December 17, 2001
EDITORIAL:
In the face of loss & despair, we need to hear the story
___TV remote controls don't always work.
___The best scene in the movie "Being There" features a TV clicker. Peter Sellers plays Chance the gardner, a simpleton who whiles away his life tending his master's flowers and watching his master's television until misfortune casts him over the mansion wall and into the real world. Confronted by a band of muggers, Chance points his TV remote control at the young toughs--trying to change the channel, hoping to make them go away.
___"Being There" lampoons societal shallowness. It skewers avoid-unpleasantry-at-all-costs mentality, which prompts people to turn away from evil, wickedness and infirmity. Movie audiences laughed at Chance, but theirs was a nervous, uncomfortable laughter; laughter to keep reality at bay.
___I've remembered that scene from "Being There" this fall, sitting in my den, TV remote in hand. Even the most sensitive and empathetic among us has suffered compassion fatigue since this Sept. 11. Sometimes another documentary, another news program, another biographical feature is one too many, at least for that day. Click. A ballgame takes its place. Click. A sitcom fills the room with canned laughter. Click. The screen goes blank. Blessed silence.
___Of course, we know the press of a button does not, will not, cannot end or even divert suffering. Children still cry for a mother or daddy who never again will cuddle them on the couch. Spouses still listen for footsteps that never will echo down the hallway again. Parents, siblings, friends still look for eyes that never will return a loving gaze. The void, present and palpable, remains even when others of us seek diversions and distractions, at least for the moment. Evil stole lives and replaced them with darkness.
___Survivors of Sept. 11 victims do not grieve alone this winter. That autumn date lives in infamy, for certain, but illness, accident, age, rage and suicide took far more friends and loved ones on the other 364 days than perished on that one bleak morning. So, as families gather to celebrate Christmas this year, an empty chair or vacant space will mar countless tables. Across this land and around the world, untold Christmas trees will miss gifts that could not be delivered. Ears will listen for voices that no longer sing carols; eyes will search for smiles that no longer sparkle.
___This Christmas, like others before and others to follow, will be uniquely sad and lonely for survivors of loss. This year will be particularly poignant, however, since Americans as a people sense loss and sadness in ways we have not felt for a very long time. We may not have known a specific victim of Sept. 11, but we feel as if we did--or should.
___Wise helpers advise grieving survivors to tell stories about lost loved ones. Stories keep memories alive. They remind us not only of loss, but of blessing. Miraculously, they help us feel the absent presence of those we have loved. That's why the best Christian funerals percolate with stories. It's why the mother of a deceased child begs friends not to fear to mention the girl's name. It's why a believing family huddles in a windy cemetery and smiles even as hearts break. Though the survivors lean on God's promises for the future, they rest on God's goodness in the past. They tell stories.
___No doubt, we will hear other stories. If we don't push that TV remote button, we will learn more about the lives of ordinary people who were extraordinary to the family and friends blessed to be loved by them. We will hear stories of courage and valor and grace in the face of calamity and terror. My favorite stories have been about the firefighters and police who perished in New York City. I see them running headlong into buildings others flee in panic. Disciplined and assertive, they climb dark stairwells, swimming against a stream of humanity to see who they might save. Quashing self-interest and stifling fear, they embrace duty at the cost of their own lives.
___Their stories point to the one story we all must tell, particularly at Christmas. Long ago, Jesus rushed headlong to Earth, where every life was perishing, to see who he might save. Unlike victims of 9/11, all of them innocent of the terror targeting America, each life Jesus came to save deserved the fate to which it otherwise was destined. Cosmically, universally, eternally all have sinned; none deserves eternal life with God. But Jesus came to Earth--fully human, fully divine--to rescue each and every person who would accept his salvation. That little baby in the manger became the God/Man who spent his life to redeem ours.
___More incomprehensible than Jesus' selfless love is the love of his heavenly Father, who sent Jesus here for our sakes. As a human being, I may envision a scenario where I might enter a burning building or otherwise risk my life to save the life of another, particularly someone I love. But as a father, I cannot imagine any circumstance where I would send one of my children into the clutches of death for the life of another. Yet that is exactly what God did. That is the scope of God's love for us. Absolute and irrevocable.
___No, we cannot point a TV remote at the world and make the bad parts go away. But we can tell the story of Christmas. It's the only story that really matters. It's the story of God's love so great that Jesus rushed into a dark and dangerous world to save us from our sins. That story is our hope--at Christmas and always.
___ —Marv Knox
E-mail the editor at marvknox@baptiststandard.com
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