When I was four, I swallowed a penny which blocked my airway. My mom’s intervention moved the coin enough for me to breathe, but I needed minor surgery to get it out of my trachea. I was so averse to needles that it apparently took several nurses to administer the pre-op IV, but once it was in, I am told, I went a little loopy. My preschool had just had its Christmas program, so the songs were fresh in my head, and my mom remembers me asking her dreamily, “Can you hear the bells, Mommy? I can hear the bells...”
On Christmas Day in 1863, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow heard the bells ringing to celebrate the holiday. He wrote words which were adapted into a carol in 1872 and which may be familiar. It begins:
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Then from each black accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!” ... (1)
This, surely, expresses the heart of many of us just now as we, like Longfellow, see the joy of the season overshadowed by violence. For him, the bells were ringing amidst the artillery fire of the Civil War; for us, they ring amidst the gunfire in Newtown, Connecticut. We stand stunned by the scale and nature of this tragedy, especially the senseless brutality directed at children. Indeed, “hate is strong, and mocks the song, of peace on earth, good-will to men!” Can we hear the bells?
Farther away and further back than Longfellow’s Christmas Bells, John Donne wrote a meditation on hearing a funeral bell toll in 1624. Some of his words may also be familiar: “No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main... any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee" (2).
The tragedy in Connecticut reminds us of our own mortality and, what can be worse, the mortality of those we hold most dear. I know that when I first read the breaking news, my thoughts went quickly to my children, and I held Lily tightly when she hugged me after preschool. This is a natural response. As Samuel Johnson, a great eighteenth century writer, puts it: “All Joy or Sorrow for the Happiness or Calamities of others is produced by an Act of the Imagination...so that we feel...whatever Motions would be excited by the same Good or Evil happening to ourselves” (3). It sounds a little dry and absolute stated like that, but judging by the conversation on the playground and the news feed on Facebook, I was not the only parent feeling the sorrow of Friday by imagining, even unconsciously, the incredible pain of losing one of my little ones. The bell tolls for me and mine, and it is a sobering thought.
One one level, that is self-centered- to hear of a catastrophe which struck other families, and to think of what it means for me, though I am not directly affected. But thinking of my family- giving thanks for it, dwelling on my love for it, and acknowledging, painfully, that it is vulnerable- draws me into the experience of the stricken, and through this I feel genuine sympathy. I look at my Christmas list and think of presents in Connecticut already waiting for little hands that will not open them. I come upstairs for the fifth or sixth time to hear a new reason why Lily can't sleep, and I check my frustration, thinking that twenty six families in Connecticut would give all they have for one more frustrating night- one more chance to tuck in, soothe fears, bring water, turn on the nightlight, or find the favorite toy- even for the fifth or sixth time. It is true that I feel sympathy for the grief of strangers by seeing their experience through the lens of my own life; but I also reevaluate my life based on what I imagine of theirs. The intense emotions of tragedy show me a strong connection with others which I might miss in happier times. “Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.”
Friday’s bloodshed leaves us all sadly diminished, and in the coming days, too many funeral bells will ring amidst the Christmas bells. We cannot help but hear them. But they need not bring us despair only. Longfellow ends his poem:
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men. (1)
But when the time for grieving gives way to a time for acting, let us remember that peace on earth is ours to enact, not to wait for. And let us remember the sympathy and connectedness we feel in this moment and carry it with us into whatever response we make.
(1) http://www.britannica.com/blogs/2008/12/christmas-bells/
(2) Devotions upon Emergent Occasions, no. 17
(3) Samuel Johnson, Rambler 60
On Christmas Day in 1863, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow heard the bells ringing to celebrate the holiday. He wrote words which were adapted into a carol in 1872 and which may be familiar. It begins:
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Then from each black accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!” ... (1)
This, surely, expresses the heart of many of us just now as we, like Longfellow, see the joy of the season overshadowed by violence. For him, the bells were ringing amidst the artillery fire of the Civil War; for us, they ring amidst the gunfire in Newtown, Connecticut. We stand stunned by the scale and nature of this tragedy, especially the senseless brutality directed at children. Indeed, “hate is strong, and mocks the song, of peace on earth, good-will to men!” Can we hear the bells?
Farther away and further back than Longfellow’s Christmas Bells, John Donne wrote a meditation on hearing a funeral bell toll in 1624. Some of his words may also be familiar: “No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main... any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee" (2).
The tragedy in Connecticut reminds us of our own mortality and, what can be worse, the mortality of those we hold most dear. I know that when I first read the breaking news, my thoughts went quickly to my children, and I held Lily tightly when she hugged me after preschool. This is a natural response. As Samuel Johnson, a great eighteenth century writer, puts it: “All Joy or Sorrow for the Happiness or Calamities of others is produced by an Act of the Imagination...so that we feel...whatever Motions would be excited by the same Good or Evil happening to ourselves” (3). It sounds a little dry and absolute stated like that, but judging by the conversation on the playground and the news feed on Facebook, I was not the only parent feeling the sorrow of Friday by imagining, even unconsciously, the incredible pain of losing one of my little ones. The bell tolls for me and mine, and it is a sobering thought.
One one level, that is self-centered- to hear of a catastrophe which struck other families, and to think of what it means for me, though I am not directly affected. But thinking of my family- giving thanks for it, dwelling on my love for it, and acknowledging, painfully, that it is vulnerable- draws me into the experience of the stricken, and through this I feel genuine sympathy. I look at my Christmas list and think of presents in Connecticut already waiting for little hands that will not open them. I come upstairs for the fifth or sixth time to hear a new reason why Lily can't sleep, and I check my frustration, thinking that twenty six families in Connecticut would give all they have for one more frustrating night- one more chance to tuck in, soothe fears, bring water, turn on the nightlight, or find the favorite toy- even for the fifth or sixth time. It is true that I feel sympathy for the grief of strangers by seeing their experience through the lens of my own life; but I also reevaluate my life based on what I imagine of theirs. The intense emotions of tragedy show me a strong connection with others which I might miss in happier times. “Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.”
Friday’s bloodshed leaves us all sadly diminished, and in the coming days, too many funeral bells will ring amidst the Christmas bells. We cannot help but hear them. But they need not bring us despair only. Longfellow ends his poem:
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men. (1)
But when the time for grieving gives way to a time for acting, let us remember that peace on earth is ours to enact, not to wait for. And let us remember the sympathy and connectedness we feel in this moment and carry it with us into whatever response we make.
(1) http://www.britannica.com/blogs/2008/12/christmas-bells/
(2) Devotions upon Emergent Occasions, no. 17
(3) Samuel Johnson, Rambler 60
Oh, pregnant me only managed to make it to the first line after the song lyrics to know that I absolutely cannot read this post at the moment. Remind me to go back and read it later? I had a complete breakdown the day of the tragedy -- I now completely much better understand your aversion to movies like Bambi and such when you were pregnant with Poly: absolutely impossible. I'm going to send you an e-mail soon to say it in more detail, but we got a package from you yesterday and it yet again confirms, oh my gosh, you are the bestest ever friend even long distance. Love you guys -- and miss you like crazy. Now off to jointly attempt not to cry and not to vomit for the ... third? fourth? time today. Hyperemesis like the Duchess of Cambridge (though no hospitalizations - yay!) now confirmed by official diagnosis. Oh so fun...
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