Motorcycles, Mass & Moments of Grace

A few folks have requested material proof of Jim & me taking to the streets of Alto Calma on his motorcycle. Posted below is a verified photo. It was taken by a local pastor, so it has a certain amount of ecclesial authority! More about the motorcycle later.

Sunday morning we made our way down to Arequipa to attend a graveside service of the mother of one of Jim's friends, Juliana. The street that led the the entrance of the cemetery was lined with flower tiendas. The colors spilled out of open doorways making the dusty sidewalks come alive. Flower markets seem to be a visible que that a cemetery is not far.

For many the weekly pilgrimage to the cemetery & the act of purchasing flowers is a significant rite in not only remembering their loved one but how they maintain the ever present relationship with each other. So to see the cemetery alive with people placing the freshly cut flowers at the grave marker of a wife or husband, father or mother provided a glimpse into the importance of family. Children & adults were going back & forth to the water faucets filling up containers to ensure the flowers remained alive until their next visit. Seeing people stooped over making sure the grass around the marker was in order, I realized this was a meticulous process. Maybe a process of healing for some. There were entire families gathered around graves with umbrellas & foldable chairs passing out food & drinks. No one was in a hurry as this was a family reunion to be cherished.

As I took all of this in, I found myself wondering how different I think of cemeteries. Certainly not a place for the living except for the occasional groundskeepers paid to keep the grass mowed & the bushes trimmed. Honestly, I don't think I've visited the grave of any family member since the day I stood on the ubiquitous funeral home artificial grass & listened to very brief liturgy of a graveside service.

The family of Jim's friend arrived & the pallbearers shouldered the wooden casket & the journey to the grave began. Family & friends followed in behind as we wove our way through the cemetery. Our large group passed others who had already experienced the pain & grief this family was now in the midst off. The procession was not short. It took almost 15 mins to go from the hearse to the grave marked with the familiar green tent.  Being a pallbearer in Peru is a real labor of love (not for the out of shape).

I stood on the outside of the tent & observed a young Catholic seminarian, clothed in a black cassock & white surplice, lead the committal service with a series of prayers & responses. Jim told me it's traditional for the eldest sister to speak at the graveside, so Juliana's sister gave a eulogy to her mother. What I found most interesting was that the entire funeral party remained in prayer while the casket was lowered, the vault was covered  & even as the grave was filled with dirt. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. There was no avoiding or pretending. We all faced the stark reality of death on Sunday morning in a cemetery in Arequipa. But it was faced together with prayers upon the lips of all those gathered. A moment of grace.

Later in the afternoon, Jim & I attended a worship service with the Community Group. They gather each Sunday afternoon in small grass covered courtyard just up from Jim's house.  What an incredible experience to walk into the small courtyard & discover fellow believers singing, praying, listening to the Scriptures. As we worshipped dogs barked on top of neighbors' houses & sunlight reflected off of the broken glass that covered the top of the courtyard wall. The pastor, Victor, invited me to share a few words with the community. I spoke about the powerful & surprising ways God moves to remind us what it means to be One Body in Jesus Christ. At the end of the service the community prayed for me & my family and I, in turned, prayed for Victor & his family. A moment of grace.

And then, Jim backed out the motorcycle & we were off to mass with Father Alex & the community gathered there.

Scripture was read, the word was opened, songs were sung, the peace was shared, the Euchrist was celebrated. Father Alex told me a few days before that we are all one. There is no Catholic, Lutheran, ________(insert your denomination of choice.) But that there is only Christian. And so when I stood before him & he placed in my hands & said to me the body of Christ, I experienced the truth of his conviction. The truth & beauty of the Gospel. One body, many members. A moment of grace.

And then, Jim backed up his motorcycle & we were off to the next adventure . . .