Ever ancient and ever new. That’s how our Christian Faith is described. And this paradox of being both ancient and new can often surprise us in Scripture.
In today’s gospel, Jesus heals a man who is deaf and thus has a speech impediment (Mark 7:31-37). Did you notice the two cities mentioned that Jesus had just visited? Tyre and Sidon. Where have we heard these two cities recently in the news? Of course, they are two cities in Lebanon that were bombed in the recent conflict between Israel and Hezbollah.
Perhaps the mention of these two cities, tying us so closely to what is happening in our world today and the anniversary we will mark tomorrow, has something to say to us. There’s been a feverish pitch leading up to tomorrow’s anniversary. CNN will replay their entire broadcast from five years ago in its entirety, and there’s a huge controversy over an ABC movie that will air. Our world was changed that day.
And yet, when I thought about how the fear of that day has shaped our world over the past five years, I thought not of a gospel story, or some warning from the Hebrew Testament. I thought of a story I learned in grade school from Aesop’s Fables.
Do they still have kids read Aesop’s Fables? The one I am thinking of is the story of the wind and the sun.
One day the wind and the sun were talking. The wind, full of himself and very proud, was bragging to the sun that he could make people do anything. “I can cause hurricanes and tornadoes, said the wind. “I can destroy cities and kill entire populations. I am more powerful than you, sun.”
The sun listened silently as the wind continued boasting. The wind challenged the sun to any contest the sun chose, so that the wind could prove that he was more powerful. Finally the sun spoke. “Alright, see that man walking along the road down there? Let’s see who can remove his coat. You go first.”
So the wind blew and blew. Branches flew by the man, and dust swirled around him. But he only clutched his coat all the tighter about him. Finally the wind gave up. “Fine,” he said to the sun. “You try. If I can’t force the coat off him, I’ll bet you can’t either.”
So the sun smiled down on the earth. She sent down the heat of her rays to the road. The man stopped walking, wiped his forehead and took off his coat.
What the wind had failed to do through brute force, the sun had accomplished by gentle persuasion.
What made me think of this story? It was a report last week on “60 Minutes” about a group of New York City paramedics. Not quite a year ago, you may recall that the Kashmir region between India and Pakistan was hit by a gigantic earthquake. They say 100,000 people died in that earthquake. When these 13 paramedics heard about the disaster, they immediately decided to go help. I don’t know how they got there, but somehow they did. And when they arrived, they discovered that they were the only foreign aid workers for miles around. No one else had come.
That didn’t stop them. They made some rudimentary tents and began treating the thousands of injured people who streamed to them. Parents carried injured children from destroyed villages, walking days to reach them. The 13 paramedics worked day and night. They estimated they saved one life every half hour for several months.
None of the people in that region had ever met an American. One of the paramedics told “60 Minutes:” “We are not just healing people. We are inoculating an entire valley against Islamic fundamentalism.” That’s not why they went, but it’s something they discovered by being there.
After leaving Tyre and Sidon, Jesus heals a man with the Aramaic word “Ephphatha!” It means “Be opened!” Preaching on this gospel, Pope John Paul II once said,
“The words spoken by Jesus at the healing of the deaf mute ring out once more for us today; they are stimulating words of great symbolic intensity which call us to open ourselves to listening and to bearing witness.”
Can we be open to listening and bearing witness to the Gospel, no matter what happens around us?
The first reading from Isaiah (35:4-7a) tells us “Say to those who are frightened: Be strong, fear not!” Isaiah describes a world of healing and peace, much as those 13 paramedics tried to bring to that valley in Kashmir.
Some say that the way to win friends and influence people is to invade a country, bomb schools and hospitals and kill 50,000 civilians while spending $2 trillion ($100,000 per minute), sacrificing the lives of 2,667 Americans and maiming 20,000 Americans for life. That’s one approach. Another is that of the 13 New York paramedics. The first is the way of the wind, the second of the sun.
(I should point out that the present Administration is trying to revoke the tax-exempt status of churches that oppose war. For the record, I want to emphasize that I am only presenting Christian alternatives to the Administration’s policies. Such are the times in which we live.)
Ephphatha! Be opened! This was the way chosen by seven monks of a monastery in Tibhirine, in Algeria. These Trappists, among the few Christians who remained in Algeria during a period of civil war, stayed as witnesses of love to their Muslim neighbors.
The Muslims of Tibhirine revered the Trappists because of their prayerful example. The Muslim villagers believed they would be protected because of the monks’ dedication to Mary, whom the Muslims revere. The prior of the community, Christian de Chergé, was devoted to the Muslim community. His respect for Islam began when he was a young soldier in Algeria and his life was saved by a Muslim friend, who was later murdered by fundamentalists for saving the future monk. Despite the terror around them, Christian and the other monks resolved to stay, following the advice of Isaiah: “Say to those whose hearts are frightened: Be strong, be not afraid.” They continued to minister to the poor around them offering them food and medical care. For they believed what we heard today in the second reading (James 2:1-5):
“Did not God choose those who are poor in the world
to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom
that he promised to those who love him?”
But one day in the spring of 1996 armed men broke into the monastery and took the seven monks hostage. The fundamentalist revolutionaries demanded that the French government exchange prisoners for the Trappists. For two months, France and Algeria waited in horror. The Muslim community of Algeria fasted in prayer for their return. In the Cathedral of Notre Dame, the archbishop of Paris, accompanied by Jewish and Muslim leaders, lighted seven candles as a sign of hope for their return.
But the French government refused to negotiate with the terrorists, and the heads of the seven monks were discovered along a roadside two months later. Weeping, the archbishop of Paris extinguished the seven candles in Notre Dame.
Because they knew they were in danger, the Trappist prior, Father Christian, had prepared a final message in case he should be killed, and had mailed it to his family in France. They opened it when his head was discovered. It was an astounding statement of Christian faith, hope and love characterized by forgiveness, Fr. Christian wrote:
“I should like, when the time comes, to have a moment of spiritual clarity
which would allow me to beg forgiveness of God
and of my fellow human beings,
and at the same time to forgive with all my heart the one who would strike me down.
I could not desire such a death.
It seems to me important to state this.
I do not see, in fact, how I could rejoice
if the people I love were indiscriminately accused of my murder.
It would be too high a price to pay
for what will perhaps be called ‘the gift of martyrdom’…
Obviously, my death will appear to confirm those who hastily judged me naïve or idealistic:
‘Let him now tell us what he thinks of his ideals!’
But these persons should know that finally my most avid curiosity will be set free.
This is what I shall be able to do, God willing:
immerse my gaze into that of the Father,
to contemplate with him his children of Islam
just as he sees them, all shining with the glory of Christ…
Amin! Inshallah!”
[Arabic lesson: Amin=Amen, Inshallah=God Willing]
After this testament was made public by Father Christian’s family, the archbishop of Paris went back into the Cathedral of Notre Dame and relit those seven lamps — on Pentecost morning.
And what of us gathered here today? Shall we take the path of the wind or the sun? Shall we seek to solve our problems according to the wisdom of the world? Or shall we be open to the healing rays of the gospel, allowing Jesus to open our hearts and minds, our ears and mouths?
Perhaps we can take refuge in the prayer of Father Christian de Chergé in the face of terrorism:
“Lord, disarm them, and disarm me.”
