I ended last Sunday’s homily with the following words:
A house falls, and someone calls it justice.
A child cries, and someone calls it noise.
The sky is full of reasons,
the ground is full of bodies,
and the story keeps choosing its villains.
Somewhere, an olive-skinned girl
is trying to tell the truth
over the roar of the wind—
but the wind is busy carrying
another banner, another order,
another name for “necessary.”
Still, she stands in the wreckage,
hands open,
asking the only question
the story fears:
Who taught you to call this safety?
The homily was rewritten in the wake of the war with Iran, which began last weekend. It is always an interesting task to speak to both a pre-chosen topic and address what is pressing in a room at any given moment. And as it stood, the themes meshed for me. In this moment when we are trying to locate truth amidst the spin, and justice amidst the violence that now permeates so many countries in the Middle East and across the world, we are always burdened with what should occupy our attention. And, as “paying attention” is the Soul Matters theme for this month, I thought I might recap a bit of what I said last Sunday.
Like the Wicked movies and the novel upon which they are based, we are invited to consider whether the narrative promoted by the powerful is truer than that of those who have been and continue to be marginalized. Paying attention in such circumstances often means listening for the voices that do not often get the attention they deserve.
As I said last Sunday, “I am reminded that Elphaba becomes ‘The Wicked Witch’ not because people know her, but because they know a story about her. Posters, speeches, and gossip do the work here. I would ask if we know Iran similarly.
Iran is often spoken of as a monolithic actor, even though we know it contains factions, a military and security apparatus, and millions of civilians who have no say in strategic decisions. (I might add that it feels this way to me here in the U.S. right now as well.) And given the current state of force used in American cities, I wonder how quickly a warring region turns the “opposition of government” into “the dehumanization of people?” And at what point does “deterrence” become a story that justifies almost any level of harm?”
In the second Wicked movie, the death of Nessarose sits at the confluence of accident, politics, and spin. Because the event is real and devastating in is immediately contested and weaponized. I see a similar pattern in the framing of those who died in a girls’ school, or the neighborhood surrounding a target, or an overwhelmed hospital, as “collateral damage” and “regrettable”. And I wonder, who gets to turn someone else’s catastrophe into a talking point? And whose grief is allowed to be politically useful while another’s is minimized as “unfortunate but necessary.”
At this moment, paying attention is also an act of resistance that guards against simply going along to get along. Asking the hard questions to those who have the power to wage war is part of what it means to be patriotic. Echoing the voices of those who would otherwise be silenced is courageous. Calling for an end to hostilities and working to strengthen the ties that bind us into one humanity in our communities, countries, and world is the work of peacemaking.
May we give ourselves and each other opportunities to pay attention, be patriotic, courageous, and makers of peace.
Blessings,
Aaron