In the 16th century Fra Giovanni wrote, "The gloom of the world is but a shadow. Behind it, yet within our reach, is joy. There is radiance and glory in the darkness could we but see, and to see, we have only to look. I beseech you to look. And so, at this time, I greet you. Not quite as the world sends greetings, but with a prayer that for you now and forever the day breaks and the shadows flee."
The world is sending us a rather somber greeting these days. We may be hard pressed to be joyful this season with the tragedy of September 11, a "war on terrorism," and a slumping economy - in addition to our normal, everyday problems. Anxiety, suffering and death do not take a holiday, and no calendar can make them do so. The juxtaposition of this joyful season and the solemn national mood became all the more real to me on a December 11th "Journey of Faith," a pilgrimage to Ground Zero by an interfaith delegation from Rochester. We sought to demonstrate support for our New York City neighbors and to identify more completely with this national tragedy.
I went because there is something important about "being there" at the scene of human disaster. I wanted to soak up some of the feeling that stirs at Ground Zero as much as the acrid air - let it permeate my spiritual bones. Seeing pictures, reading articles, even conducting a memorial service for a 24-year-old who died in the World Trade Tower wasn't "being there." I was also eager to try to discern what this attack has meant for the American psyche, our spirit, our conscience, our attitude toward war, toward Islam, toward civil liberties, toward leading our lives in the aftermath.
I didn't really have apprehensions. I had flown since 9/11, and it did not bother me, save for being "randomly selected" for baggage inspection on my way back from the large church conference in Portland, Oregon, in early November. I did not look forward to being at Ground Zero and seeing, hearing, smelling that reality, but I needed to do it for my own peace of mind. Our older son, who lives in Manhattan, drove for the Red Cross shortly after the disaster and described his pain at seeing the wall on which the names and pictures of missing persons had been posted - mostly in vain. I wanted to see that wall for myself, though now it is much different.
My hopes were that the trip would not re-immerse me in a debilitating sorrow. I hoped it would be a kind of closure to the grieving (though there always will be grieving) so that we can move on with the business of living as spiritual beings, as responsible citizens of city, nation and world. I worry about hardened attitudes which will be used to justify more violence, restrict civil liberties and fuel American self-righteousness.
At United Nations Association headquarters, we met Jeffrey Laurenti, who briefed us on the geo-political problems of nation-building and humanitarian aid. We met Kubada, a woman from Afghanistan who works for UNICEF, a major player in delivering assistance to children there.
Then we moved to Judson Memorial Baptist Church, not far from Ground Zero, for lunch and conversation with Associate Minister Karen Senecal, who graphically detailed that church's response to the tragedy. We listened to Rabbi Michael Feinberg from the New York State Labor Religion Coalition whose office was near the World Trade Center. He emerged from the subway that morning only to see one of the towers twisting as it fell; he calculated his proximity to its trajectory and made a dash for life. The Rabbi detailed the suffering of the often-forgotten people at low wage jobs who worked at the Center and in the neighborhood, who face economic privation beyond the scope of the charitable largesse that has flowed into the city.
Our group visited a store-front art gallery in Soho which houses many incredible pictures, mostly taken by amateurs, before, on and after September 11. It was a moving chronicle of human suffering and human courage. One picture struck me - a burley fireman saluting fallen comrades, his face puckered up - about to explode into tears. Finally, we went to Ground Zero.
It is overwhelming - the gaping hole in the midst of a vast and bustling city - signifying a gaping hole in the American heart. The work crews are there day and night, patiently clearing what is still six stories of rubble. On one building is the silhouette of a tall spire which did not survive the attack. One still-standing wall looked to me like a giant abstract menorah. The tall cranes were eerily framed against the sky.
Apart from some "war tourists" who were taking pictures of smiling friends in front of the wreckage - a sacrilege I could not comprehend, the atmosphere was subdued - as subdued as it gets in this pulsating city. One could get glimpses of the destruction through wire fences and past barricades. I will never forget seeing one of our number, Ken Williams, Baptist minister and Brighton Fire Department Chaplain, walk into the scene - in uniform - to deliver greetings to the firemen still working there.
And then there were the fences bedecked with words of sympathy and hope from around the world - the gymnastics team from UCLA, a banner from Rochester with hundreds of signatures, good wishes from many nations identifying with New York, New York. There in the midst of tragedy and destruction were messages bespeaking our common humanity, our shared grief and our universal hope.
One image arrested my attention. At the peak of the rubble, as if on the prow of a ship, was a lonely American flag fluttering in the breeze - a symbol of unity in the face of catastrophe.
What has all this to do with Christmas? As I recall the story, Jesus was born in a time much like this. The key to the story was simply this - there is occasion for joy no matter how a world in turmoil sends its greetings, as Fra Giovanni put it.
Through all the tragedy of 9/11, we have seen glimpses of hope and heroics, courage and joy. While the symbols of our commercial success have been decimated, the symbols of our spiritual strength have been evident. People flocked to houses of worship in the aftermath of the attacks. Americans of every faith and of no faith looked first to their spirits to deal with the horrific events of that fateful day.
And while we may differ politically on our nation's response to terrorism, we are united in our resolve to grieve together, to move on, but at the same time to become all the more appreciative of our bounties and all the more grateful for our joys. 9/11 has wounded us psychologically, but has strengthened us spiritually.
On our December 11 pilgrimage Carol Zinn, a Roman Catholic sister who works for Global Education Associates, told this Sufi story: A student asked their religious teacher "What must I do to become holy?" The teacher answered simply: "Pray constantly as the sun rises and the moon waxes." And the student did as instructed for many years. Once again the student asked the teacher how to become holy. Again the admonition to pray constantly. "But I've been praying constantly for years. The sun rose and the moon waxed. But when do I become holy?" The teacher responded: "The prayers are just to keep us awake - to keep noticing - the holy."
One Christmas Eve, here in this place, I noticed the words of a favorite carol, "Joy to the world." It was not the first verse that captured my imagination, it was a phrase in the second - often unsung - verse. "Repeat the sounding joy."
To be sure there are moments of pain.
There are times we curse our fate and condemn our lot.
Life from time to time does seem - is - unfair.
Now and again it may strike us in the midst of that stanza
that our burdens seem sometimes to outweigh our blessings.
Still, there is always the gift of life -
Always there is beauty and joy and meaning
Lurking beneath the blanket of depression and despair.
Always there are those who lift us;
Always there are lessons to be learned;
Always, we conclude, we would rather be than not.
There are moments when we are surprised by joy:
A wreath that faithfully appears each Advent season;
A loaf of delicious bishop's bread full of fruit bits and chocolate chips;
The aroma from a fresh-cut tree and the ever-sparkling lights;
The circle of grasped hands around the Christmas dinner table;
The circle of candle-light on a cold winter's night;
The sounds of song reverberating around sturdy walls.
Familiar faces expectant in celebration.
Despite everything, faith endures;
Despite everything, hope persists;
Despite everything, love lasts.
Somehow joy survives.
Surely we will repeat the sounding joy again this Christmas
and for many years to come.
Visiting Ground Zero has not stifled my desire for a joyous Christmas. After all, what makes us so sad is that many people will find their joy curtailed this season - there will be empty places at many holiday tables. That which gives us greatest pain in absence is that which gives us joy when it is present. It is the joy experienced which makes the pain so deep. All the more reason to find joy in the season to sustain our wounded spirits.
And so, this holy days season, may we not be engulfed in the guilt of survival, but more than ever "repeat the sounding joy." May we give ourselves permission to laugh and enjoy. It is a cry of the human spirit. As Albert Camus said, "In the midst of winter, I found in myself an invincible summer."
There is a quality in joy that is far more than merely being happy or having fun. Happiness is a mental state; joy is a spiritual condition. Joy is able to take into itself sadness and loneliness, pain and death, and still affirm life. It is to be in a state of prayer - as attentiveness - paying attention - noticing - so that from time to time we will be surprised by joy.
There are times when I am weighed down by life.
It is an effort to rise in the morning
And a burden to sleep at night.
The heart hangs heavy -
The air I breathe does not refresh
And I am forever tired.
I give thanks to whatever gods may be
That from time to time
My tedium is interrupted,
And I am surprised by joy.
Sometimes it is a shivering bird in an ice-bound tree,
Singing its heart out in the wintry cold.
Sometimes it is a friendly nod and smile
From a stranger I will never see again. Too bad.
Sometimes it is a strain of music
That breaks into my fortress
And storms my heart.
Sometimes it is seeing myself in the mirror
And noticing the weight of the world is not on my shoulders.
At such times I give thanks for life and life's little interruptions
When I am surprised by joy.
"And so, at this time, I greet you. Not quite as the world sends greetings, but with a prayer that for you now and forever the day breaks and the shadows flee."
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