“My fervent prayer is for peace with justice...”
By the Right Reverend Thomas Clark Ely, Bishop of Vermont
Mountain Echo, October 2002
I am writing these thoughts on the eve of September 11th, having just returned from voting in the primary election here in Vermont, a responsibility I take very seriously as a citizen of the United States. I am thinking about those who lost loved ones last year, about brave women and men, about people trying to pick up the pieces of broken lives, about those who reached out, and about those who feel left out. I am thinking about tomorrow and what it signifies for me, for others and for the world in which we live. I am wondering what will tomorrow bring? Will there be more acts of terrorism? What about Iraq? What will our elected leaders choose to do? What will we do to influence their decisions? I am thinking about community.
I am thinking about our churches, about our people and about other religious communities and how our voice is or isn’t heard these days. I’m thinking about Jesus and trying to fathom what he would think and say about all that we have experienced this past year. I am thinking about self-offering love and about sacrifice, about pain, injustice, retribution, mercy, forgiveness, and peace. I am thinking about the cross.
I am thinking about enemies and about those who do not see the world through my eyes. I am thinking about those who terrorize others and about why they would do such things. I am thinking about when I was a child and being the “prize” of more than one bully. I am thinking about myself, my country and what we stand for and how we choose to give leadership in the community of the world. I am thinking about how sad I am, about how worried I am, about how much I pray and long for peace and reconciliation and about how far away that hope seems at times. I am thinking about Paul’s words to the Church in Rome that we recently heard in the Sunday readings: “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”
I am thinking about the pilgrimage that Ann and I took to Saint Paul’s Chapel at “ground zero” last December. I am thinking about the pictures, the cards, the letters, the toys, the blankets, the people, the rubble, the volunteers, and all the ministry going on in and around that Episcopal Church. I am thinking about Incarnation and about Baptism and about being the Body of Christ.
I am thinking about El Salvador and my recent “continuing education” trip there. I am remembering what I learned about the ministry of the missionary Anglican Church of El Salvador and the ministry of Cristosal, a Vermont-based foundation offering financial and spiritual support to the Anglican Church of El Salvador. I’m thinking about the Right Reverend Martin Barahona, Bishop of El Salvador and recently installed Primate (Presiding Bishop) of the Anglican Church in Central America. I’m thinking about his ministry in a country that has lived with terror and its consequences for generations, including the devastating effects of civil war in the 1980s. I am thinking about how one part of the body relates to another in terms of joy and pain, suffering and healing.
I am thinking about three pilgrimages we took in El Salvador. One took us to the home of Archbishop Oscar Romero and to the Carmelite Chapel at Divine Providence Hospital in San Salvador where he was assassinated, allegedly by Salvadorian government troops, on Palm Sunday (March 24, 1980) and finally to his tomb beneath the Cathedral in San Salvador.
Another took us to the University of Central America in San Salvador where six Jesuit priests, their housekeeper and her daughter, were brutally murdered in the darkness of the night on November 16, 1989, by members of the Salvadoran army’s elite Atlacatl Battalion (U.S. trained and supported) intent on silencing their spiritual and intellectual voice.
And still another pilgrimage—this time a five hour drive into the mountains of northeastern El Salvador—took us to El Mozote, where hundreds of innocent women, children and old people were taken from their homes and systematically killed, again by units of the Atlacatl Battalion, on December 11, 1981. I wept and prayed at each site. I am thinking about resurrection.
My prayer at each site of terror we visited in El Salvador was the same as my prayer at Saint Paul’s Chapel in New York, and it is the same prayer I say tonight before going to bed. My prayer is for those who were killed by the violent action of others. My prayer is for those left behind to mourn the loss and cherish the memories. My prayer is for those who tried to do something to help and for those who are still trying. My prayer is for those who would commit such violent acts of terror. I pray that I might better understand them and the hatred that so infects their hearts, because perhaps then I could do something to stop the next act of terror.
My prayer is for those leaders who have the responsibility of responding to such acts of terror, that they will employ restraint, seek understanding and administer justice with compassion. My prayer is for myself, for the deepening of my own faith and trust in God and for my increased awareness of the peoples and cultures of the world in which I live. And my prayer is for the world and for the church that we might work for reconciliation and peace in all things and find non-violent ways to settle our differences. I know some may see my prayer as lofty and idealistic and yet it is the prayer that I believe Jesus has taught me to pray.
Archbishop Romero once said, “To teach the truths of the gospel, and by means of them to cast light on our own situation so as to bring it closer to God...is the most important service that the church can render to this country.” For me that means that we—as the church—are called to seek an ever-deeper understanding of the “truth” of the Gospel. I don’t believe that any one of us holds that truth completely or perfectly. I do believe that within the larger community of faith we can discern that truth if we are open to each other and willing to risk the journey together that such a quest demands.
Romero’s words also mean for me that we are called to bring that understanding of the “truth” of the Gospel to bear on the circumstances of our lives and by so doing bring our lives and the circumstances of our lives closer to God. For me, the “truth” of the Gospel always brings me back to the example of love that I see in Jesus. It is a love that transcends all human boundaries, agendas and circumstances. It is a love that doesn’t place conditions on its self-offering. It is a love that reaches out to draw all people into its embrace. It is a love rooted in compassion, forgiveness, mercy, and reconciliation. It is a love worth knowing and sharing.
So tonight, I am thinking about the future. My fervent prayer is for peace with justice, and I commit myself anew to work and pray for that future which I believe is God’s hope and longing for the world.
What are you thinking about?
+ Thomas
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