What is in Kelvin's Head?

For Baghdad, for Beiruit, for Paris

14/11/2015

On the day of the 9/11 attacks, I was in Paris. At just about the time of the 9/11 attacks I was in the Louvre, looking at this icon. I had specifically flown there to see it on a very short overnight stay in the first madness of cheap Ryanair flights when you could just decide you were going to Paris to see an icon.

The icon iteself is fairly well known. They use it in Taize and it is often called “The icon of friendship”, the narrative being that Jesus has his arm around a fellow traveller who walks the road beside him. It is in fact St Mina whom Jesus has his arm around and I like to remember him by name as he is a patron of those who travel. The icon comes from the middle east (from Egypt) and in modern times is one of those things which unites Eastern and Western eyes.

Remembering standing in front of it in Paris and later learning of the 9/11 attacks, it seems an appropriate thing to post today after a day of terror in Beirut, Baghdad and Paris.

I’ve seen several grumpy posts on twitter going on about the wave of “meaningless” religious posts that we will see online. People angry at what they see as empty gestures.

The desire to hold a place or a people or a person or a situation in one’s heart seems to me to be a more human thing than a religious thing – it is in fact what unites us rather than something that divides us.

And yes, on one level the posts may seem banal to some. But holding someone’s hand or putting an arm around a shoulder could be seen as banal and meaningless too. Yet it is all we can do sometimes and what we need to do.

Today I’m thinking of that icon in that city and the other cities which suffered yesterday which are not at the forefront of our minds because somewhere inside we believe sudden violence is more normal there. I’m thinking of the hands held, the shoulders embraced. The weeping, the grieving and the dying.

The people of Paris have the right to peace. So do the people of Beirut and Baghdad. But that is perhaps for another day. Today the arm around the shoulder; the affirmation that we walk this world together.

Politics later.

Eternal God
For Paris, for Beirut, for Baghdad.
For the grieving, for the dead and for the wounded.
For a world united.
Amen.

9 responses to “The Lament Question”

kimberly

12/08/2009

ask it in the singular, and the answer is: because you’re a four.

you’ll have me playing the funeral ikos next.

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kimberly

12/08/2009

the other answer is about possibility being revealed in limits.

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kelvin

12/08/2009

Its not just me though, and not just fours.

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Aaron Orear

12/08/2009

I think because sorrow touches the core of the human condition – we are mortal but can perceive immortality. “He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover he has put a sense of past and future into their minds, yet they cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.” (Eccl. 3:11)

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Erp

12/08/2009

I understand Aristotle talks about catharsis and various philosophers have followed up on that idea.

Perhaps it arouses sadness both from the art itself but also from our own sources festering within and allows us to let go. We feel better for the letting go, the lessening of our own internal sadness, and so perceive the art as beautiful.

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RosemaryHannah

12/08/2009

Kimberly was there before me. However, even I, a nine, can sometimes see the beauty in sad things. For me they do two things (may be more but two are most obvious). The first is the catharsis thing. The second is to make me less lonely. Look, here am I weeping, but all around me people sit in the same sorrow. It is not just my sorrow – I am not alone.

I have long thought there is another answer, one I do not properly understand but I have (I think – and who am I to think it). Deep in God there is a huge well of sorrow. Unless we experience sorrow we cannot understand God. When we sorrow we tap into that well, and become closer to him.

And being a nice cheerful nine, I will now add that I live in hope that having sorrowed with him, we will share also and even more fully in the joy which swallows the sorrow. Delete this last paragraph from your mind on reading, it will only spoil the joy of the sorrow.

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Elizabeth

13/08/2009

Edgar Allan Poe said the most beautiful thing in the world is a beautiful, dead woman. Nice, eh?

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Ritualist Robert

14/08/2009

Surely it’s because the concept of beauty is independent from concepts such as ‘sadness’ and ‘happiness’ – just as a G major chord might be loud or soft, but that volume has no effect on its G major-ness.

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Steve

14/08/2009

I remember Augustine saying (don’t ask me where) that for a picture to be beautiful it requires dark colours as well as bright.

There is also a hint of an answer in this poem by Edwin Muir:

Yet still from Eden springs the root
As clean as on the starting day.
Time takes the foliage and the fruit
And burns the archetypal leaf
To shapes of terror and of grief
Scattered along the winter way.
But famished field and blackened tree
Bear flowers in Eden never known.

Blossoms of grief and charity
Bloom in these darkened fields alone.
What had Eden ever to say
Of hope and faith and pity and love
Until was buried all its day
And memory found its treasure trove?
Strange blessings never in Paradise
Fall from these beclouded skies.

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