Forgiveness

The other day, a racist, homophobic, totalitarian, intolerant, misogynist mass murderer was killed. I refer of course to Osama bin Laden. Some people celebrated the event, some felt we should somehow be ashamed it happened. I felt, I must say, glad the man was dead. I wasn't going to burst into the street cheering nor on the other hand was I going to join the hand-wringing. The world is better off without such people. The man reaped what he had sewn. Those who live by the sword die by the sword. (Little bit Biblical that - and always worth remembering.)

Some pastors and priests put him on their Remembrance list in their parish newsletters. That's a list of people who have died or whose anniversaries occured during the week, the idea being the parishioners pray for their souls. They expected their move to be controversial. I didn't hear what came of the approach. It didn't happen in my parish but I thought the idea a sound one. It was a challenge to our ideals, and one that we should accept. We should pray for those who hate us. Edith Cavell, about to be murdered by her German captors in WWI,  set herself the challenge we should all be conscious of: "Patriotism is not enough. I must have no hatred or bitterness towards anyone."

Forgiveness is, I think, one of the gifts of Christianity. I don't believe the concept had much currency in older religions and societies. I could be wrong but that's the idea I have. Even if that is incorrect, it is fair to say that forgiveness is one of the keystones of Christianity, and a key to a better world. Jesus told us to love our enemies. If that wasn't enough, he also said we should love our neighbours, which may be even tougher. It's easier I think to forgive a man who lived in a cave or a luxury house halfway across the world and who killed people in other countries ten years ago, than it is the neighbour who has the drum-kit, the loud car and the wild parties when you have to work the next day. I have a friend who has hurt me, and I am still working through forgiving him. I have a friend who I hurt. I hope she has forgiven me. Forgiveness is a simple word, but a difficult concept.

That said I'm not sure I have forgiven bin Laden. His crimes were monstrous, not only in his mass-killings but the harm he has done to world society. He has helped to bring back sectarianism to a world that desperately didn't need it. He has created a mistrust of Islam which it will take moderate Islamists years, decades to overcome - if they even can. He may be dead but his legacy of violence and division will linger. Still I accept it behoves me to forgive him, and will continue to try to do so. What will that feel like? I am not sure.

Incidentally, people often call the fundamentalist Islamists 'medieval'. If only. Medieval Islam was a curious, outward-looking, tolerant, scientifically progressive society. As Karen Armstrong in her excellent The Battle for God shows, fundamentalism - whether it be Christian, Islamic or Jewish - is a modern creation of the 19th century.

Hello and welcome.

This is a blog about me and God. That's a big subject but small at the same time. The title comes from a quotation I just discovered from Voltaire: Doubt is uncomfortable, certainty ridiculous. I have no idea what the context of that is, but to me it speaks to me of belief and disbelief in God, and I think it is true. We would love to know but we cannot, and it is ridiculous to pretend otherwise. There are many insistent voices in the argument of belief and atheism. In the first place, it shouldn't be an argument, it should be a discussion. But there is a lack of respect, on both sides, for those who hold a different view. And what I am surprised by is the number of people who insist they know. It is my belief there is no scientific proof of God, no more than is scientific proof that there is no God. There are only facts that we can infer from, and then we make our leap - of faith, or lack thereof.

Someone once said that a good newspaper is a country talking to itself. My blogs, this is my second, I think are me talking to myself. I do not posit myself as a great or original thinker. So perhaps this blog will contain no great insights, no original thoughts.  But it will let me try to arrange my ideas into some sort of system, for want of a better word, so perhaps I can see what I am thinking in this area. If you want to see as well, please do.

I decided to create this blog this afternoon during Mass. I went to St Francis' in the city, which is the oldest Catholic church in the city. It has a wooden-panelled ceiling, with an ornate side chapel, and other features I won't list - I'm not an architectural writer. It's quite beautiful.

Today I found Mass quite the struggle. I didn't know any of the hymns and could barely hear the choir so that was no fun. They did use Beethoven's 'Ode to Joy' but with generic and ill-fitting lyrics - not much joy at all. The old ones from my youth, 'Come, sing a song of joy, for peace will come my brother/ Sing sing a song a joy, so men shall love another' have disappeared on the altar of equality, which is fair enough I suppose, but the replacements are so bloodless and uninspiring. Surely we can do better.

Only twice did I feel connected: the sign of peace and my own prayer after Communion. The sign of peace is one of my favourite moments of the Mass, when for a moment we turn and acknowledge the other members of the congregation. We smile at each other, shake hands and say 'Peace be with you'. That's a lovely thing to say. And how joyful would it be if we did have peace within ourselves.

My prayer after Communion I found most affecting. Before the Mass I had offered my doubt to God, and then the gospel was the story of St Thomas, the Doubter. That can happen. And though I cannot remember the content of my prayer, I had a strong physical reaction to it. It was powerful, though I cannot say why.

But for the rest of the time, I was bored, disconnected and thinking about other things. But that's okay. Prayer is like anything else. It doesn't always work but unless we keep doing it, it never will. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

So there you have it, a rambling wander through a few moments of my day.