This is my song
Sep. 16th, 2001 02:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivkaWe went to services today at the First Unitarian Church. It was the first time since the tragedy that I came together with a large group of people, with the structured purpose of mourning. It was painful, but it felt important - and it helped.
At every service there is a time for people to come forward and light candles in silent commemoration of their joys and sorrows. This morning the line stretched most of the way around the sanctuary. I lit a candle for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
banesidhe, clairaide, fimbrethil, Harry, and Brigid. May their hopes be fulfilled, and their spirits be comforted.
Later in the service, the ministers read the names of the Maryland dead. There were a great many of them - people who worked at the Pentagon, people on the flight out of Dulles, people who left Maryland for New York. We read together a litany of remembrance, reminding us that those lost will always be with us. We gave offerings for disaster relief. The sermon was about struggling to come to terms with an American self-identity, about longings for home and security, about being fearful of differences, about struggling with anger and avoiding hate, about refusing to turn away from Muslims and Arab-Americans, about the goodness of the human spirit, about the dilemmas faced by people of good faith in trying to decide between calling for nonviolence and supporting a military response.
We sang a hymn, one of my favorites. The tune is Sibelius' Finlandia; you can find it here.
This is my song, Oh God of all the nations,
A song of peace for lands afar and mine.
This is my home, the country where my heart is;
Here are my hopes, my dreams, my sacred shrine.
But other hearts in other lands are beating,
With hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.
My country's skies are bluer than the ocean,
And sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine.
But other lands have sunlight too and clover,
And skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
Oh hear my song, oh God of all the nations,
A song of peace for their land and for mine.
I tried to keep my voice steady through the hymn, but broke on the last line, and sobbed. Really sobbed for the first time, although tears have come to my eyes before. Continued to cry as they asked us all to hold hands and form one large circle around the cavernous sanctuary, as we stood for the blessing, as we sang God Bless America a capella and in unison. As we were embraced by friends and by total strangers.
It really helped. It was achingly painful, but it helped. It helped to grieve with others, and to hear others struggling with the same questions about peace versus justice. To hear someone else articulate the ambiguities of American identity. To hold hands.
At every service there is a time for people to come forward and light candles in silent commemoration of their joys and sorrows. This morning the line stretched most of the way around the sanctuary. I lit a candle for
banesidhe, clairaide, fimbrethil, Harry, and Brigid. May their hopes be fulfilled, and their spirits be comforted.Later in the service, the ministers read the names of the Maryland dead. There were a great many of them - people who worked at the Pentagon, people on the flight out of Dulles, people who left Maryland for New York. We read together a litany of remembrance, reminding us that those lost will always be with us. We gave offerings for disaster relief. The sermon was about struggling to come to terms with an American self-identity, about longings for home and security, about being fearful of differences, about struggling with anger and avoiding hate, about refusing to turn away from Muslims and Arab-Americans, about the goodness of the human spirit, about the dilemmas faced by people of good faith in trying to decide between calling for nonviolence and supporting a military response.
We sang a hymn, one of my favorites. The tune is Sibelius' Finlandia; you can find it here.
This is my song, Oh God of all the nations,
A song of peace for lands afar and mine.
This is my home, the country where my heart is;
Here are my hopes, my dreams, my sacred shrine.
But other hearts in other lands are beating,
With hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.
My country's skies are bluer than the ocean,
And sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine.
But other lands have sunlight too and clover,
And skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
Oh hear my song, oh God of all the nations,
A song of peace for their land and for mine.
I tried to keep my voice steady through the hymn, but broke on the last line, and sobbed. Really sobbed for the first time, although tears have come to my eyes before. Continued to cry as they asked us all to hold hands and form one large circle around the cavernous sanctuary, as we stood for the blessing, as we sang God Bless America a capella and in unison. As we were embraced by friends and by total strangers.
It really helped. It was achingly painful, but it helped. It helped to grieve with others, and to hear others struggling with the same questions about peace versus justice. To hear someone else articulate the ambiguities of American identity. To hold hands.
no subject
Date: 2001-09-16 01:05 pm (UTC)Your post reminded me of several things. My wife attended First Unitarian while she was growing up, and went to The Park School in Brooklandville; many Park alumni went on to work in law and financial firms in New York. She says that she expects to see a number of names she knows listed among the dead and missing when the next alumni newsletter comes out. Night before last, she had to tell frood about Liam—he hadn’t heard, which isn’t surprising since he’s been too busy to deal with anything more than trying to hold together the network and connectivity where he works (in White Plains; fortunately he lives near Harlem and was nowhere near Lower Manhattan on Tuesday).
no subject
Date: 2001-09-16 01:27 pm (UTC)I wish I had a place of worship nearby. I know where I'd go in New York, or Jersey City, or upstate NY... but I never found anything here. And no circle to practice with, either. A poly pool party the other night helped me to get that sense of community, at least, but a community of faith would be a very good thing to have right now.
Re:
Date: 2001-09-16 05:06 pm (UTC)I hope you can find somewhere you're comfortable. There were a lot of people today who were at the church for the first time. I think a lot of folks are reaching out for spiritual comfort, some of whom wouldn't have expected it of themselves.