I was a senior in high school when one of my neighbors, George, committed suicide. He was 19 the only son his mother, a poor widow, Mrs. Maria. He hung himself because some friends made fun of him… Mrs. Maria mourned over the terrible loss of her only son was not her only pain. She felt the horrible pain of bigotry and prejudice. Her priest rejected the idea of a decent funeral and didn’t allow George to be buried in the church cemetery. Almost all cemeteries in Romania belongs to the Greek-orthodox churches…
No burial service, no place in the cemetery because of the superstitions, wrong understanding of Jesus’ mission as Saviour and Redeemer.
I remember Mrs. Maria’s tears, her desperation and her question repeated almost mechanical: why, why God, why?... I wanted to comfort her, to read some Scriptures for her… And I did after a while. But she didn’t believe me. She considered her son cursed, burning already in hell because of that minute of weakness and bad temper… She just followed the popular opinion, what others around her thought… And her emotions, her guilt, her sense of a loving God and personal savior, were choked… Her mind collapsed in less than a year…