Weeping through the closing credits
Nobody weeps through movie credits do they? But there I sat, in the dark, one Saturday night, on the back row of a crowded movie theater, applauding with everyone else as the closing credits began to appear. That’s when emotions began to stir from a deep place within me that left me fighting the urge to weep through the credits. Seeing the names appear on the screen prompted me to recall names and faces I had been observing all week, a week unlike any other in recent memory.
Monday April 15, just before 3 p.m. two bombs detonated during the Boston Marathon leaving three dead, hundreds injured, a celebrated city in terror and a proud nation heartbroken. Now the credits begin to roll. Boston police, firemen, EMTs and a host of medical and security personnel, all racing to rescue, protect and restore a beloved city. Moments later scores of Bostonians began running in the direction of the blasts, not even sure if the attack was over, but determined to help others in need. One elderly gentleman, standing in the blood soaked chaos, took off his T-shirt and ripped it into pieces to provide bandages for total strangers. Can you hear the sound of applause starting to rise?
Tuesday April 16. This day marked the 50th anniversary of Martin Luther King’s inspirational “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” in which he wrote the following: “Was not Jesus an extremist for love: ‘Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.’ Will we be extremists for the preservation of injustice or for the extension of justice?” In the aftermath of Boston’s tragedy, can you think of better medicine for the soul than the counsel of Dr. King? So I gladly added his name to the list of credits!
Wednesday April 17, at 7:30 p.m. the city of West, Texas, experiences a major fire at a fertilizer plant. Firemen bravely face the danger, they understand the risk, undeterred they fight the fire, and then there is an explosion. The explosion leaves a hole 93 feet wide and 10 feet deep in the Texas soil. But that is inconsequential compared to the gaping hole now lodged in the heart of a Texas community. How do families in such agony, bury their dead, and dry enough tears to see a future clearly enough to walk towards it? I don’t know. But I know they will! Do you know why? Because that’s what Americans always do. Through the crushing defeats, and the twisted wreckage that life often time produces, Americans always find the resolve to push forward. You bet, I added West, Texas, to the credits.
Thursday April 18, I was reminded that on this day in 1775 Paul Revere began his famous nighttime ride through the Massachusetts countryside warning American colonists of an imminent British invasion. I was dumbfounded to note that on this same day in 1983, 63 people, including 17 Americans, were murdered by a suicide bomber at the U.S. Embassy in Beirut Lebanon. Terrorists are rarely preceded by a ‘Paul Revere’ so I’m adding his name to the credits along with all who vigilantly seek to protect American lives around the world.
Friday April 19, I was helping to bury a former soldier who had survived the Persian Gulf War. His family, friends, co-workers and members of the community were all there to offer support. There under a cloud of grief, something majestic, something noble, something that awakened my soul, began to stir. It was the presence of military personal in uniforms, the jarring sound of a 21-gun salute, the folding of the American flag and the prayer offered by the military Chaplain that reminded me of countless others who have gallantly served our country. On behalf of a grateful nation I added his name to the credits.
So that Saturday night, having just watched “42,” the story of Jackie Robinson, I was fighting back emotions that started welling up Monday morning. My wife and I had gone to the movies to enjoy a film about a true American hero. When the credits began to roll, applause began to rise, and my eyes began to sting as tears were formed. Nobody weeps through movie credits, do they? But there I sat, in the dark, one Saturday night.