perseverance in the face of adversity and opposition. These people here must very much “love not their own lives” for the sake of a personal, hand-holding relationship with Jesus. I felt blessed to be in their presence that day, and to share in the celebration of a life lived for Jesus.
.
Christian Young
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