Not Alone

Hardy and I have just returned from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania where we had booked a tour of Washington DC as the first agenda item of an amazing week. The rest of the week was spent attending an event that takes place every six years in a different part of the world. It is the Mennonite World Conference Assembly : Mennonites and Anabaptists worldwide gather in one place to worship, meet and greet, explore each other's cultures, etc. This is the third such conference we have attended. Six years ago we were in Asuncion, Paraguay and before that in Winnipeg.

Of what we saw on the Washington tour I was most impressed with the Library of Congress. It was constructed between 1888 and 1894 in the Beaux Arts style. Walking down the marble halls decorated with murals and paintings, and looking up at the stained glass dome, I thought I was in Europe, not in America. I wanted to spend the whole week there, instead of just one hour!

We were intrigued to see a copy of the Gutenberg Bible, which is one of the first major books printed using movable type. Today there are only 21 complete copies in existence, and only three of them in perfect vellum.

I envied this woman who was completely absorbed in her book. She was not even aware that I was taking her photograph. Fifty years earlier, as a black woman, she would not have been given access to this library! Some things have changed for the better.

The last stop on our tour was the Arlington National Cemetery. They told us it was the hottest day of the year in Washington, so Hardy opted to stay in the bus and wait this one out. As I gazed at the thousands and thousands of white crosses, I wondered what was wrong with humanity. Why do we have to kill each other and then glorify and honor these actions? It is depressing to think that all these lives were cut short for political reasons. The casket of each soldier is taken to its resting place by a horse-drawn cart. We observed two such funerals taking place from a distance.

This cemetery is also the home of the deceased members of President John F. Kennedy and his family. As I looked at their gravestones, I pondered the immense sadness and tragedy that has dogged this family. Jackie had a miscarriage followed by a stillborn daughter, Arabella, in 1956. Her name is not on her gravestone. I thought perhaps they hadn't named her since she was stillborn, but when I searched the web I found that she did have a name. I wonder why they did not put it on her tombstone.

Jackie had two more children, Caroline in 1957 and John Jr. in 1960. In 1963 the family experienced a double tragedy. In August baby Patrick was born prematurely and died after two days. In November, JFK was assassinated. I'm sure Jackie felt she had to be strong for her children, but I don't know how she coped with all of this. She passed away in 1994 at age 65. Fortunately she did not have to deal with her son John's death in an aviation accident in 1999. Caroline is the only one left of her immediate family. 

When I looked up from the Kennedy family's gravestones, I realized that I was alone, left behind by my tour group!  I looked around but no one familiar was in sight. "How could they have disappeared so quickly?" I thought to myself. With the sun blazing down on me,  I walked as fast as possible in order to catch up. Our tour guide had an umbrella from the Bodensee, which he held up so people like me could spot him, but I did not. To my relief I saw one member of our group ahead of me, walking in the same direction. He is from India and was one of the first people we met on this tour. He was just as happy to see me but neither of us was much help to the other. He said he would go to some of the upper areas of the cemetery to see if he could spot the group and I should wait for him. So I sat in the shade for some time, and began to panic thinking he was not coming back. I started walking toward where he had gone and suddenly saw him waving at me. I thought he must have found the group, but he had not. We walked and walked, asking for directions until we finally got to the gate connecting us to the road. They told us the buses were some distance away. Just before we reached the first bus, our tour guide came walking toward us, holding up his umbrella! My friend from India said, "Thank you, Jesus" and I added my "Amen!" The group had waited 15 minutes and another woman whom I had befriended earlier had just volunteered to go and look for us. 

I was very relieved to be back in the air-conditioned bus. Wandering around among thousands of gravestones not knowing where I was headed was not exactly how I enjoyed spending my time. I had a similar experience in Kiev in 2010 when we visited the monastery caves!

Below is a song we sang during the world conference. I sang it very heartily and with great feeling after my experience at the Arlington Cemetery! Not only was I happy that I had found my way back to the tour group. I was thankful that I belong to a group of people who identify themselves as people who care for one another and stand with each other because of their common love for a God of peace and reconciliation. Cultural differences are not a hindrance but an enhancement; something that enriches us as we learn from each other and strive for love and acceptance in a world torn by war and strife.

                                    We're not alone, we are one body,

                                    We're not alone, we stand with you,

                 We're not alone, your time of suffering is our suffering too.

                           And we know the day is coming, when we will be rejoicing anew!

                                                             Bryan Moyer Suderman