The day I dreaded the most has arrived, a mockery of my futile prayers to stop this day from coming.

It is the day of Eliab’s funeral. The day has dawned bright and cruel, and the sun climbs high in a sky that seems to mock me and my broken heart with its beauty. I had hoped for rain, for clouds, for anything that mirrored the storm within me. Instead, the village of Nain continues to move about under bright blue skies, even though a quiet solemnity is palpable in the air.

Mara arrived at my home before the first rays of sunlight crept over the hills. She moves silently around the house, carrying out the necessary tasks needing completion before we leave for the burial. I am seated on the mat on which my husband and son breathed their last, my body heavy with despair. I know I have to get ready, but… I… I’m unable to summon the strength to dress or move.

Without asking, Mara approaches me and kneels before me, her hands warm and firm as she gently guides me to wear my mourning raiment.

Other women soon join in to assist Mara and I in preparation. They bring with them jars of water and oil, soft linen, and words of comfort they whisper with practiced care. One woman washes my hands and feet with soothing caution and loving care. Another adjusts my garments, ensuring they hang in accordance with custom. And Mara places a veil over my head, shielding my tear-streaked face from the morning light.

In due time, I have been made ready for the burial of Eliab.

Oh, that I would not have been ready for this at all!

***

I walk at the front of the procession, flanked by Mara and two other women who came in early to assist me in preparing for this dreadful moment. Their hands grip my arms, steadying me as my knees threaten to buckle and send me crashing down with every step.

Behind us, the pallbearers carry Eliab’s bier: a simple frame of wood, open so that all could see his lifeless form.

My son, my precious boy, the first and only fruit of my womb. He lies in that bier. His face is pale and still, no longer flushed with the fever that had taken him. His hands are folded over his chest, no longer warm and full of life.

This isn’t real. It can’t be real. This has to be an awful nightmare.

But even as this crosses my mind, I know it’s a futile attempt to deceive myself. It is real.

Tears stream down my face, unchecked and unceasing. My chest feels as though a great stone has been pressed down roughly on it, and my steps falter more than once. Mara’s grip tightens each time I stumble, her whispered words of support meaningless against the weight of my grief.

The voices of the mourners trail behind us, rising and falling in chants of lamentation. I can hear various voices, but their words barely register. All I can see… all I can think of, is Eliab.

I can only remember the way his laughter used to echo through the house, the way he clung to me when he was frightened as a little boy, the way his eyes lit up with curiosity about the world, the way he asked his father and I so many questions.

The way he promised to be there for me and protect me after Yohanan departed.

And now… he’s gone. Lying dead in that bier.

Why, Adonai, why?

A fresh wave of sobs wracks my body, and yet again, I stumble. “Oh, Adonai,” I weep aloud, my voice breaking. “Why have You done this? Why have You taken him from me? What sin did I commit to deserve this? Tell me, Adonai! What is my transgression that You chose to punish me this way?”

The women beside me, while holding me up, murmur softly, trying all they possibly can to calm me down, but I cannot be consoled. I just cannot.

This isn’t a nightmare. There is no waking up from this. This is real life.

My son is dead, and I am walking to bury him.

As we approach the town gates, the cries of the mourners behind me grow louder, filling the narrow streets. The open expanse beyond the gate comes into view, the path stretching toward the burial grounds where Yohanan already lies.

Oh, how cruel this life has been to me! I already walked this path to see Yohanan buried in these grounds. Eliab walked by my side, offering me comfort as I wept bitterly. How can it be that I’m returning to bury him now?

Adonai, the men in my life lived under the same roof as I, to protect me as I serve them. Why have You taken them to the grounds outside the town gates? Why must I live alone in our home while they inhabit the grave? Am I that unrighteous in Your sight that You inflict this unbearable grief on me?

I continue to wail and struggle to keep my balance. My heart is crushed, and there’s nothing that can heal it. Nothing.

But before we could pass through the gates, I saw a crowd gathered there.

They must be travellers, I think at first, as their clothing and demeanor are unfamiliar. Some stand tall and silent, while others whisper among themselves.

And at the center of the group… is this Man. There’s something about His presence; it is commanding but not intimidating. He stands still, watching us approach, His eyes fixed on the bier…

…and on me.

I feel Mara stiffen beside me, her hand tightening around my arm. “Who is that?” she whispers in a demanding tone, but of course, I cannot answer.

Something in the air shifts as we draw closer to the gates. The cries of the mourners begin to falter, replaced by murmurs of confusion and curiosity.

I barely notice. My gaze continually returns to the bier in which Eliab lies, my heart too shattered to care about anything else.

But the Man in the center of the crowd… His eyes, deep and steady, never leave mine.

Ahhh, yes! The presence of that Man is good news, isn’t it? Let’s see how this ends…