“In all the heartbreaking dramas of the world, a woman is
summoned to have her heart pierced mystically, as a man’s heart is riven with
steel. A Jacqueline leaning over a John
is a compassionate beating of a heart in rhythm with a Mary leaning over a crucified
Jesus. Grant the infinite distance
between a God-man dying for the sins of the world and a man dying because of a
man’s inhumanity to man; grant that unbridgeable span between voluntarily
laying down one’s life and having it violently taken away – the latter still
derives its value from the former, as the coin from the die.
I was in Rome in the first shattering shock of the death
of President Kennedy. The suddenness of
his death came like and earthquake; it
affected so many and in such magnitude that one could not find a heart to
console – others, too, were inconsolable.
In lesser bereavements, there are those who are not involved, but then
there were no others to wipe away tears, for they too were mourners.
Nothing is as democratic as death, for all of a sudden,
there is no distinction between Jew or Greek, male or female, socialist or
totalitarian, Republican or Democrat.
All suddenly realize the wickedness of the world in which we live. Not until we see what is done to the
humanity-loving do we grasp the frenzied hate which will not be stilled by the
tears of a little John or the whimpering sadness of a Caroline.
It takes a sacrificial death to break down the walls of
division. When some men refuse to
acknowledge others as their equals under God, words will not unite them. It takes blood. It took a Lincoln’s blood to unite a nation;
it has taken a Kennedy’s blood to prepare for the equality of men in the same
nation. This is the mystery of his death
– the price men destined for greatness have to pay to prove that love is
stronger than hate.
Above all our national figures, these two Presidents of
Sorrow stand forever near the Man of Sorrows saying: ‘I will stand here at Thy
side; despise my nation not.’
Perhaps we never thought of it before, but underneath our
grief was the surprising truth that we measure the enormity of a crime by the
nobility of the victim. The same act
committed against a fellow citizen would have been murder too, but it would
have convulsed us more if the mayor of a city were killed in identical
circumstances; and still more if it had been the governor of a state. The top of the tottering pyramid of grief is
reached when the president of a nation is assassinated.
The impact, the scandal, and the paralysis mount with the
eminence of the one slain. Thus,
suddenly, without our ever having suspected that we knew any theology, we
affirmed in grief that principle that ‘Sin is always measured by the one sinned
against.’ I will not carry it any
further than to say: Suppose that Perfect Innocence and Truth and Love become a
victim to evil and mediocrity, and was put to death by us? Would not our grief be almost too deep for
tears?
We have walked with pleasure for many a mile and we have
smiled and smiled, and learned nothing.
But what a vista of the mystery which lies in the heart of the world’s
redemption was unveiled when we, as a people, walked with sorrow! People become more united in sorrow than in
pleasure. Across the nation, citizens
were enjoying theaters, sports, parties, cocktails, and a thousand and one
pursuits of eros in which the ego satisfies itself under the guise of a love of
another. Then all these disparate and separate
enjoyments, like scattered drops of mercury, suddenly came together in one
center – the broken heart of America.
There were no longer political parties, business competitors, grasping
fingers – there was beating only one heart.
It is well to be proud of our country, but if the memory
of a death means anything, we will no longer boast as if the peacock were our
national symbol, saying: ‘I am an American,’ but, in the full consciousness
that our symbol is an eagle mounting ever upwards, we will say: ‘May I be
worthy to be an American.’”
-
Venerable Archbishop Fulton Sheen (The Power of
Love)
