there is... accidents and aftermath: part III

As coverage of events in D.C., at the Holocaust Museum unfolded, it became clear how terrible the events could have played out had the man realized his goals. That he meant to kill was clear, because he did; that he meant to kill important people was also clear, because he did -- a husband and a father -- even if in his mind that wasn't important enough. A new play, scheduled for that evening, promised the actor, Morgan Freeman, as the narrator for the production, as well as Attorney General Eric Holder, National Security Adviser James Jones, and former Secretary of State Colin Powell.

Truly, a man with a desire for destruction meant to satisfy it in a museum dedicated to remembering destruction in its many guises. Instead, a man just a year older than me with a .38 and a uniform (no bullet proof vest, as it turns out), stood in the way. In shooting that guard, the attacker was at the beginning and the end of the rampage. An NPR commentator I like had this to say.

As I listened to the radio coverage throughout the week, I found myself humming a song I know. It is contained in a choral arrangement I've performed (with a full choir), for the last few years at easter vigil, known as the Passion According to John, by liturgical writer Christopher Walker. What I hummed is not a complete song, really. It's a short phrase, repeated just two or three times in a 30-35 minute program.

There is no greater love than this; to lay down your life for your friends.

We all know that when we hear scary music in a movie, something bad is coming. Similarly, this short phrase, set to minor notes, weaves its way through a narrative of human failings, betrayal and ultimate violence, drawing attention to the destruction. And your personally held beliefs about the divine are irrelevant to this observation, because the music is universal: When you hear this passionate story of good men doing nothing and bad men doing terrible things, and then hear the tender, considered notes of Christopher Walker, as a wrenching, almost-whispered counterpoint, it is stirring. It is humiliating. I can think of only a few examples of literature or music that brought me to hot tears the way this snippet of music does.

There is no greater love than this; to lay down your life for your friends.

Which in turn is a fitting way to conclude what I began recently as a line of thought about a young man in Texas, facing the reality that he was instrumental in the death of his friend. I asked in an earlier post to consider your own life, if you've ever faced such a situation. I asked you to think about the aftermath, when you broke a code you felt was founded on your guiding principles, and how those around you reacted.

It is tempting to dwell on the fact that you asked a lot from your friend(s), because it's the truth. And it's tempting to feel pretty bad about it, because that's appropriate. But it's not what I dwell on when I consider this topic.

From my experience, I know that there's a number of ways to react to being wronged, so there's a number of things they could have done to you, said to you. And what can you say when that happens? You wronged them; They wronged you back. That is fair. That is justice.

But in Texas, where a man set for soaring success instead met tragedy, there is a family not pressing charges. There is a mother inviting him to participate in the rituals of grief. There is understanding and consolation, fragrant with the balm of grace. That is not fair. That is not just. That is love.

And in D.C., there is the memory of a man who loved funny movies, who loved his wife of less than a year, who loved to make people laugh. And he opened a door to an elderly man who turned a gun on him seconds later. His life counted for something every day. This week, it counted for something even more, saving the lives of friends, coworkers, and total strangers. That's not fair. That's not just. It's love.

So consider not those who railed against your selfishness or who attempted to do equal damage for the damage done them. They benefitted from whatever arrangement you had with them in the past. When the benefit dissolved, so did the arrangement. That was fair. That was just. It was not love. Consider instead those who did not walk away just because you failed at something. It wasn't because they were unaffected by your actions or felt no pain. On the contrary; they stayed because they understood your disappoinment. They shared in it. But they also understood that you did more to hurt yourself than you ever could do to hurt them. They knew that the worst you'll ever be is never all you'll ever be. And they didn't want you to forget that either. They went into the stormy dark and found you, so you wouldn't be alone. They didn't do it to win an award. They did it because it was what the friendship required at the time. They did it so the two of you could walk away from the storm... together. Nothing fair or just about it. It's all about love.

This weekend my thoughts have been on summer plans, parties, landscaping and bird watching. But I have also given consideration to the next steps this young survivor will make. Love is both powerful and fragile. Much can happen to alter the path it takes. Friends who love that man have stepped out into the storm with him and offered their hand. It is his choice to take the consolation they offer or reject it. And after the storm has moved on, they can celebrate its passing together. They can clean up, put on dry clothes and move forward, growing in the healing sweetness of time the way a tomato ripens in the heat. Or, they can abandon each other for lighter people, those with faint memories of the past, but no understanding either, and deny themselves any celebration, any yang in the union of yin and yang. They can choose to deny themselves any taste of the fruit of their combined labor.

What choice would you make? It's a big "if" for a family and for a man so young. I hope in the coming days, he recognizes not only the gift they are to him, but the gift he is to them in return, and I hope they will always manage to stay open and available to each other.

--Laura