Differences in Cultures

How many have attended a funeral of one who went home to the Lord? Now, how many of us watched those without Hope (Jesus); suffer knowing they will never see their loved one again? Difficult questions and complex times – yes.

I experienced these situations the past couple of weeks. I prayed with a dear friend and watched her mourn the loss of her brother. Though she mourns, she is joyful knowing he received Jesus before he left this life. In her brother’s death, she and her hubby have witnessed to several others. They were asked to return and minister to others in the hospital.

We serve a mighty and awesome God who can raise the dead! We believe the young men they have witnessed to will receive complete healing and restoration, please pray and agree with us for Oleg, a young man in the hospital who needs God’s touch physically and spiritually. He is open to listening to the Word of God. Thank you.

Let me tell you the story about a Ukrainian funeral from an American point of view. I say this, because some of my Ukrainian friends will read this and please dear friends, do not be offended or hurt by feelings or my observations. I love Ukraine and those involved in this situation.

The other night my friend called to let me know her brother passed away. She needed prayer and asked me to pray for the children. They were unsettled, loud and difficult to handle. The children are 3 and 6 years old and the family lives in a ONE room apartment! Prayer is an easy way to help wherever we are we can pray. She told me the funeral was the next morning and asked if I would come and pray during the service and I agreed.

I was supposed to meet my friend’s hubby down the street and go with him. Plans changed and my friend stopped by the apartment with her sister. I had no idea of where we were going or what was going to happen. We walked down to the hospital where her brother had been and waited for a bus. They hired a funeral service company to handle all the arrangements.

An old bus pulled up, and drove through a little alley, and we followed. I have seen several busses like this; watching funerals outside the apartment buildings. This was unusual, we went to the hospital. My friend’s hubby bought a suit for the deceased and brought it with him that morning.

The woman in charge took the suit into a little shack, behind an old, old building which was the hospital. My friend told me the hospital was old and very dirty inside, I did not inquire any more about the conditions. The woman took the suit into this shack and a man was standing outside the shack holding a chinchilla. He took the suit and went into the shack. Now, mind you, this shack had a dirt floor! I was wondering what would happen.

As an American, I expected my friend’s brother to still be in the hospital. Well, in a few minutes they carried the deceased in his coffin and his new suit to the bus we were in. They loaded him through a trap door in the back and then placed the cover on, bolting it down lightly with one screw. This coffin is the same type you see in the old western movies; do I need to say more?

My friend’s sister does not know the Lord. When she looked at her brother she began to cry. I felt so sorry for her, I wanted to put my arms around her and tell her that he was in Jesus’ arms and with out pain. But, this would have been inappropriate; so, I refrained.

It is a strange feeling when you have to inquire about how to act, move and what to say at an occasion that one has attended many times. I did not want to offend anyone, and had to be reminded twice to whisper. I had to ask for forgiveness.

We, the family and the deceased and the hired casket bearers rode the bus to the Crematorium office. I went in with the family and observed all the legalities and paper signing along with selecting the final resting place, a beautiful gray and black urn. We returned to the bus and went to the actual crematorium. There was a priest waiting to perform the service and for the family to say their final good-byes. The casket was re-opened for the service.

Photo of the mortuary!

Each of us were given a bee’s wax candle and it was lit for the duration of the service. The casket cover was covered with a traditional Ukrainian cloth embroidered with red and black with a loaf of black bread sitting on the cloth. When the service was completed; on key, we snubbed out the candles, we did not blow them out, we used our fingers, then placed the candles in the casket. We also placed our flowers in the casket prior to the service. The cover was placed on the casket and it was lowered into the crematorium. We stood there for a moment, not a word was spoken. We were escorted back to the bus and left. We were then dropped off at a bus stop to catch a regular bus (marschrutka) home.

I was numb, no tears, no grief, no one kissed the deceased. The priest did not even greet the family members. I am still sitting here wondering where is the unity of a family, the love of a pastor/priest for the people. What is wrong here? When my son passed away, I remember many hugs and warm words. There was nothing at this funeral.

My friend’s sister had to leave for Moscow that same day, I hugged her as she was leaving and prayed with her I told her I loved her and hoped we would see each other again. She began to cry and I cried with her. I wanted her to receive Jesus but . . .