As I was riding my bike to work on Wednesday, September 11th, I passed a woman who was standing on the other side of the highway overpass with an American flag. She was waving the flag for drivers on Interstate 95 to witness her dedication to the day's remembrance, and, most likely, to urge others to remember.
I do not know how she was personally affected by the terrorist attack on September 11th, 2001, which claimed the lives of thousands and sent a ripple effect of fear, suspicion, anger, revenge, loss, loneliness, and despair throughout the world. But what I do know is that this remembrance, this public gesture of solidarity, is something she is dedicated to, something which she has chosen to be part of defining her life journey.
But what is she dedicated to? Now in our 12th year of ritualized remembrance of 9/11, done in many ways throughout the land, what are we wanting to preserve, to say about ourselves and our lives? The criminal act of high-jacking planes and crashing them into US icons and buildings has inspired countless responses.
Some feel ever justified to go to war at the drop of the hat, dedicated to the get them before they get us
mindset. And what does this bring? An endless life of suspicion and an inability to see outside the logic of war.
Some take a moment to remember a loved one, knowing the emptiness will never quite go away but that life continues on. The moment of remembrance is dedicated to honor and love, sorrow and humility. And what does this bring? A sense of the preciousness of life, perhaps even compassion for all who have experienced such loss.
Some reserve the right to feel offended that such a thing could happen to us, USA, dedicated to the wound of victim
and the offense of dishonor. And what does this bring? American exceptionalism and the inability to see that we are all in this together, that we are a global community of equally worthy people.
Some were inspired through the devastation to dedicate time and energy to the healing of wounds and barriers, reaching out to Moslem communities, widows in Afghanistan and peace movements throughout the world. And what does this bring? A vision of possibility, activism, and recognition of others in oneself and of shared loss.
What seeds are planted when we are intent on ritualizing never forget
? To stay victims? To memorialize offense? To set our sights on war? Or can we find a way toward peace and harmony? To come to a more global and relational understanding? To find ourselves in common with the rest of the world in their own tragedies brought on by violence and aggression that we all are capable of?
The interesting thing about our lives is that we form them along our way. Change and chance are intermingled with our intentions and responses. We chart our life journeys and spiritual understandings, in part, by our dedication, how we choose to focus, what we choose to feed, why we choose to respond.
Our dedications, our moments of appreciation or remembrance, our intention to follow a way of being: these shape our lives, teach our children and form our world.
And, as Thich Naht Hahn pointed out in his reading, if we are mindful, we can plant healthy seeds of dedication individually and in our communities. The first step is to ask ourselves what it is we are dedicated to: what do we want to manifest, how do we want to resonate, what shall we cherish?
Dedication is not about obligation, it's about appreciation. Dedication is not about giving up our lives for something or someone else, it's about giving of our lives to enrich a way of being. In our dedications and sense of dedication, we plant seeds, we create guideposts, we provide reminders to support the journey; not only for ourselves, but for those we come in contact with or who take similar journeys for years to come.
On the front page of last Friday's Aegis was a picture of a young girl, I'd say 5 or 6 years old, holding a large orange sign covering her knee to shoulder that read: Never forget 9/11.
The actual attack probably happened a good 6 years before she was born. She was serious, determined, glum…. And what does this bring, I wonder?
Healthy dedication does not freeze us in time, it does not insist on a certain way of being. Healthy dedication companions us, informs us, helps us learn, helps us grow, helps us remember what has come before. A healthy dedication inspires us to move on with our lives wiser or at least inspired by appreciation, by love of being.
Sometimes a dedication is simply a gesture of encouragement to those who may come after, or a gesture of love for those who have come before.
[An explanation is given of UUFHC dedications… Chalice… Chair… Hymnals]
Dedications can inspire us to come into a whole new way of being or to expand our horizons. One such dedication enriched my life when I was on a Witness For Peace delegation to Nicaragua some 25 years ago. The Contra War was coming to an end. We were in Managua, the capital of Nicaragua, and came across a statue in the middle of a square. It was a depiction of a juggler with children. The dedication could be translated: They can kill the flowers, but they cannot kill the Spring.
Having witnessed some of the devastation of this CIA-backed Contra war and the abject poverty it created for people who had no political power, I was deeply touched by the strength and faith in the sentiment.
The juggler depicted was of Ben Linder, a California born engineer, who had moved to Nicaragua to support the efforts of the poorest people in the country. He helped design and was building a hydroelectric plant so that people could have electricity. The contra, again backed by the CIA in the Reagan Administration, targeted rural schools, health clinics, health workers, and power stations; the very things that were denied Nicaraguans to the point of revolution. The very things whose destruction could break the spirit of a people.
Ben Linder was also a juggler, clown and unicyclist. So, when he was not working on trying to help with sustenance infrastructure, he would entertain the children, for whom he had great concern. In 1987, Ben Linder and two Nicaraguans were killed by a Contra attack while working on the hydroelectric plant in Northern rural Nicaragua.1
Gerardo Hernandez Arias, a Nicaraguan artist, created a mural to commemorate the 25th anniversary of Ben Linder's death.
Every brushstroke, every detail I created
he said, was motivated by some of the ways of Ben Linder's life, what he came to do for Nicaragua, for the people. Not only did he create electric energy, but also created energy…. It's energy that we all possess, to generate progress, like an energy that is the spark of progress, to be in solidarity, to create more justice every day, to make more changes every day, to be happy like he was.
2
The resonance of the person or experience or place that is the focus of the dedication remains a part of the journey of people's lives. An encouragement for advocacy and activism came, for me, from that statue: they can kill the flowers, but they cannot kill the Spring.
The musician Sting wrote a song called fragile
in dedication to Ben Linder in 1987:
Fragile
If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one
Drying in the colour of the evening sun
Tomorrow's rain will wash the stains away
But something in our minds will always stay
Perhaps this final act was meant
To clinch a lifetime's argument
That nothing comes from violence and nothing ever could
For all those born beneath an angry star
Lest we forget how fragile we are
On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are how fragile we are…3
So when we honor the days of our lives, the people we've encountered and the experiences that have shaped us, let us do this in a way that enriches the lives of those we meet. Let us do it in a way that models love of being. The dedications that inform our journeys should not enslave us in a way of being or limit us in a way of believing. Our dedications that serve our journey toward wholeness are gestures of encouragement and gratitude, hope and honor, affirmation and love.
So may it be. Amen.
Copyright © 2013 Lisa Ward. All Rights Reserved.