The reverberations from last December’s act of terrorism targeting a Jewish family-orientated Festival of the Light seaside gathering in Bondi, Sydney is being felt around the world. In Australia, it will be remembered as one of the worst mass shooting experienced in modern times, taking its place alongside the 1996 Port Arthur massacre.
Calls for communities to come together and show an extra measure of care and thoughtfulness quickly emerged, and leaders of various faith traditions and Christian denominations spoke readily and with carefully worded messages.
Processing such events is complex and varied and community gatherings have a significant role to play. But how do we approach such events in ways that are respectful of Jewish faith traditions and people of other faith or no specifical faith tradition?
There have been various stages, spheres and levels of reflection to the responses thus far. My particular interest in this post is experiential, communal, theological and pastoral.
In the immediate days following this dreadful act it was clear many people needed some space to debrief and identify something of the impact such an event had created. How might we personally and as a community express and (to a very limited extent) put into words our shock, anger, grief, fears and concerns.
A time for more forensic and systemic reviews would come in due course (now largely through a Federal Royal Commission), and more structured ‘set-piece’ memorial events would be planned in subsequent weeks. But what about our own face-to-face interactions as a community? And what might a local church offer in such a space, recognising the targets of this terrorism was a Jewish community, with a distinctive faith and culture to be respected and undertaking a religious observance identified specifically with that faith community? Was there not a danger Christian churches might be seen to be muscling in on community grief and imposing its own culture and beliefs outside our own pastoral remit?
With such a range of thoughts and concerns in mind I approached our local Residents’ Association to get some feedback on the possibility of our church hosting a somewhat impromptu memorial gathering with an open invitation for people of any faith or no specific faith to join us. The feedback was positive and so I set about planning such an event.
By way of summarising a number of considerations I adopted, I have listed below some foundational principles that guided me:
- All humanity, regardless of race, faith, gender, ethnicity or culture share in the image and likeness of God. I wanted to affirm and acknowledge that in such a public event.
- My own Christian faith-tradition shares much in common with Jewish faith (in its diverse forms), from recognition of the books of the Torah through to the cries, petitions, lament and hope reflected in the Prophets and Psalms. I chose to limit our readings of Scripture to such texts.
- The festival being celebrated, Hannukkah, is particularly rich in its significance and theology. As the commencement of an eight day ‘Festival of Lights’, the imagery was poignant and appropriate. The sentiment of “light will indeed defeat darkness” was emerging as a genuine expression of resolve and hope.
- The lighting of candles is widely recognised as a gesture of remembrance, honour and entering a sacred moment of shared grief.
- The public naming of the victims makes a powerful statement that each victim had a story, a life, a personality and precious place within other people’s lives.
- I refused to name or bring any attention to the perpetrators, nor speculate on what drove them to commit such evil. This gathering was not about them.
- I also decided to not have any speeches, let alone sermonising. Other set piece gatherings had various community and political leaders tread the path of expressing genuine condolence while hinting at where blame and failure might be found. The emerging toxicity of public speeches shocked many and left me deeply dismayed. I let it known in the publicity there would be no speeches.
- I also made it clear to my own church community that this wasn’t a church service. As a church, we were seeking to provide hospitality and safe space for our wider community and to model respect and care for people of other faiths or no identified religious faith. Feedback after the event reflected that this was appreciated and noteworthy.
- Finally, there was much to affirm in this gathering. Stories of incredible (and costly!) bravery were emerging. Concern for the vulnerable (especially children), an incredible act of heroism by a Muslim immigrant, the instinctive, professional and yet very human responses by police, medical responders, life guards and a wider community of neighbourhood citizens opening homes and cafes—all such affirmed something good that can emerge in such times: an instinct to look out for others, to do whatever could be done in the midst of such chaos.
- Naming and showing gratitude for such stories and examples both expresses the thoughts and sentiments of many in our wider community (and that is a function of public leadership), and also opens up some creative pathways for the narrative associated with this event to be framed in positive terms, albeit in the context of horror.
The event went well (about a third of those present were from the wider community). It was a modest contribution in the scheme of things and it certainly was not part of any wider missional ‘strategy’. My goal was simply to provide something to our neighbourhood that may assist or support those who may have been feeling isolated or appreciative of a communal event at this time.
