HomeSelections from the Book of Lamentations:
“How lonely sits the city that once was full of people! How like a widow she has become, she that was great among the nations…She weeps bitterly in the night with tears on her cheeks…The roads to [her] mourn, for no one comes to her festivals, all her gates are desolate…[She] remembers in the days of her affliction and wandering all the precious things that were hers in the days of old.”
Carnival season, which ends with Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday) is the period before the forty day Lenten season. In the Catholic tradition, it is the time of celebration before the time of quiet reflection and preparation of the spirit before Good Friday and Easter.
Carnival celebrations are taking place in the Gulf Coast region that was devastated by hurricane Katrina, and one of the questions raised by many people, including many residents of the area, is whether it is appropriate to have such celebrations given the amount of pain and loss that was suffered.
This raises what really is an eternal and recurring human question:
How do we celebrate in the midst of despair, pain and suffering?
How do we celebrate when so much lies in ruins?
There are those who respond by saying, “We must because life goes on and it is part of showing that we are still alive and still here”. And there are those who respond by saying, “To celebrate now is to insult those who are in pain”.
Reports from the Gulf region show how little has changed in the six months since the hurricane. Long stretches of towns and cities are still lying in ruins. And people are in limbo—they have no way to rebuild their homes because their insurance is not covering their losses. And so things sit, empty, ruined, rotting.
How can people celebrate while that is true?
From the Book of Ezra, Chapter 3 (Vs 10-13)—written about the return to Jerusalem of the exiles from captivity in Babylon:
…when the builders laid the foundation of the temple of the LORD, they set the priests in their apparel with trumpets, and the Levites the sons of Asaph with cymbals, to praise the LORD, after the ordinance of David king of Israel.
[11] And they sang together by course in praising and giving thanks unto the LORD; because he is good, for his mercy endureth for ever toward Israel. And all the people shouted with a great shout, when they praised the LORD, because the foundation of the house of the LORD was laid.
[12] But many of the priests and Levites and chief of the fathers, who were ancient men, that had seen the first house, when the foundation of this house was laid before their eyes, wept with a loud voice; and many shouted aloud for joy:
[13] So that the people could not discern the noise of the shout of joy from the noise of the weeping of the people: for the people shouted with a loud shout, and the noise was heard afar off.
Life is often a mixture of weeping and the giving of thanks, these two things coexisting, side by side. And each speaks to the emotions that live within us.
Think of any story of survival in which most members of a small group of people are wiped out, but after long struggle some remnant is saved—should they cheer their rescue, or weep for their fallen friends? Must it be one or the other?
We receive both good and bad in life, both joy and suffering.
It is important to acknowledge both.
In 1999 my father passed away in December, just a few weeks before my daughter’s birthday and the Christmas season. It is difficult to feel joy so soon after a loss of that magnitude. And yet, it was one of the gentlest and happiest Christmas’s I have ever had. We celebrated, though with a sadness hovering around us. But our being together meant more than usual that year because of the loss we had all suffered.
The pain reminded us of the more important things in life, which had very little to do with the decorated tree or the lights or the presents we exchanged; and it especially had little to do with the of dollar value of the presents we exchanged. It had to do with being with one another, sharing with one another, loving one another. Sometimes it takes pain to remind us of that.
Following September 11th I had a similar experience. I relearned what was important in life. Not things, but love and connection.
After September 11th the shock was so great and the pain so deep, it felt as though everything had changed. And yet, little by little, the world returned to something akin to “normal”. People began to do what they had done prior to the attacks. The small rituals in life began to seep back in, and then the larger ones. That is a sign of healing and health, when the people begin to do what they used to do.
That behavior, doing what one did, not only is a sign of healing, it promotes further healing. The ritual of activity begins to bring one back to normal functioning and normal feeling. The ritual becomes a means of transforming pain into happiness.
A truth is that many of the celebrations that human beings have are celebrations of a catastrophe that people survived. They are celebrations of events in which loved ones died.
The rituals and celebrations of humanity serve as instruments of restoration.
From the very region hit by Katrina comes some hint of this fact. The Mississippi Delta Blues rises up from pain and sorrow.
The Jazz Funerals of New Orleans are perfect representations of this. The band leads the funeral procession to the cemetery, playing mournful hymns and tunes. It leads the procession away from the cemetery, initially in silence; but then, at a signal, breaks out into celebratory music like the song “Didn’t He Ramble” or “When the Saints Go Marching In”; and the so-called “second line” of people unfurling colorful umbrellas and dancing as they follow the band. This is not a denial of death and loss; it is a celebration of the life that was and of another soul gone home.
Sorrow followed by celebration.
When I meet with a family to prepare a memorial service, those services are usually celebrations of the life of the dead person. But I usually advise the family to begin with some acknowledgement of pain, of loss, of sorrow. It is difficult for people feeling grief to walk into a service and jump right into celebration and happy memory. Before they can do that, their sorrow usually must be acknowledge, it must be named. There needs to be some recognition of their grief, their right to have it, and the fact that others share it. Then they can move on to celebrating the good things that were given to them by the deceased.
After September 11th there were just such ceremonies. Remember the Shea stadium service.
I believe that the problem, if you will, for the Gulf Coast is not that it is
Carnival time, time to celebrate; rather it is the two fold problem that people are still in limbo and that there has been no public ceremony of mourning, no large memorial service, no official recognitions of the losses that people have suffered.
The dead of September 11th were treated as national heroes and martyrs; the dead of Katrina are being ignored.
New Orleans should have had a ceremony of remembrance either before or as part of Mardi Gras.
A member of one of the Krewes of Mardi Gras, in an interview with BBC, said, “If we waited until everything was good, we would never celebrate”. And that speaks to a deep truth.
Buddhism says that life is suffering, and as we look around we see that suffering fills the wide earth. Some portion of the human family is in pain every moment. Still, we must celebrate sometimes. Buddhism tells us that one of our tasks in life is to show compassion to other beings and to help to ease their suffering. We can do so and celebrate.
Christianity says that God is with us in the midst of our pain, that we can call upon him for help and comfort.
Humanism tells us that it is in personal fortitude and in sharing with others that human suffering is eased.
In our private pains, in our shared community, national and world suffering, may we seek healing from and with others; may we seek the comfort of God; may we find joy despite pain, may we draw strength from our ability to overcome pain.
Let us sing despite sorrow. Like the Delta Blues, let our voices find words of expression, like jazz bands, let our sorrow always turn to celebration.
Even when we suffer from pain, may we see the beauty of the sun, the snow, the rain; may we draw comfort from the quiet stillness of winter, strength from the bursting buds of spring, and fortitude form the steady season of summer.
May we have faith in ourselves, faith in others, faith in the future and in life. And may those who believe have faith in God to see them through.
Let be given its due; and then let it end and may singing, praising and shouting be heard throughout the land.
So let it be.
Return to
Home
Return to Sermons Index