"In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." (John 1:4-5)
POV Marie
Thirteen days had passed since my brother's death. The sadness of losing him had not left our minds, and today was the day of his funeral. The weather was so gray that even it seemed to be mourning him. My mother, my father, our youngest brother Yan and I were getting ready for the ceremony. The wake the day before had been dreary, and rightly so, for we were mourning a child born sick, whom we had hoped would recover, but unfortunately:
"God the Father had decided otherwise and had called him back to Him in paradise."
That was what my grandmother and my mother liked to repeat, as if it would heal their grief or bring my brother back. As if it could justify and legitimize his death, after suffering from beginning to end.
That he was in paradise now and that it was for the best? No, the best would have been for him to stay with us! How can anyone claim things that rest on nothing but faith, hope, or rather denial? That same denial drives people to imagine dreams to endure misery and grief, making them believe in an illusory happiness after death. They are illusions meant to justify the pain suffered in the earthly kingdom, which would supposedly be rewarded with an idyllic place where no suffering exists.
God, a father? No, certainly not. A father is supposed to take care of his children and save them, not let them sink into need and distress. My brother, who smiled for us until the very end, never deserved such a thing, so God can go to hell!
"For God is nothing but an illusion created by the fear of men."
"Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people."Karl Marx
We walked toward the church with family, acquaintances and friends, behind the car carrying my brother's coffin, under a sky that was slowly growing heavier. We arrived in front of that great white building, so tall that it made us look like insignificant beings. People took their seats in the church while the close family stayed outside, waiting for everyone to be seated before the coffin was brought in.
Then, once everyone was seated, it was time to enter the church, accompanied by the priest and his altar boys, while members of the family carried the coffin on their shoulders. My father, my mother and my maternal uncles carried it, accompanied by hymns that echoed heavily through the great building.
- You were immersed
In the death of Jesus:
May the death of Jesus
Carry you to the Father
And we will see you again in His house!
- You were marked
With the cross of Jesus:
May the cross of Jesus
Carry you to the Father.
And we will see you again in His house!
- You were grafted
Onto the life of Jesus:
May the life of Jesus
Carry you to the Father.
And we will see you again in His house!
- You were set ablaze
By the Spirit of Jesus:
May the Spirit of Jesus
Carry you to the Father.
And we will see you again in His house!
- You were washed
By the blood of Jesus:
May the blood of Jesus
Carry you to the Father.
And we will see you again in His house!
- You were fed
By the body of Jesus:
May the body of Jesus
Carry you to the Father.
And we will see you again in His house!
- You wished to serve
For the love of Jesus:
May the love of Jesus
Carry you to the Father.
And we will see you again in His house!
It was a hymn of great magnificence, full of emotion, which stirred in me a deep resentment toward God, but also an infinite sadness. I was trying to hold back my tears when I realized that my brother's farewell was beginning. Walking behind them with my grandmother, we moved down the aisle toward the altar under the eyes of the congregation, standing all around us. The coffin was finally placed in front of the altar, where the priest sprinkled it with holy water; then my parents lit candles and gave me one. We placed them all around the coffin while a prayer accompanied us.
O Lord, I come to you, I come to you,
I seek you, my God,
O Lord, hear me, hear me,
I hope in you, my God.
1 - You, Lord, are life,
I was nothing,
You gave me life,
I am your child.
2 - You, Lord, are love,
I was lost,
You are all tenderness,
I seek your hand.
3 - You, Lord, are forgiveness,
I am a sinner,
You listen and you forgive,
Oh! my God, I implore you.
4 - You, Lord, are light,
I cannot see,
Your word enlightens us,
Grant, Lord, that I may see.
After that came many readings of Bible passages, psalms and gospels by relatives and the priest, which seemed to me to last for hours and deepened my grief and my bitterness even more. Teachers, friends and relatives spoke of Kevin's struggles throughout his life, of his smile in spite of everything, and of my mother's and father's daily courage. Then came the priest's homily:
"Life is not lost, my friends, it is transformed. Indeed, we can say that the Christian who believes in Jesus Christ does not truly die. 'Life is not ended, it is changed.' Listen carefully to this beautiful text, which sheds so much light for us: '… for those who believe in you, Lord, life is not ended, it is changed, and when their earthly dwelling comes to an end, they already have an eternal dwelling in heaven.' We may always wonder what that dwelling will be like. It is a legitimate question. But despite all the research possible today, no one can answer it. We are fortunate, as Christians, to have an answer, the answer of our faith, which Saint Paul sums up this way in his letter to the Christians of Rome: 'For none of us lives for himself, and none of us dies for himself. If we live, we live for the Lord, and if we die, we die for the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's.' (Romans 14:7-8)."
"Why should our mortal life belong to an immortal being, to a being who makes us know a life of suffering?" I thought, the priest's words unbearable to me.
"What does this mean? It means that the life we have, we received as a gift, as an offering; it does not belong to us, we are not its owners. It comes from God through our parents, and it continues with God after our death. That is what 'living for the Lord' and 'dying for the Lord' means. Our life belongs to God," the priest went on.
"As a gift? No, for some, life is a curse, a poisoned gift, and it would have been better never to know the twists and turns of existence! Live for the Lord? What nonsense—the most important thing is to live for yourself!"
"This is what we say without realizing it when we say 'adieu' to someone. The word 'adieu' can be written as two words: 'à' and 'Dieu'—'to God.' Pope Francis gave a beautiful commentary on this word during a homily. I share it with you: 'To God I entrust my soul; to God I entrust my story; to God I entrust my loved ones; to God I entrust everything. One day we will all be led,' the pope continues, 'to say this word… May the Christ who died and rose again send us the Holy Spirit, so that we may learn this word, so that we may learn to say it with all our strength: the last word, to God…'"
"In that case, I don't want to say goodbye!" I lamented inwardly.
And so, during that homily, bitterness kept rising in me, and the mass now came to an end just as it had begun. The coffin left again toward the exit to the sound of hymns that were still just as melancholy and sad.
On the threshold of His house,
Our Father awaits you,
And the arms of God
Will open for you.
1 - When the gates of life
Open before us,
In the peace of God
We will see you again.
2 - By the blood of Jesus Christ,
By His death on the cross,
The forgiveness of God
Will set you free.
3 - The water that gave you life
Will wash your eyes,
And your eyes will see
The salvation of God.
4 - When the last day comes
At the call of God,
You will rise
And you will walk.
5 - As on your first morning
The sun will shine,
And you will enter
Into the joy of God.
We now walked through the streets of our town in a procession dressed in black and white, draped in a deathly silence, all the way to the cemetery entrance, after a long walk under that gray sky. As we went in, we all passed through a large black gate between white walls, topped by a Christ on the cross.
A Christ I stared at insistently—I, a young child, seeing a cemetery for the first time. It was a place with a heavy, sad and sinister atmosphere, strewn with stones engraved with the names of people I didn't know and never would. The only thing connecting us was death, for soon my brother would rest there too. Everyone stood in silence around the coffin resting on trestles, Kevin's photo on top. After long minutes, the priest finally spoke.
"Words fail us, Lord. We are in trial; accept our silence as a prayer for Kevin, whom you know and whom you love. His path now leads him to you: welcome him into the light and peace of your Kingdom. And may your Love be a light on our road, until the day you gather us to yourself forever and ever."
"His love didn't save him!"
"My friends, we are gathered here in pain and sorrow to pay tribute to a young child taken by illness. The death of a child taken by illness—you are surely wondering why God would do such a thing?"
"Because He doesn't exist!"
"Illness is an evil, and God wants only our good."
"If He wanted our good so much, why not eradicate it?"
"And this evil was caused by men, through original sin, and now it is a trial that all men must overcome."
"My brother never did anything wrong, why should he have to go through this kind of trial?"
"It is a trial as much for the sick person as for their loved ones, who can only watch helplessly as their child suffers. And sometimes illness takes them and confronts the loved ones with another trial, that of grief. Trials can overwhelm us, but they must not lock us into revolt or bitterness; they must open us to hope."
A bolt of lightning suddenly split the sky with a great crash, making the crowd jump—and with good reason, because in our time lightning could mean the appearance of portals. Then, after a few seconds, the priest spoke again.
"We will now hear a few words from Job, that man so deeply tested, who had lost everything. But in his misfortune, he still had faith and hope. And for us, who suffer many misfortunes, he is also a model on which to shape our faith. In those days, Job spoke and said:
Oh, that my words were written, that they were inscribed in bronze with an iron chisel and stylus, that they were engraved in the rock forever! For I know that my Redeemer lives, and that at the last He will stand upon the dust of the dead; with my body I will stand, and in my flesh I will see God. I will see Him myself, and if my eyes behold Him, He will no longer be a stranger."
He paused briefly.
"It is not easy to offer a prayer at the funeral of one's own child, and yet that is what Kevin's mother has decided to do. Let us listen to her now."
The priest stepped aside for my mother, who had not yet spoken during the mass. She began to speak, her eyes red and her hands trembling.
"My dear child, since your birth you never stopped fighting, and through this terrible ordeal, you always kept smiling despite the pain. You are an example of perseverance and love for all of us, and I cannot understand why the Lord called you back to Him so soon. And, selfishly, I would have liked you to keep fighting, even if you had to suffer even more."
Another bolt of lightning split the sky as small drops began to fall.
"So, to say one last goodbye to you, and so that you may leave this earth in peace, I would like to read you a poem:
My child, my dearest child, from the moment you were in my womb,
I made you a promise: to bring you into existence, to give you life.
A promise I kept, and from the dawn you were born, you filled my existence.
I remember your warmth when you nursed at my breast,
And your little laughs and smiles that lit up each of my days.
Unfortunately, I could not give you a healthy body.
And in that, as a mother, I failed and broke my promise.
And I am sorry, for you were a flower that only wanted to bloom.
I hope you will forgive me, for have no fear, I will come and find you.
So that once again, you can light up my life as you always have.
Until that hour comes, until death brings us together,
I will never stop loving you."
Then it was time to close the coffin to lower it into the ground and to say goodbye to his face, the rain pouring down like a sheet accompanying our sadness. As the coffin was lowered, people burst into tears, and I was crying too, while the priest spoke and the rain grew heavier.
"Lord, we turn our eyes to you at the hour when this face so dear to us disappears: grant him, Lord, eternal rest, grant him to see you face to face, and strengthen our hope of seeing him again beside you. And may unfading light shine before his eyes forever and ever. Amen."
Once the coffin was at the bottom, everyone came in turn to throw a white flower as a final farewell. And with each flower thrown, the rain around us grew stronger and stronger, as did the words of the priest, trying to fight against it to be heard.
My mother threw her flower and collapsed in the mud in tears, unable to bear the grief any longer, her sobs managing to drown out the sound of the rain. My father lifted her up, holding her close under that deluge, while it was my turn, the last one, to throw a flower. I, the nine-year-old child who was afraid of the dark and of storms, but whom my brother always took in his arms, stared at the coffin at the bottom of that deep hole, then looked at the flower, which meant adieu. No, not "to God," a god to whom I wanted to say nothing, not even goodbye.
I let go of that magnificent white rose and, as it fell, I wished for something:
"I don't want the world to turn without you, I don't want the sun to burn without you. I want to see you again, the only being I could pray to and hold, the one who will always take care of me, my one and only God, my brother."
At that moment, it was no longer a wish but a prayer, immediately followed by a black bolt of lightning that split the sky with a dull, terrifying rumble and struck the spot where the coffin lay, throwing many people, including me, several meters away. As I got back up, I saw around me faces petrified with fear, watching that gigantic black bolt pierce the sky and the earth.
Then people found the strength to move away in panic while I kept watching. That was when, inside that lightning, I felt a presence, and my skin now had goosebumps. My gaze was drawn into that blackness, and I thought I saw eyes watching me, which made me break out in a cold sweat. My body and mind paralyzed, I heard a voice straight out of hell that made my body tremble with every syllable.
"And so, through this first descent into the abyss, the black work continues its course."
Then the lightning faded, parting the clouds and bringing back the blue sky like a new dawn. The lightning had left only a large crater, and everyone was now terrified at the idea of going to look at what was inside. And yet, strangely, I was drawn to it despite my fear, because the lightning had struck my brother's grave. I wanted to see. I looked around for my mother, found her standing near my father, and walked toward her.
I looked at her and saw fear in her eyes, but also that curiosity. I took her hand and looked her in the eyes. She understood and squeezed my hand, and we headed toward the spot, watched by the crowd in a silence broken by each of our steps on the water covering the ground. It was as if we were walking on water, each step an act of faith, a walk into the unknown, a walk into the night in broad daylight.
When we reached the edge of the crater, we saw that it was filled with water from the downpour, but the craziest thing was the young boy standing on the water, who looked at us, tears running down his face, his mouth trembling.
"Mom, Marie…" he said, his voice trembling, before collapsing into the water.
Without thinking, we ran toward him, our feet sinking into the water and slowing us down. And when we finally reached him and were able to hold him in our arms, the unreal became real, the impossible possible.
But none of that mattered as long as I could feel the warmth of his body, the color back in his cheeks.
Hearing the crying, people came closer to the crater to see the surreal scene unfolding before their eyes. Some even fell to their knees to pray, imploring the heavens.
"It's a miracle!" they cried, incredulous and euphoric.
The impossible had become possible, illusion had prevailed over reality—yes, that was the definition of a miracle: for men, a source of light in the darkness.
And the flower, fallen amid everyone's indifference, had turned black.
When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead. But he laid his right hand on me, saying, "Fear not, I am the first and the last, and the living one. I died, and behold, I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of Death and Hades." (Revelation 1:17-18)