At the age of 14, he was hit by a bus and died at the place of the accident. He was his mother's eldest son, her right-hand man. Our town was in a state of shock. I visited his mother. Together with her and many friends, we endured the incomprehensible. The funeral prayer behind a mosque and the burial in a Muslim cemetery moved me deeply. And yet, for me, this was the beginning of the mystery of Christmas. At this festival, God says to us in Jesus: ‘I am there – in this child. I am one of you and I rejoice in everyone who comes and is there. And so my message is to everyone: I am glad you are here!’ And so it was at the cemetery. I was simply there – with many others – and in this immense suffering, I was able to feel in the many sincere gestures of affection: there is someone else there, he who promised us that he would be with us when we are gathered in HIS NAME, which is love. Christmas – right in the middle of it.
