None of us asked to be brought into this world, but once given birth, one has a single certainty: death.

On the Sunday of St.Thomas, it was as if even the All-mighty himself showed His mercy to all those people, who were heading with their grieved souls to the house of prayer. It was a cloudy day, though it wasn’t raining yet and it was warm.
The natural instinct of the villagers to go to church revealed their longing for humbleness and prayer for the arrival of spring. It may sometimes seem that happiness is more than we usually think, as it normally feels with sorrow. On this Sunday, they also had a priest in their village who was preaching on many churches in these small villages. In order for their joy to be fulfilled on this holy day, they had the annual church fair.
There was a little time before the religious service began, which was used by the villagers for gathering flowers and praying for their LOVED ONES, gone from their lives and “taking their repose” in the village’s graveyard near the church. The course of their prayers and tears shed at the bedside, of the ones who brought us into this world and guided our lives, would have been more bearable or more possessed if it wasn’t for the times in which we live, being more than unbearable, and worthy of the crying. Most of the time the unbearable weight of being afflicts the ones who are already tormented; the ones for whom life has never been delightful. The families with lots of children, the old men and others questioning their faith. As if the poverty wasn’t enough and hard to bear, some have discovered that here in this country there are other nationalities, and religions, and the reason for their faithfulness helps to dispel feeling of enmity grown involuntarily and enabling the believed to gather the fruits of joy and cast aside feelings of sorrow, mourning and despair.
We are only two years since the revolution and still we feel dominated by that strange sense of loneliness and a slim return of the fear, not long ago faded.
Wandering through the small graveyard near the church, reading the inscriptions from some of the crosses, somehow I felt my soul lighten. I realized that this lightness wasn’t gained through the prayer of some acquaintance or other, but from the readings of those crosses I noticed that the words: “good one, dear one, loved one”, were used very often.

Our daily lives would be much better if we chose to use these words, in our conversations, rather than others. In this graveyard were buried people of all nationalities, both men and women of different religions. They were buried together and it seemed that this caused no animosity, even though they were “neighbours”. It was as if this was the only place where enmity did not exist. Sad times …
The well used adjective “fair”, “fair person”, describes a straight and honest person who is able to judge objectively; that makes for justice. Can we, people living in these times, still be “fair” in life not just when death leaves us all? Can any of us forget that in the course of our lives we also have to experience the moments of love, tolerance, affection for the loved ones? Is it possible to forget the quintessence of life? With this sorrow in our soul, we, the villagers, gathered at the door of the church where, with humbleness and devoutness, of heart longed to listen to the holy service, at least when they had the chance, at each two weeks.
The opening sermon, which had already begun, reached everyone’s heart. The lay ones, as if they were being solitary with “the unfaithful Thomas”, were annoyed with the upheaval of their live, that was left by God as witness to the resurrection of Jesus in front; the fact that Thomas manifested his doubt, mistrust for the things that cannot be defined through those fifth senses we are endowed by God. He was destined for an execrable death, in India, being hanged upside down.
All this was told by the priest who preached with closed eyes, probably imagining the things that took place nearly two thousand years ago. When he opened his eyes, he would turn his head in such a way that you would believe he photographed his parishioners. The service was completed in answers given by four lay preachers whose powerful voices, as a whole choir, gave a feeling of fulfillment. The special service was accomplished with great feeling by this retiring priest. We could see that the priest knew his congregation, in their numbers and faith but also observing “strangers” through at his service, especially those who came for the funeral of a young mother recently deceased. Taking advantage of this opportunity, the priest was overcome himself with the joy of the whole congregation. After the prayers raised to the Almighty for the souls of the dead, the Priest stood at her tomb to pray “Our Father” while the close family gathered around him. We then retired from the small graveyard, where as in all cemeteries one tomb was dominant. The name from the cross reminds me of “them”.

The dead ones not long ago considered “someone” in this area. Now, people from the village, not only do they pass by the tomb of this family, but none says a word to the ones from this family still living. They don’t see them, as if they do not even exist. Finally, there was someone who eventually said hello to them. As if he glimpsed my perplexity, a villager tapped me on the shoulder, telling me:
-They are cousins, sir … and left, to go to his work.
Gleaning from a villager and from the encounter with the “country side”, with the village, gave me a special feeling which became more and more evident growing in my behaviour having the power to erase from my mind and from my soul all the stress accumulated in a week of work. I felt like I was at home, as if I was near the ones I love, protected and needed, just as in a family reunion after a long time apart. Leaving the graveyard and reassembling, each with their own group, you could hear remarks about the special service, given by the old priest.
Our host for that day, “Buia Toma”, then commented on the occasion:
-As a constant beneficiary of this priest’s honored service not only to our village but also to those other villages in the area, I can say he is swely our worthy apostle. The problem did occur which is discouraging, because my father, one of the founders of this church, and other parents contributed to the church’s construction. They had not considered that the building of a church needed to be an appropriate size for the small number of people in the village. They dared to build our church in size as big and magnificent as the churches from the border villages. Their ambition was much too high for the smallest village around. Although, you may see that the church was completed the priest, until now, was not able to see his church full of Christians. Maybe, this could be the reasons why today he was able to preach in such a special way. For him, this day became also an event. For the first time, he admired the congregation he had desired for a lifetime. You could feel that even he could not believe this thing could happen, which would explain why his eyes were closed during the whole service. Possibly for him it was still a dream, and he was afraid to wake up… from the dream and the wish of his life. “Buia Toma” “caught me” looking closely at the tombs in the graveyard. “Did you know somebody from here?”