Community Service with a deeper meaning

On a bright, sun-filled Saturday, we, the volunteers, met for one more outing before separating to teach in different parts of  Pohnpei.  This Saturday’s destination was a local waterfall, really a double one.  The upper one falls into a pool  before sweeping over into the 2^nd one and falling  twice, almost triple the distance into the 2^nd pool.  It was a glorious trip that ended with heart and soul wrenching shock and loss.  It is not the circumstance, the details, or the pain  I wish to write of; rather, it is the response of the community which has provided  insights into cultural  and social values.

Each evening, the host mother has held a vigil beside the morgue doorway at the hospital.  Prayers and hymns are offered as comfort to our lost friend.  Community members, many of whom never met our friend, patiently come each night to offer their soothing comfort to the host mother and to our friend, who must wait until she can return to own family in the States. 

Initially, perhaps because I am callus and jaded or perhaps because I am slow to recognize the good, -- whatever the cause, I failed to experience that first vigil as a positive. I shamefully admit my crass doubts.  Our friend was Jewish and here we were offering Christian songs;  Our friend was young and prayers spoke of God’s love and mercy.  Needless to say, in my heart, I was as cold, callus, and unloving as the arctic.  As the vigil ended, the community members offered their condolences – which I perfunctorily accepted.   I approached the host mother to exchange my own empty statements.  Within my embrace, this small, fragile-appearing woman radiated a warmth and strength grounded in loving sorrow. 

How could I resist this woman?  The hollow emptiness I was projecting on the vigil was all within me.  Water spilled down my cheeks and the words I muttered  turned to petals.

The next night, and the next, and each night throughout the week, we attend the vigils.  For each of these services, members of the community come to share their voices and their company with our friend.  And it is a Service – for the living and for the dead.  I appreciated the music for the intention: a sharing of joy, sorrow, comfort.  We laugh a little and we share tears.  On the fourth night, I shared in the singing: mangling pronunciation, but no one objected, and we laughed .

There will be more vigils until Becky returns to the States and to her parents.  The service takes an hour or two each night.  The Host mother and her friends always provide an offering of food to all who come.  This is significant in a region of limited resources but it is not considered a drain or a sacrefice.  Food is a joy to share and we share it with the body and spirit of our friend.

I am learning how miserly and mean-spirited  I and my existence has been.  Perhaps I would have eventually recognized Pohnpean generosity and the fundamental comfort of sharing community.  Who can say what a year can do?  I do know that a few hours a day spent keeping my friend company is part and parcel of friendship.  And I owe a life-long debt to a small, wise, gentle woman who understands ‘community.’