Guest post from David Kiamu in Liberia
On
Sunday morning, as I drove off to church, I stopped by the home of my pastor
friend who had lost his wife to Ebola just in the last one week. My friend sat
outside his house with his head in his hands as if he was praying. He was
actually weeping instead. I knew then that things were not that good.
Naturally, my habit had been, jump out of the car, come to my brother, and hold
him for a time of prayer. This time, I stopped my car, opened the door, but
never had the strength to get out of the car. My friend realized I could not
come near to him for a touch, and prayer, but I said a prayer for him sitting
in my car.
Up to this point, my friend had lost to Ebola, his mother in law,
his sister in law, the husband of his sister in law, and in the last one week,
his own dear wife. My friend knew I love him, for we have been a great partner
in ministry for for a while, but at this point, holding him for prayer was not
something I could do.
Everyone in our neighborhood was aware that Ebola was now
living with this family. I knew this was not a good time to hug my friend
for some powerful Pentecostal prayer. I wanted to, but it was difficult. My
friend began to feel abandoned, and he cried the more. He said to me "
Dave, I know we cannot touch each other now, but just pray. I am a servant of
God, I am now 52, and I have preached his word for most part of my life. Just
pray, and call an ambulance to take me to an Ebola treatment center, I think, I
am ill". I called an ambulance, prayed a silent prayer, never got
out to hug my friend, and I drove to church. I was scheduled to preach at our
new church plant called Life Chapel.
Throughout the sermon, I cried, and so did
the congregation. We cried because we all had experiences of seeing loved ones
dying without the power to do something about it. In a culture where shaking
hands, hugging, and kissing are ways to show love and care, not being
able to do so is painful.
This is life in Liberia. We watch love ones die with
no power to show them we love them. Then when we think of the burials in mass
graves of loved ones we would have loved to bury in a culturally acceptable
way, the idea of burning the bodies before throwing them in a mass grave is
even more disheartening. But this is life in Liberia now. Pray for Liberia.
