While governments talked of war and security last week, and innocents in Lebanon, Kenya, France, Afghanistan and elsewhere buried their dead, faith communities around the globe struggled to find ways to make sense of it all. Or at least to respond. Places of worship opened their doors, labyrinths were crowded with walkers, friends called friends.
One response in one corner of the world came on Sunday, November 15 in the form of a service of words and music by Muslims, Christians and Jews at San Francisco's Calvary Presbyterian Church which this writer was fortunate to attend. It is, in all probability, exemplary of other responses across the planet.
Calvary pastor John Weems noted, in welcoming a sanctuary filled with visitors and regulars, that ever since the beginning of history there have been times when it seemed the world would end, "that darkness would overcome. But in fact death and darkness do not get the last word."
And the next word came from Fatih Ates, San Francisco and East Bay Director of Pacifica Institute: "Peace and blessings on us all." Ates gave the Adhan, or Muslim Call to Prayer. Conveniently for the non-Arabic speaking members of the congregation, an English translation of the Adhan was published in the bulletin. (It begins with repetitions of "God is Greater," continues through bearing witness to core precepts and ends with "There is no god except the One God." Believers and nonbelievers alike might embrace the notion that Somebody Else is still in control.)
Later in the service, Ates spoke of his deep faith, and of how that faith -- Islam -- "strongly condemns acts of violence. Every terrorist act," he said, "is against universal values and human values." He emphasized these truths with quotations from the Qur'an. (Chapter 5, verse 32; Chapter 4, v 93, and Chapter 49 v 13; readers are invited to look them up.) "Terrorism has no religion, no faith" Ates said; "we must fight against extremism."
Among other messages:
Rabbi Lawrence Raphael of Congregation Sherith Israel referred to the last line of the Kaddish, the prayer said at Jewish funerals and occasionally at other times: "May God who makes peace in heaven... make peace upon us."
Calvary pastor Joann Lee, speaking to the children, suggested that in scary times they "look for the helper;" because there are always helpers, something borne out by both scriptural references and secular reality.
San Francisco Interfaith Council Executive Director Michael Pappas spoke of the "solidarity and prayers of people of many faiths" (locally including 800 San Francisco congregations) that would ultimately overcome darkness.
And for the prayer, another Calvary pastor, Victor Floyd, sang the "Kyrie Eleison" (Lord have mercy) familiar to Catholic, Protestant, Greek Orthodox and other Christians -- in Urdu, the language of Fatih Ates' native Turkey.
Finally, there was a moving moment of light. California Assemblymember David Chiu, a member of Calvary who went from social justice work into politics a few years ago, explained the Presbyterian custom of "passing the peace," greeting friends and strangers. Chiu spoke of San Francisco as being a city on a hill, a city of light, and everyone, having been given candles on entering the sanctuary, raised their lighted candles in a room in which the light until that moment was dim.
The act of raising a candle into the gloom, lifting some light of hope, making one small statement against injustice may be primarily symbolic, but it's a start.
And proof that light can drive out darkness.
