It’s been exactly one week since the news. Someone I held in high regard died. His name was Jeremiah. Jeremiah Small. He was a dedicated Christian, profoundly humble and deeply caring for other people. He was one of those uncommon types who saw every person as an end in themselves. When we talked together, he talked to me, not at me, and listened in the same manner. He had the qualities of a keen listener. That is probably what made him such a great teacher. He taught at a Christian school in Sulaimaniah, a city in Iraqi Kurdistan. He was on his sixth year, teaching History, English, and the like. Jeremiah was wildly popular with his students. They were crazy about him, because he was crazy about them. This teacher poured himself into his teaching and his students. He didn’t aim to just give facts. He aimed to inspire. And show people the goodness of his God he loved so dearly and the awe of God’s world. I could go on (two further articles from World are here and here). But it ended.
On the morning of March 1st, a Thursday, Jeremiah was opening up his class with a prayer, his pupils in front of him as normal. He thanked God for a beautiful day. Before he could finish, one of them pulled out a pistol and shot him three times. I hear he died with his hands still clasped together. The student then shot himself, and also died shortly thereafter. To this day no one knows why he did it. No note, no clues, nothing.
It is so senseless. It shouldn’t have happened. His existence was important. Men like him are rare. Teachers like him are very rare. Why? It’s as though it left a hole in the world that shouldn’t have been there. The atmosphere itself seemed to disrupt over it. Within 24 hours of his death, a winter storm blew into Sulaimaniah. Frigid wind screamed down from the Kurdish mountains Jeremiah loved so much. Cold snow tumbled down from the frozen sky, thunder and lightening grumbled in displeasure, and grey clouds brooded over Kurdistan with their gloomy presence for several days.A winter storm so late in the year is strange. From ancient times, strange events are reported to accompany the death of great men, from Julius Caesar to Jesus Christ. Truly, a great man did pass from us.
One thing that made Jeremiah great is his love for forgiveness. He saw himself as a much-forgiven man. I keep hearing how whenever he realized his wrongness on something, he didn’t tarry to apologize. Sometimes he wasn’t even wrong. I found he grew up in a family where apologies and forgiveness were highly prized. His parents and some of his siblings flew out to Kurdistan to bury their son and brother. The memorial service was filled with an unusual quality, for victim of a murder – forgiveness. The teen’s family was invited to the service. Mom, brothers, and his dad all voiced the same anti-bitterness medicine. Dad said this was a momentary act by a confused young man, and repeated his goodwill towards the family. When they left the podium, the teen’s father came to the front and embraced them. I’ve never witnessed anything like this. It redefined love and reconciliation.
But its touching benefit was for the living. That day they buried Jeremiah. I regret I wasn’t able to attend that one, needing to go back to my place of work.
Regrets are haunting. I have many. I wish I had a chance to get to know him more. We were both so busy. I had hoped to see him during the Nawroz holiday now upon us, where all the schools in Kurdistan let out for two weeks. So much for that. Yet I can hear his deep, kind voice saying those pleasant things if I concentrate.
I don’t know how much of this post is nonsense. This is grieving. I just miss him. I will miss our authentic conversations. The way he was with kids. His smile. His voice. Everything. Times that I’ve seen him run through my mind like a movie. Tragedy like this makes you think. Death means “over” in our experience. The dead are gone. No more of their presence and all that goes along with it.
But two thousand years ago in the mourning of another dead man, Jesus told the mourners he himself was resurrection and life. Those who believe in him will live again (John 11.25). Tall claims. But what hopeful claims, no? These humanist platitudes of “death is a part of life” and “at least he lived (once)” are idiotic to me. How is that hopeful? May as well say nothing. Put a bow-tie on a rotting eel. Hope doesn’t accept death as the victor. Hope means death isn’t the end: Those who die can go right through death and out the other side to a new kind of life, one that is eternal. Jeremiah firmly believed in that hope. His conviction was that his dead bones will rise yet again. That’s what made him the person he was. He believed he had a heavenly future. So he lived as though he were a heavenly man.
A memorial video made by a student
Time for another update from Thailand – basically, things are starting to wind down. Brittani and Hannah left for America on the 18th the last interns to go besides me.
I’ve just finished my third week of the CELTA course. Class time runs from 11:30am to 8pm. For homework every week we have to write a 1,000 word or so paper, write lesson plans and prepare to teach two practice English classes. It is difficult but I’m enjoying it. The Thais who come to be taught by us every night are a lot of fun. So are my fellow student-teachers; there are twelve of us – 11 men and 1 woman! But there’s a good mix of nationalities – 1 Canadian, 1 Syrian, 1 Syrilankan, 3 British, and 6 Americans including me. Both the professors of the course are from the UK originally but have traveled widely and live in Thailand for now. I love seeing the different personalities and backgrounds come together with this group.
Comparatively, I have the least teaching experience in the whole class. Some people taking the course have been teaching for over six years. But I have so much gratitude to God for the course. I’m learning very valuable material on how to teach English effectively so students actually learn and enjoy the process. I also think it is helping me become better at teaching in general, skills I can transfer to teaching the Bible.
On the downside, all day yesterday and today I have had a bad headache, enough to make it hard to function. But God has unbelievably sustained me. It’s a joy to be in pain yet see God’s goodness through it all.
This weekend (besides homework) I will go to church, hang out Cynthia Edwards (who let the interns stay at her house) and with some people who just came to Chiang Mai from India, and visit the OMF missionary office.
Keep my health in prayer if you could. Also pray for those around me who need Christ.
Soli Deo Gloria.