November 12, 2002

It's official. As of today, Elizabeth is an illegal alien. We filled out the paperwork a while back, but the day we tried to renew our visas there was a strike in the Ministry of the Interior. The strike soon extended to the Ministry of Religious Affairs and to most of the government, including the post office. We have been promised that an expired visa during a strike is no reason to panic, but forgive us if we're not taking bureaucrats at their word around here. Last year's visa experience was frustrating enough (enough to write about at length). It sounds like things will be resolved soon, which, of course, means that there will be an intense backlog at the Ministry of the Interior, making for longer lines and more waiting and frustration than that place had before (if indeed such a thing is possible).

We had contemplated heading out to Jordan for a few days so we could return on the "automatic" three month tourist visa for Americans. But with so many people having been refused tourist visas and turned away at borders, we were advised that it was much wiser to wait for the strike to end and wait for Godot at the Ministry. So we wait.

Fr. Thomas prays over the open casket of the recently deceased.

Last night, Marthame and Deacon Firas had gone to visit Fr. Thomas, but he was heading out on a pastoral visit. An elderly member of his congregation was dying, and he was going to anoint her. She died soon after. The funeral was held today after school. In a community like this, where everyone is related to each other, deaths affect everyone. The body is prepared in a casket filled with bright flowers. The priests - all of them - head the procession taking the body to the church, and much of the village follows behind them, carrying the casket in silence. The clergy sit up front in a place of honor, no matter their denomination, Marthame among them. After an open casket memorial service, the family comes forward to kiss the deceased before the casket is closed. As opposed to the extended periods of visitation we're accustomed to in the States, here people are almost always buried on the same day they die, so the process of mourning has just begun. As the casket is closed, offering the last glimpses of a loved one's face, people are frequently overcome by emotion.

With the casket closed, it is carried out of the church, accompanied by the men of the village, and followed by the women. Slowly, they walk to the cemetery, the men entering and the women waiting or dispersing outside. Both the burial and memorial service are simple and communal rituals. No eulogy of the deceased is given, but rather a brief homily on the meaning of resurrection and salvation.

After the burial, Marthame stayed and visited with the other non-Orthodox clergy. Elizabeth had dispersed with the women, joining a few of the deceased's granddaughters to the Beit al-'Azza, the house of mourning, where the family will receive visitors for the next three days. At the home, Elizabeth greeted each of the mourning women with a handshake and a kiss and the customary allah yerhamha, (God have mercy on her). Not long after arrival, we were served a small cup with a little bitter coffee, which is quickly drunk and returned. We sat for quite a while in silence, interspersed with small talk. Then, we were each served plates of of mansaaf (rice and beef with yogurt sauce and almonds), which was prepared for the mourners by Fr. Thomas's wife. This was followed by a dried date, a customary food at funerals and also at Ramadan.

Not long after we finished our meal, one of the men stuck his head in to the room and asked if we were ready for prayer. Fr. Thomas and the men (who were all in a different room of the house) joined the women for chanted prayers. Occasionally throughout the prayers, Fr. Thomas dipped his hand in a glass and sprinkled those present with water which he had blessed. At the conclusion of the prayers, he poured a little of the water in his hands and wiped them on his face and head. Then he went to everyone present, pouring a little water into the palms of our hands, and we all wiped them on our faces, a symbol of the enduring grace of baptism.

To be included in such an intimate gathering is grace itself - and in our time here, our intentional inclusion in such meaningful moments has been one of the most powerful blessings we have received.