The bell tolled 298 times yesterday, and it will toll again today and tomorrow. I want my life be lived in such a way that it tolls less often, and that when it tolls it calls us not just to mourn loss, but to celebrate resurrection.
The morning psalm in today’s Daily Office is Psalm 31. The psalm is a psalm of lament. David bemoans the power his adversaries have over him. But like many of the psalms of lament, it also tells of God’s faithfulness and mercy in times of adversity. The last verse reads, “Be strong, and let your heart take courage, all you who wait for the Lord!”
These were encouraging words this morning as the news told of nearly 300 people killed in the downing of the Malaysian airliner over the Ukraine. I thought of those 300 people, a seemingly random selection of Dutch and Malaysian and all sorts of other men, women, and children. Several hours into their long flight, some must have been sleeping. Others would have been anticipating the business to be done or the friends to embrace upon landing in Kuala Lumpur. Husbands and wives would be reunited and grandchildren would see grandparents they had not seen in a long time. And then – was it over in an instant or were there seconds of knowing that everything had gone terribly wrong? – they plummeted to their deaths.
I wish my grandchildren were not growing up in a world such as ours.
Earlier in the week a poignant blog post brought to mind another nearly 300 people now ignored after the world forgot their plight as quickly as it had become consumed by it three months ago. Most of those nearly 300 Nigerian school girls kidnapped by the monsters of Boko Haram are still held captive – their cause forgotten and their hope fading. This piece, #BringBackOurChristians, and this news article broke my amnesia. As the blog post points out, the Nigerian school girls are our little sisters in the faith. Scripture calls us to a particular concern for those of “the household of faith.”
I wish my grandchildren were not growing up in a world such as ours.
298 passengers on an airplane. 276 school girls in Nigeria. Or 27 Palestinians in the Gaza. Or 127 murder victims in Philadelphia so far this year. In a world of 7 billion people, can we afford to care? Can we allow their lives to touch ours?
John Donne was right. None of us is an island unto our self. Any person’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in humankind, and “therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.”
The bell tolled 298 times yesterday.
Our little sisters must not be forgotten.
But in a world of 7 billion people, what, really, can we do?
Because we serve a God who knows us, 7 billion of us, by name, because we have a God who knows all and loves us, we can have confidence that “he protects me so well that without the will of my Father in heaven not a hair can fall from my head; indeed, that everything must fit his purpose for my salvation. Therefore, by his Holy Spirit, he also assures me of eternal life, and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for him.” (Heidelberg Catechism, Answer #1)
What can I do in a world like ours? Is there anything I might do to make it a better place for my grandchildren? Yes. By his Holy Spirit I am to be ‘wholehearted willing and ready from now on to live for him.”
Living for him means caring for my neighbor and especially for those in the household of faith. It means sharing time and resources even when I don’t want to. It means telling my grandchildren and the children of our church and community the stories of Jesus. It means being strong and taking courage as we wait for the Lord, a waiting marked not by disinterested lethargy but a wholehearted willingness and readiness from now on to live for him. For when he comes, all things will be made new and right again, a hope for which we not only wait but into which we live and work.
The bell tolled 298 times yesterday, and it will toll again today and tomorrow. I want my life be lived in such a way that it tolls less often, and that when it tolls it calls us not just to mourn loss, but to celebrate resurrection.
My grandchildren will grow up in a world such as ours. By God’s grace they are called to be strong and to let their hearts take courage.
Indeed, this is my Father’s world.
This is my Father’s world. O let me ne’er forget
That though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father’s world: the battle is not done:
Jesus Who died shall be satisfied,
And earth and Heav’n be one.