Goodbye to a Brother In Christ

“How was your trip to Malawi?” friends ask.

“Great!” I grin and nod my head enthusiastically.

The smile only just keeps the tears at bay.

I went home to bury my father, the Abusa J.M. Janosek. Sure, there were only two little pieces of bones. And those aren’t even Dad anymore. He’s up in heaven with all the other saints, joyously clicking his heels in front of our LORD and Saviour.

But Mum knew that even in death Dad would want to continue his witness to the people he loved so well. So my husband, 2 children and I jumped on a plane (four planes to be exact) and escorted Mum and the bones to Malawi for one last memorial service.

We held it at Khanyepa, a congregation Dad called the cradle of the Lutheran church in Malawi. He started witnessing and teaching in that village 46 years ago and continued serving there, as well as in many other communities throughout his 38 years as a missionary in Malawi.
 

We drove up to the church between rows of white-turbaned ladies singing in quiet harmony. None of them were smiling or dancing like usual. But then, Dad wasn’t behind the wheel waving and smiling at them.

Missionaries, pastors and old friends greeted us as we piled out of our vehicle. Word spread quickly that Amaye Janosek had arrived. People on bicycles and on foot streamed along the dusty paths to the church from all directions.

Ushered to the pastor’s house, we sat in the shade to rest and talk. When Mum learned that ten chiefs and headmen from Chikwawa district had come to honour Dad, we immediately walked to the church to greet them. As soon as Mum entered the church, people flowed in after her, crowding her as she greeted the chiefs sitting on a row of chairs lining the one piece of shade in the roofless church.

“Do you not remember me?” asked one of the chiefs. Oh to have Dad back with his God-given talent to remember not only names but every little detail about a person.

“Thank you for coming,” my mother responded. “Sorry that our memories are as rusty as our Chichewa.”

Our Chichewa improved, but not enough to do justice to the touching service planned by Pastors Chinyama and Mwanancho. Mum, my husband and I sat with other missionary families, pastors and elders on chairs in the front. Everyone else, including my children, sat behind us on the dirt floor, or on 2x4s laid out like pews in the middle of the church.

 

We joined our voices in praise to God, singing a cappella from the few shared ‘Chewa hymn books. Listening to readings under the burning sun, we silently prayed for clouds and thanked God every time one passed overhead. It was a poignant reminder of all those worship services Dad led under a tree or partial shelter.

Before and after the sermons, we listened to the three choirs present – powerful voices harmonizing beautifully. One sang a song composed for the occasion. Afterwards, pastors, elders and chiefs stood one by one to tell stories of Dad and how the Holy Spirit worked through him. One chief said, “I eagerly await the day I too stand with Abusa Janosek before God to say ‘Alleluia!’”

“Alleluia!” the congregation responded.

Leaving the church, everyone crowded around the grave marker, pushing inwards for a better view. Friends escorted Mum to the centre and stood with her as singing women proceeded in two files, each carrying a wreath of bougainvillea flowers. A man lowered himself into the hole and laid the bones in the bottom before we started placing the wreaths around the edges. 

As I lay my wreath, my 6-year old daughter pushed her way to the front and learned those were her Grandpa’s bones down there. She hung over the side sobbing. Mum and I held her and assured her that Grandpa was in heaven.

 

Long after everyone dispersed to eat and reminisce about Dad, I found my little girl sitting by the grave crying. Around her the land spread out in every direction from the memorial stone – village, field, plain, church against a backdrop of hills rising in the near distance. What a blessing for Dad to have served God in this beautiful place. 

What a blessing to be able to witness one last time to God’s people with his grave marker –

Abusa J.M. Janosek

Mbale mwa Khristu

1936-2011

Mbale mwa Khristu - Brother in Christ.