Civic representatives, spokespeople for the police, the students’ university and the different faiths of the city were all given three minutes to express their feelings and at the stroke of six there was a moment of silence. The camaras roved over the people, each one lost in their own thoughts. The city was in shock.
As each speaker delivered their brief message – the most powerful one came from the Muslim Iman – it struck me how everyone had come together in shared grief. The gathering went beyond party, faith, class; it was an event of humanity at one for a moment. It was not a political event, a religious event or a sporting celebration. All the barriers that divide us were down.
Watching from 6,000 miles away, I was much moved by the different faces; young, middle aged, old. All were looking straight ahead, nominally at the speaker, but actually probing deep inside, wondering how this was possible. Were there any answers? The absolute stillness when the clock struck six was like the bending of the knee at the moment on Good Friday when Jesus dies.
But let me not reduce it to a religious event as though I want to claim it as an anonymous expression of my own beliefs. Rather it was like a post-religious visceral experience of numbness. Our society has come to this: where a man can wantonly stab three people, steal a car and run into three more. How is this possible?
As the pictures died on the screen, I found myself encouraged by the unity shown by the people of Nottingham; by their generous attendance to the grief of the families, by their silent witness to the fact that when one is hurt, all are hurt and by the kindness that welled up in their hearts setting off ripples in the community and around the world in all those who shared their sorrow.
The deaths in Nottingham, for all their bitter grief, brought us all together a little for a while. Do they also sow seeds for a new, more compassionate, world, coming to birth?
18 June 2023 Sunday 11A Ex 19:2-6 Rom 5:6-11 Mt 9:36-10:8
Post published in: Faith