In the “village of widows”

What I learned from blundering into a place of pain and tripping over tragic memories

I heard what she said only after returning a couple of weeks later to the relative cool and quiet of my office. And when I did, I felt a chill, not only about what she said but also about how I missed what she said.

I’d recorded the conversation in the village of Kraras in the rural southeast of Timor Leste, where I’d travelled with the Adventist Development and Relief Agency (ADRA) to visit its development projects. Kraras is the site of ADRA’s first water project. A well pumps into a hilltop tank that feeds a series of tap stations throughout the community, making clean water more easily accessible and creating greater opportunities for sanitation and gardening.

After inspecting the pump and tank, ADRA invited us to talk with the villagers about the difference the water had made to their lives. Sitting under the shade of the thick thatch of her small timber hut, I met Polini, a woman with greying hair pulled back tightly from her textured face, a hacking cough and text I couldn’t read tattooed on her bony arms.

I “spoke” with Polini through two interpreters—her local dialect to Tetum (an official language) then Tetum to English. The gentle, accented voice of the second interpreter must have almost masked this statement: “She says that her husband died in 1983.”

Whether by bringing water to a “village of widows,” by learning and listening more carefully to their stories, or by otherwise using our voice, influence and resources to work for justice and peace in our communities and world today, we—and our world—need more of this “pure and genuine religion.”Nathan Brown, Book Editor, Signs Publishing

A few days after the conversation with Polini, I read books in the Resistance Museum in Dili, Timor Leste’s capital, that gave a new and horrific perspective to the simple statement Polini made and, in ignorance, I missed.

In the context of Timor Leste’s modern history, Kraras became known as the “village of widows.” In September, 1983, the occupying Indonesian military forces massacred more than 300 villagers. In retaliation for the killing of an Indonesian soldier in the area, soldiers rounded up all the men of the village and murdered them.

At the time, these rural areas were the heartland of the East Timorese resistance, largely isolated from and ignored by the outside world. So, no headlines, no international outcry, followed. Just another “minor” outrage of the bloody 20th century, just another chapter in the Timorese struggle for independence. In my well-intentioned visit, I, too, had blundered into a place of pain, tripping over tragic memories, not really hearing the story I was told.

That’s why I’m proud ADRA is working in Kraras. Among His “preferential option for the poor,” God has a particular concern for widows (see Psalms 146:9), so how much more a “village of widows”? I might have missed the import of Polini’s story, but God calls His people to this same urgent concern in strong terms: “Cursed is anyone who denies justice to foreigners, orphans, or widows” (Deuteronomy 27:19, NLT).

In well-known verses such as Micah 6:8 and Matthew 23:23, the Bible repeatedly links the concepts of justice, righteousness and faithfulness. Toward the end of the New Testament, James again makes this link clear: “Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you” (James 1:27, NLT).

Whether by bringing water to a “village of widows,” by learning and listening more carefully to their stories, or by otherwise using our voice, influence and resources to work for justice and peace in our communities and world today, we—and our world—need more of this “pure and genuine religion.”