Learning to mourn
What my Latino brothers and sisters taught me about communal mourning.
Throughout the month of February I attended a month-long training in Panama for Latin American staff workers. The event was called EFO, or the Encuentro de Formación de Obreros, and happens every couple of years in a different country. Every staff worker that hasn’t attended is invited to join-in on this intensive month of formation. At first one may think, “What can you do for an entire month of training?!” Turns out the answer is, “A lot!”
My time at EFO was shared with about 45 different staff workers from around 20 different Latin American countries (and one from Portugal). I admit I was a little more than overwhelmed my first week as I was attempting to learn 45 new names, interpret 20 different accents and cultures (I’m now convinced that every country has a different word for ‘popcorn’), and digest the conference material – which, of course, is all in Spanish.
This event was so special because not only are we being poured into as staff so that we can lead and work better (honestly, how many organizations do you know that would devote 1/12th of the year just to the formation of their workers?!), but it was special because the 45 of us lived life together for much of this time. It isn’t your typical 9-to-5 job where you clock out and get the weekend to yourself. We were together pretty much 24/7 for the whole month. We experienced each other’s joys and we sat with each other in our pains.
One of my greatest lessons from EFO didn’t come from one of the sessions, but rather from an experience at dinner during the last week. As we had all sat down to eat, the unfortunate news that a staff worker from the movement in El Salvador, Manuel ‘Baduel’ Coto, had passed away unexpectedly. With this one announcement the entire mood changed in the room. The workers from El Salvador who knew this staff workers broke down. The pastoral care staff who knew him broke down. The staff workers from Mexico, some who knew him and many who knew his girlfriend (Angélica) who is a staff worker with the Mexican IFES movement, also broke down. In an instant the joyful laughter that comes with time shared over a meal was replaced by tears.
As a white, American staff worker serving in Latin America, much of this was new to me. I’ve been around for announcements such as this in my own culture, but I had never seen a response like this, a response so strong and felt by so many. The only thing I can compare it to from my culture is the moments after the planes hit the Twin Towers on September 11, 2001.
In this moment, no one spoke. No one laughed. No one moved. The response was to sit in silence while those nearest anyone who knew this staff worker or his girlfriend simply hugged them. The response was a communal mourning.
Communal mourning is something that I would argue is not present, or at the least very uncommon, in white, majority culture in the US. As I mentioned, September 11th is the only event I can recall experiencing something of the sort. For me, it was uncomfortable. It was unknown. I didn’t know the social and cultural guidelines to what could or couldn’t be done in this moment. I began to realize how the situation would have been “handled” in my culture. The news would have been announced to pastoral care staff first to prepare them, then it would be announced to the whole group with the added information that the pastoral care staff are available for prayer and processing for those that need it. There would have been prayer and a moment of silence, then, most likely, a time of communal worship to transition out of a time of mourning and to give people a chance to leave the room (and situation) or talk if they wanted. There was none of that here. The news was shared with everyone, with the entire community, as it was received. And as the news was received in community, the pain and processing was shared among the community as well.
As I said, this was hard, new, and uncomfortable for me, but looking back on it now and reading the recent IFES prayer letter with words from Angélica (the girlfriend), I recognize how important this experience was for me. I got to see and experience a side of community I have never seen before. In my culture, I would argue, we don’t know how to mourn. We like to push through and go straight to worship. We don’t take the time to sit in the sadness, in the discomfort, in the brokenness of this world and of our brothers and sisters.
Sitting in this discomfort was unpleasant but I got to see new aspects of community and new aspects of God. I saw the true value of community, which many times for me I don’t value near enough. I saw, first-hand , the love of God poured out on the brokenhearted by those faithful and willing enough to step into another person’s brokenness. To step into discomfort. To not try to “fix it” or tell them how “everything will be okay”, but rather to simply sit and be a shoulder to cry on and to cry with.
What would it look like if Christians around the world joined in during situations like this? Our world is full of brokenness and we have the answer in Jesus, but pushing through and jumping straight to the “fix it” attitude isn’t the first step. There is value in learning to mourn well. Reflecting today on the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, we must recognize that in His days, there was a time where no one could do anything but mourn. Two days of mourning. Jesus died. Imagine waking up on Saturday after the crucifixion as a follower of our Savior… the person who you followed the past three years is dead. Looking back now it’s easy to want to jump straight to Sunday… He is Risen! He is Risen, Indeed! This is a very true statement, but there was a specific time for Jesus’ resurrection.
May we learn to be communities that can mourn well. May we be communities that are communal enough to even share our hurts and pains. May we be communities that take off the masks we tend to wear so well.
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