Icons of Hope after the Boston Bombing and North and South of the River Sung by Christy Moore & Declan Sinnott
In my concern this past week, I called my brother and sister-in-law to make sure that they were "Safe" in "Lockdown". Sam answered the phone in a cautious voice. I could hear the news in the background and it only just dawned on me that I was probably distracting him from their only source of what was going on and any alerts that they needed to attend to. Some places were being evacuated in Watertown and Cambridge. Everyone was being told to stay home.
He told me that he was supposed to come up with a sermon for Sunday. And from the heaviness in his voice I sensed that he would have to work through all that had happened and was continuing to happen in Boston within his own heart in order to speak to the hearts of a bereaved community and to offer something beyond what he was actually able to give in the midst of "lockdown". He sounded daunted.
But, I asked him to send it to me when he had it written because I knew I could count on him to find something of Grace in the midst of this; but, not without looking squarely at the mess, the brokenness, the senselessness and his own struggle to keep going. He sent me the Sermon yesterday. It was about Icons of Hope--the ones he himself witnessed within the Boston Community this past week. And here is how it spoke to me. This is the letter I wrote to him this morning. And although I am an Agnostic, I see the life and work of Jesus as an Icon of Hope.
Dear Sam,
I've been stuck in denial and wishful thinking since September 11th
and this has shaken me out of it. It happened too close to you and
Deb. And it's dreadful to realize that and dreadful to realize that I
could distance myself as long as it wasn't affecting anyone I
personally care about.
My OCD of the past week has been replaced by a very sobering
acceptance that this is what it means to be an American in the 21st
Century. Even my last sentence carries an air of exclusivity--that
somehow, we should be set apart from the turmoil that's happening all
over the planet and for which we as American's are largely, responsible.
It doesn't matter that there are good Americans or innocent children.
And this is what it feels like for the people of
And this is what it feels like for the people of
Iraq and Afghanistan--the good people and innocent children of these
countries--it doesn't matter-- they will be bombed. We will be
bombed.
The machinations of war and violence are disinterested.
And somehow, for me, there is no room for judgement about any of it anymore.
We are all caught in the righteous crossfire -- whether it be bullets
or words. And, I can also see how much I need to remain self-critical
and stay out of the political fray and find some way to stay still so
that I cam be available to anyone in need of my care.
When I was working in my garden trying to "put my head where my hands
are". Jesus' words from the cross, "Father, forgive them, for they
know not what they do...." really got me thinking about that 19
year-old boy huddled in that boat. Has he any hope at all that there
is that kind of mercy for him? Or worse, still, is he beyond his own
caring? I think of the dark corners in my heart where I still point to
"us and them"--hidden even from my self and pray: Father forgive me,
for I know not... I pray that I want that Mercy more than I want to
be right. The lie of rightness is so beguiling. I must remember those
other words of Jesus... "Let him who is without sin, cast the first stone."
other words of Jesus... "Let him who is without sin, cast the first stone."
So, your sermon has prompted me to seek some Icons of hope in my
own life and I'd like to share this one with you.
I live a few dozen miles from a country that has lived in this kind of
strife for over 45 years. One of my friends from "The North" was in
Omagh the day of the bombing there. She is in her final weeks of
University studying to become a Social Worker. She is an amazing
young woman and will make a wonderful Social worker. One of her
final papers is on "Restorative Justice." She's finding it really
difficult to write her paper. It isn't an abstract concept to her.
It's personal and it's a deeply precarious process in her community.
But, at this moment, I see her and this process as an Icon of hope.
But, I think this song is what I really wanted to say: It has been an Icon of Hope for me for years.
I love you, Sam.
*Excerpt from Sam's sermon: About ten years ago I attended a Commencement ceremony at Milton Academy where the featured speaker was former President Bill Clinton. One
of the more memorable quotes from his speech was this: “All of history is a
race between the builders and the wreckers.” Whatever we take away from
the tragic events of this past week here, in Boston, we need to remember that
this race, the race of history, is not yet over.
Later when the speech was transcribed from a recording, this was in the days
before pod casts, in the text this is how the quote appeared: “All of history
is erased between the builders and the wreckers.” The images we carry,
many of them frightening and horrific, cannot be erased. But neither can the
images of hope, and courage. The loving hands that reached out, to stop the
bleeding, to lift up those who have fallen, these are the indelible images of
the healers, the builders. This race goes on. And we are all called to be a part
of it.
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