Maxixe, Mozambique June 16, 1995 Dear friends: Afonso Beule died of cancer a mere seven months after he began serving the church at Jogó. I believe now that some of the bouts of illness which he suffered while he was still a student with us, must have been connected to his cancer. But it was not until Afonso was transferred to the Central Hospital in Maputo and operated upon, that anyone knew that the swelling of his eye and head was due to cancer. Lots of people prayed for or with Afonso and visited him in hospital. While he was at Chicuque the students went to see him regularly. When he was transferred to Maputo the ministers and members of the church there went to visit him even if most of the time Afonso was unable to talk with them. Once the extent of the cancer was known, the doctor recommended that Afonso return to his home to die. He could have had treatment, we were told, but there was no hope that it would make him better. Afonso wanted to be at home and his father, who stayed by his side constantly, wanted him to be there. Hospitals are not comfortable places to be nor good places to die. Afonso rode home on the bus and had a couple of days with his family before he was released from his suffering. When the funeral was held, I was in Maputo for the annual meeting of the Maputo Regional Council of the Congregational Church. I learned of his death when I returned to Inhambane and I was grateful when the leaders of the church asked me to lead the memorial service eight days later. With seven students, we got up at 4.30am, walked the 2 km to Maxixe and got a pickup truck taxi to Morrumbene. We walked to the church, a building of poles and reeds, distinguished by the height of its roof. People started arriving from all directions, a few at a time at first, and then streams of people, until we were a congregation of about 500 filling the church and spreading out in the shade around it. We said prayers and read words of comfort and encouragement. We sang songs and hymns of our resurrection faith. Carol and I sang the Xitshwa version of the Twenty Third Psalm that we recently made. Afonso's children sat on the floor, their mourning marked by black crosses pinned to their shirts. Delfina wore her Xirilo uniform as did the other women in recognition that this was a pastor who had died. After the service Delfina switched to a widow's black dress. I listened carefully to the accounts of Afonso's life by a family member, a church leader and a pastor colleague. I preached, trying to address the questions that I knew were troubling people: why and how this terrible illness and death of a young pastor. It was not easy. I knew that there had been talk that Afonso had been loya-ed ("bewitched" is the usual English translation). I knew that he had been taken to traditional healers and to Zionist Christian healers. I knew that some thought that he became ill because he was sent to serve his home church. A lectionary reading for the day (Mark 9.30-37) tells how the disciples argued among themselves because they did not understand Jesus' saying about his death and resurrection. Our troubles and arguments over the reasons for Afonso's death, I argued, were because, like the disciples, we do not understand the death and resurrection of Christ. Following the service we rushed the kilometer and a half to the grave yard. We started at a walk, but going to graves is always a rush. This one was even more precipitate because leaders of the congregation, students and pastors vied to carry the cross and flowers at the front of the procession. We arrived, the dust settled and I said the concluding prayers and benedictions. We went to the home, washed our hands, settled on the ground or benches or borrowed chairs. Food was served and people talked but not about Afonso or his death. I found some space to talk with Delfina, who had not been told that Afonso had died of cancer nor of how bad it had been. Elisa Muhale who is acting minister met with the deacons to discuss plans for the care of the congregation. We said our farewells and walked back to the road. As we walked I thought of the first missionaries, the Ousleys, Wilcoxs and Richards. They had walked through this country on their way to Cambine and Mocodene in the 1880s. How different had it been? I wondered too about their teaching and preaching and how they had addressed the people they were evangelizing and their convictions about death, its causes and its reasons. The fourth pickup truck had room for the nine of us. The driver said he had seen us waiting and came back from Morrumbene rather than waiting to complete his load there. We were grateful. Yours in Christ's service, Lawrence C. Gilley Return to index page