Those who sense that tenderness and tears have become the new public agenda, born of broken hearts and the resolve to live beyond cynicism and emotional manipulation, know we must change our direction. This is now the dawning of the age solidarity, not Aquarius - an era of embodied compassion not sentimentality - our season for sacrificial love rather than politics as usual. The old ways have completely outlived their usefulness. As my mentors in the 12 Step movement confess: insanity is doing the same thing over and over while expecting different results.
Frida Ghitis, a former CNN producer and correspondent, who now serves as a world affairs columnist, wrote some clarifying words yesterday as the embers were dying at Notre Dame: "This conflagration brought a feeling of helplessness and foreboding - reminiscent of the devastation on 9/11, in some ways, and perhaps that was part of the effect for some people: the sense, real or imagined, that we were watching a metaphor, a prelude, a warning." The implied warning is not explicit in most of her essay, nor is the tragic metaphor unpacked until the very close. So let me be a spoiler: we of the post-industrial West are addicted to the lie that we are control. Since September 11, 2001, we have known this to be untrue, but we have chosen denial over hard truths. Addicts always do, not forever, of course; but for as long as we can get away with it. Ms. Ghitis carefully builds the case that our unnamed and unwanted addiction is causing our world to unravel:
The spire tumbling down in a blaze, the flames shooting out behind the familiar façade of Notre Dame Cathedral in the heart of Paris, made our throats close in anguish. French President Emmanuel Macron said his thoughts were with "all Catholics and all French people," but in fact, it felt like the entire world was in pain watching the 800-year-old building turn into a blazing inferno, on its way to becoming ashes and stones. When the Notre Dame spokesman said "everything is burning, nothing will remain from the frame," it felt like a stab in our collective soul. In a time of inflamed political, religious and sectarian divisions, somehow, a fire in a Catholic church, a cathedral in France, managed to melt away the animosity -- if only for a moment -- and bring people together in shared sorrow. Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Jew, or atheist; in France, India, Argentina, everywhere, Notre Dame's doom brought personal pain. How can the demise of a building, technically a religious structure, pack such a powerful impact?The massive, majestic cathedral looked like it had been there forever, and would remain until the end of time. If only for a moment, Notre Dame ablaze reminded us that we all share this world; that human history means everyone's past. If only for a moment, the notion of a "World Heritage," which UNESCO formally bestows on places that we, as humanity, ought to care for and cherish so that we can pass them to future generations, seemed exactly right.
The close of this lament cuts too close for many - especially those in denial re: the collapse of the status quo: "Our times feel so fraught," she writes, "as if through our animosity and divisions we are destroying the foundations of civilization." But that is precisely what we are doing: destroying the foundations of civilization.
We all hurt over the loss of Notre Dame: the pangs we felt watching the flames consume the ancient beams, threaten the mystical rose windows, destroy the irreplaceable pipe organ, brought to mind recent man-made tragedies on French soil: the truck attack in Nice, the Bataclan massacre; not because this might have been another terrorist attack, but because our times feel so fraught, as if through our animosity and divisions we are destroying the foundations of civilization. France has become the site of a series of church desecration and arson attacks, and of a terrifying spike in antisemitic attacks, including desecration of Jewish sites, harassment, and murder of Jews.
I am a man of faith. For me and for millions of others who seek to follow Jesus as Messiah, we call this week Holy: it is our annual remembrance of the passion of Jesus. This week will also bring us the festival of Passover on the Jewish Sabbath wherein the One who is Holy hears the cries of the oppressed and acts in history to set the enslaved free. In this context, I was moved to complicated tears of assurance and renewal upon seeing the first interior photographs of Notre Dame as shared by Reuters: in the midst of our rubble and ashes, in the presence of our sorrow and confusion, the Cross remains with a penetrating clarity. I have read the sophisticated explanations about wood burning faster than gold. I get that. And, by faith, I choose to see hints of grace in the midst of tragedy. Sister Joan Chittister once said: Faith is learning to see the eagle within the egg. I think she was right.
And upon seeing this picture, and the Rose Window intact, my heart went back to the words of Fr. Mychal Judge, the Franciscan chaplain to New York City's firefighters, who was the first martyr at the Twin Towers. It is a small prayer for a hard time, but small is holy: Lord, take me where You want me to go; Let me meet who You want me to meet; Tell me what You want me to say; And keep me out of Your way. Amen. In the end, dear friends, only kindness matters. Christian kindness. Jewish kindness. Islamic kindness. Buddhist kindness. Zen kindness. Sikh kindness. Atheist kindness. Only kindness. May you multiply some kindness today and strengthen the emerging revolution of compassion.
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