Faith and fortune

"I have always believed, and I still believe, that whatever good or bad fortune may come our way we can always give it meaning and transform it into something of value."
(Hermann Hesse)

I was playing Phil Ochs' haunting "There But For Fortune" this morning when today's date dawned on me. Folk singer, activist and unequivocal humanist Ochs wrote the song in 1963, fifty years ago. Thirteen years later, his disillusionment with humankind and his personal demons drove him to take his own life. I've always found it bleakly sad that a young man who defended universal human rights so passionately would perceive his own life so without value or salvation at the age of thirty six.
And today is the twelfth anniversary, for the want of a more fitting word, of "9/11". Ochs' words resound eerily across half a century:
"Show me the country, where the bombs had to fall;
show me the ruins of the buildings, once so tall,
and I'll show you a young land
with so many reasons why;
there but for fortune may go you and I."
More than a decade ago, the tallest of the tall crumbled and the most powerful nation on earth was brought to it's knees, in grief, despair, fear and faith. Yet this 11th September, as the new and gleaming World Trade Centre building points skywards once again, the United States and others debate the most reasonable response to the reports of gassed and burnt children in Syria.

My Mum used to say "There but for fortune", or sometimes "There but for the grace of God". She essentially meant that the misfortunes of others could so easily happen to us all: be thankful for the gift of life and it's blessings. I used to wonder whether the grace of God could be seen as fortune or favour; can faith and fortune ever overlap? 

I have an atheist friend who, year after year now, has demanded what God was doing as the planes hit the Twin Towers. He will no doubt be questioning the existence of a higher power today, as the terrible aftermath of chemical warfare seeps from the tea-time news. My response to him has at least always been constant. I believe that God created mankind and gave us the gifts of life, knowledge and willpower. Man has repeatedly chosen the ways of war, segregation and destruction. Man commits atrocities, not God. Man's use of knowledge and reason can not only limit the devastation of what we sweepingly deem "acts of God", but could limit the impact of future disasters. I mean no disrespect to anyone in saying again that if we all truly believed in a loving God, we could not take up arms against each other His name, regardless of whatever that name might be.

Faith is an acceptance of fortune, but not complacency. I honestly believe that faith opens doors that mankind can't even get a handle on. Today the incisive shard of light that is the One World Trade Centre rises from Ground Zero as the tallest building in the western hemisphere. It's a defiant beacon in the face of terrorism and natural disasters; many fortunes may be made and lost there. As I type this, New Yorkers are gathering in it's long shadow to commemorate the moment the first plane hit the Twin Towers. We rebuild beautifully and respectfully, as we debate, apparently endlessly, whether we should bomb and break elsewhere.
Whether you sympathise with politicians of any flavour or none, whether you are a fan of Barack Obama or not, their anxiety over Syria as fellow human beings is palpable on this day. We can prevaricate and protest and preach and we can pray. There but for fortune go you and I.

"We may lack riches, but the greatest fortune is what lies in our hearts."
(Dean Koontz)

"There is a tide in the affairs of men,

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.

Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries.

On such a full sea are we now afloat."

(William Shakespeare)

 

 

"There But For Fortune"  Phil Ochs

Blog-bullies and the beauty of Bunyan

"Who so beset him round with dismal stories 
Do but themselves confound;
His strength the more is."
(John Bunyan) 

The late John F. Kennedy famously said: "Freedom is indivisible, and when one man is enslaved, all are not free." Sadly, bigotry and war are also indivisible. Vengeful conflict and determined aggression are rarely easily contained. This was one of the points I was striving to make in my post on 9/11.

My post prompted a couple of colourful but depressing messages to me from someone calling himself "Jerry B. Good". I would hazard this is not his real name. Jerry found my sentiments anti-American. This initially upset me a lot: I have friends in the United States and hope to visit the land one day; I'm fascinated by the diversity and optimism of the culture. His accusation was unsettling, but some US friends have since reassured me. The intention of my post was not to be anti any group or ideology, rather to be pro-world and pro-peace.
Jerry informed me that he's passing my details to the United States Federal Bureau of Investigations. I told him I was a big fan of Eliot Ness and keen to liaise with the FBI, particularly if Sean Connery could be involved. Unfortunately, humour and sarcasm don't seem to register with Jerry, or indeed feature in bigotry in general. His return was an unfriendly-fire of abusive name calling: none have any place in a friendly blog and some seem to have confounded Spell Checker. His suggestion that I would look better in a full burkha as a "Muslim-lover" was intended to be hurtful to me as a female, but he does have a point. I do love Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, Presbyterians, Pagans... I believe this is what striving to be a good Christian is all about.
Although incensed by my "cowardly allegiances", he hasn't had the blogging-balls to post his comments using the forum provided on here. Jerry should be aware that I do not scare easily: I grew up in a far from cloistered area and now live in another that appears to have been brought to it's knees more by social deprivation and systemic substance abuse than by the call to God. If my response to Jerry seems less than placid, I am always deeply offended by racial and religious bigotry and bullying. I'm also mindful of a story retold by an astute parish priest, about a snake who promised God he wouldn't bite local villagers. Once the village folk became aware of the snake's reluctance to defend itself naturally, they took every opportunity to beat and abuse it. When the wretched creature presented it's sorry self to God, He said: "I told you not to bite, I did not tell you not to hiss!"  
I am, however, deeply sensitive to the sensibilities of others, possibly heightened by news of further atrocities and possible recriminations in the Middle East; I was hurt to think that this little blog might have alienated or upset anybody. I've now barred Jerry from my personal email, although all constructive criticism is heartily welcomed here. I wish him happiness and good humour and hope that he may enjoy listening to Daniel Versteegh's serene interpretation of John Bunyan's vividly evergreen words.
Peace.

"The better part of valour is discretion."

(William Shakespeare)

"He Who Would Valiant Be"  Daniel Versteegh

On this day, 9/11

"If you and I are having a single thought of violence or hatred against anyone in the world at this moment, we are contributing to the wounding of the world."

(Deepak Chopra)

"For me and my family personally, September 11 was a reminder that life is fleeting, impermanent, and uncertain. Therefore, we must make use of every moment and nurture it with affection, tenderness, beauty, creativity, laughter."
(Deepak Chopra)

"9/11" or simply 11th September; whatever your linguistic preferences or indeed whichever side of the dateline you reside, most people who noted the fall of The World Trade Centre's towers and the related attacks will remember where they were when they saw or heard the news. Eleven years ago today, I was working for a well-known international company, based in the heart of the City of London. I would later learn that one of the company's brightest young American executives had been killed at The World Trade Centre. That Tuesday in 2001, I was on a day's annual leave and had been shopping for my mother. When I returned home, I found her standing in front of the TV, watching the reportage of the attack on the first of the Twin Towers.
At first, I thought she'd stumbled on a high-budget US disaster movie, until I saw the looped news stream on the screen. I remember putting the frozen food and the vegetables on the floor and standing with her. Even back then, her health had not been brilliant and she already used a walking stick due to a hip operation and sever arthritis. But we continued to stand in front of the screen, barely ten feet away from the sofa. We watched the second plane crash, at which point I realised I was in tears, my hand over my mouth. Each crash, each explosion, each collapse was accompanied by commentators and onlookers alike screaming: "Oh God! Oh my God!" When Mum finally managed to say something, she pointed at the screen and said: "This is real isn't it? This is the News?"
There are so many poignant and iconic images from that day and the aftermath. I know countless other people will have felt as broken as I did watching people frantically waving and then throwing themselves out of the windows of the burning towerblocks. Some two hundred people are believed to have jumped, most on their own, some in pairs or groups. Some used curtains or tablecloths or even shirts in a vain attempt to parachute against the pace and scale of the fall. The writer Tom Junod later described these poor souls in such horrific free-fall as looking like people trying to swim up a mountain. Their final dilemma haunts me, as a Catholic who believes you should never resort to taking your own life: I am very claustrophobic and my sense of self-preservation is also very strong; I believe I too would have been hoping for the wings of angels.
After 9/11, America's risk and threat landscapes changed. When "The War on Terror" was announced, the implications of that phrase struck fear in my heart again. Obviously, the very name is a contradiction in terms: war is itself both terrible and terrifying. And when the enemy is unspecified or even transient, any conflict can be extensive, indefinite and, like a heat-seeking missile, launched in any direction. We frequently hear that the world's perceptions of terrorism and war changed after 9/11, the day when ordinary civilians in America were targeted in what they might well have called someone else's war, someone else's terror. In the decade following 9/11, some 25,000 people worldwide have died in known terrorist attacks. During this same period, it's estimated that as many as 100,000 Iraqi civilians have died in war torn Iraq. As journalist and political activist Gloria Steinem points out: "From pacifist to terrorist, each person condemns violence, then adds one cherished case in which it may be justified."
I'm increasingly aware of the many conspiracy theories surrounding 9/11; I feel these and any personal views I may have on the subject should never detract from the fact that 60,000 people were injured and nearly 3,000 lost their lives in those few hours on that day in 2001. Throughout today's anniversary in the United States, there were scheduled Moments of Silence to focus on the catalogue of dreadful events, starting at 8.46 a.m. when the North Tower of the WTC was hit, through to 10.28 a.m. when that tower fell, half an hour after the South Tower.
Since 1987, interfaith media organisation "Odyssey Networks" ( odysseynetworks.org ) has been providing America's religious denominations with a platform to share their stories with the public and each other. Last year, to mark the 10th anniversary of 9/11, Odyssey commissioned network member and Franciscan friar Daniel Horan to write a commemorative prayer. I've reproduced part of it here. His emphasis is on reconciliation with our own pasts as well as with others, rather than future retribution. On this day a couple of years ago, I mentioned to a Social Services colleague that I could remember exactly where and how I first saw the breaking news of the carnage. He sneeringly asked me where God had been on that day: God was right there, waiting to be seen.

"God of Our Memories: A prayer"

At times Your blessing of memory seems like a curse.

The remembrances we carry weigh us down like burdens

rather than lift our hearts to You.

The tragedies, the violence and the sin of our world threaten our ability

to see Your presence among us,

to experience the breath of life You give us,

to recognise the working of Your spirit in our lives.

We know that what it means to be created in your image and likeness

is to be peacemakers and lovers in our world.

May we indeed be instruments of Your peace,

offering love, pardon. faith, hope, light and joy to the world.

May Your spirit move over the chaos of our memories

and renew the face of our hearts as You continue to renew the face of the Earth.

May our memories, the gift You have given us,

recall ones once called enemies as friends

and call to mind those we have loved and lost

until we share with them the joy of Your presence in the world to come.

Amen.

(Brother Daniel Horan, OFM)

"The Tear of Grief" 9/11 Memorial, Bayonne Harbour in New Jersey

"It is my contention that most people are not mugged every day, that most people in this world do not encounter violence every day. I think we prepare people for violence, and I think just as importantly we should prepare people for the definition of being gentle."

(Bob Keeshan)

"Amazing Grace"  Leann Rimes