We American Latter-day Saints would like to think that we’re spiritually superior to other people.  Our thinking is that we’re blessed with more possessions and comforts, so therefore, our way of living is the way all people would live if they were as blessed as we are.

I have shared in that attitude; but after being here among the people of Vanuatu, I see danger in harboring such thoughts.

The thing that set me thinking was the funeral I attended this week.  It was for an older woman who passed away suddenly.  She was a member of the Banban Branch.  Until the early part of 2013 her branch met at the house of one of the members.  She was always the first one there.

The funeral service was held at her house, the day following her death.  Hers was a typical Vanuatu home, very humble by American standards.  She, too, was very humble.  Her body was dressed in temple robes, and had been placed in a simple, wooden box that was completely covered by white fabric.  A young, American missionary gave a short talk in Bislama.  The district president, her nephew, read an obituary telling about her life.  Fifty mourners filled the house and yard listening as best they could.  There were opening and closing hymns and prayers, just like we have back home in the states.

At the end of the short service, long pieces of colorful, folded fabric were passed under the casket.  A red pickup was backed into the yard.  Pall bearers grabbed each end of the long pieces of fabric, and lifted the casket into the back of the pickup.  Many artificial flowers, bags of fabric, and beautifully-woven mats were loaded into the pickup with the casket.  Last of all the woman’s daughter climbed into the back of the pickup accompanied by nine other mourners.  They seated themselves along the edge of the pickup bed.  The rest of the mourners followed the pickup hearse in a 12-vehicle line of taxis that made the 15-minute drive to the cemetery.

The grave had been dug by hand, and was ready.  Two boards spanned the hole with a long rope resting on each.  The pall bearers grabbed their ends of the folded pieces of fabric, and moved the casket from the pickup to its resting place on the boards spanning the grave.  The branch president, by the power of the Melchizedek Priesthood, then dedicated the grave, in Bislama, in an eloquent prayer.

Four strong men each took hold of an end of the ropes that were under the casket, and lifted it enough that the boards beneath the casket could be removed.  They then lowered the casket into the grave.

That’s when the wailing began.  The daughter and several other women cried inconsolably.  One woman seated on the far side of the grave covered her face with a scarf and cried and cried.  She must have been the best friend of the deceased.  The wailing lasted for 10 or more minutes.

The beautifully-woven mats were spread out and lowered onto the casket.  Each mourner who wished to do so threw a handful of dirt into the hole.  Men with shovels energetically began covering the casket with the dirt that had been removed from the hole until a great mound was made over the grave.  Living plants were planted in each corner of the hole as it was being filled.  Multiple pieces of colorful fabric were spread over the mound.  Many artificial flowers were stuck in the loose dirt around the mound, and artificial wreaths of flowers were laid on the fabric covering the mound.

That was the end of the service.  The wailing ceased.  The best friend uncovered her face.  Surprisingly (to me) her eyes were dry, and she was composed.  The family formed a long, straight line, and the rest of the mourners filed past, shaking the hand of each of the 20 or so family members.

The service was different from what I was used to back home, yet it was just the same.  The people and customs are different from what I am used to back home, and yet they were just the same.  The deceased woman came from much more humble circumstances than those that I’m used to back home, yet I had the sensation that the reception she’d receive from the Lord would be not a bit different.

In my mind’s eye I saw Jared and his brother making their way to the promised land.  These people in Vanuatu sleep on mats on the hard floor.  I’m sure the Brother of Jared did, too.

In my mind’s eye I saw Nephi and Lehi making their way to the promised land.  These people in Vanuatu have much more in the way of possessions than Lehi and Nephi had.  These people have fires with which to cook their food.  Neither Nephi nor the Brother of Jared had such a luxury as they made their journeys.

Moroni and Ether both lived solitary lives, their only possessions being what they could carry.  Fearing that smoke or flames might reveal their whereabouts, they probably didn’t use much fire, either.

Moroni, Ether, Nephi, Lehi, Jared, and his brother would all have perfectly understood and accepted the circumstances in which this good, faithful, temple-endowed woman of Vanuatu lived.  All of those men were far above my spiritual capacities.

These people and their customs might seem primitive and childish to me, but I have the sensation that our own Westernized customs and ways of living are probably equally primitive and childish in the eyes of our Savior.  When I reach the other side I will receive the same welcome from my Savior that this good woman of Vanuatu received.  Both of us will be welcomed home to formerly familiar surroundings where we can pick up where we left off, and where we can learn how life is to be really lived.

Do you suppose that when we left that realm to come to earth there was weeping and wailing as our friends saw us depart?  I’d think there would be more cause for mourning then than now.  I think we were probably all very eager to get to earth and to enter mortality, so I doubt there were many tears there except for the sorrow of a short separation.  How grateful and excited we should be here when we see our loved ones successfully complete their training program and return to where they once were.