Today’s readings: Wisdom 2:12, 17-20; James 3:16-4:3; Mark 9:30-37.
Come From Away is a musical about the true story of a small town called Gander in Newfoundland, Canada, which, following the closure of US airspace after the 9/11 attacks 20 years ago, graciously sheltered the 7,000 passengers and crews of the 38 flights that were diverted there for an entire week.
Through the eyes and stories of various characters, the musical honours our human capacity to transcend division and hatred, thereby extending compassion and comfort even to strangers.
One of the most poignant songs in this musical (Me and the Sky) tells the story of Captain Beverley Bass. It starts off with her childhood dream of being an airline pilot and the struggles she faced in the male-dominated world of commercial aviation; then the song joyfully celebrates her trailblazing achievements with the lyrics: “Suddenly there’s nothing in between me and the sky”.
But then, 9/11 happens. The tone of the song – which until now was soaring and jubilant – crashes into melancholy. Now it reflects Captain Beverley’s heartache when she laments that “the one thing I loved more than anything was used as the bomb”. We cannot help but feel for this woman who now sees flight and aeroplanes – her lifelong passion – being perverted into instruments of hatred and violence. The joy and freedom she previously associated with flying is now forever tarnished, as she sings: “Suddenly there’s something in between me and the sky”.
Whenever I hear this song, I cannot help but view her predicament as a metaphor for the corruption of anything that is pure and beautiful. Consider, for instance, the way in which religion has been abused and misused over the ages. 9/11 was a case in point: secularists and atheists were quick to pounce, indiscriminately condemning all religions as instruments of death and hatred, with mottos like “Science flies you to the moon; religion flies you into buildings”.
Although their logic is flawed and their conclusions wrong, I see the point they are trying to make. When religious people act in scandalous and harmful ways, they are the ones undermining their religion and beliefs, not the atheists. Even Blaise Pascal (1623-1662), a French philosopher of deep faith and religious sentiment, remarked that: “Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction.” All too often, sadly, religious people constitute the worst advertisement for religion.
If I’m honest, therefore, I must acknowledge that my sin, selfishness and pride are the “something in-between me and the sky”. St James, in today’s second reading, makes this explicit: “Wherever you find jealousy and ambition, you find disharmony, and wicked things of every kind being done.” These egotistical desires within our hearts, he insists, lead to wars and battles among communities.
Today’s gospel offers us a salutary antidote. It shows us Jesus once again teaching his disciples about his forthcoming passion and death, in fulfilment of prophecies like the one in today’s first reading from the Book of Wisdom.
Regrettably, the disciples’ initial confusion soon devolves into squabbling about who among them is the greatest. Even the mere prospect of their master’s impending absence was enough to kick-start a frenzied jostling for position among them.
Undeterred, Jesus uses this as a teaching opportunity, placing humility and service at the heart of all authentic religious sentiment: “If anyone wants to be first, he must make himself last of all and servant of all.” Then, to these two criteria he adds a third: the welcoming of others, especially those who are least in society. Embracing a child as a symbol of those who are ignored and excluded, he promises that in welcoming them we welcome God himself.
Like the citizens of Gander, Newfoundland, did 20 years ago.