Edges Magazine Issue 25: Dying Embers, Living Faith

EDGES MAGAZINE Issue 25

April 2001

DYING EMBERS, LIVING FAITH

Elaine Kennedy reflects on the fire that gutted part of St. Anne's Church.

"Suddenly he understood how the wings of his joy were clipped close, and anger heated him again. Let them fall and vanish, so the work goes on!"

William Golding - The Spire.

We all have in our memory stores, events which , in our lives were so momentous in their joy or in their sorrow that the lasting impressions are deep, vivid and unforgettable.

Thursday December 21st 2000 was such an event for me. The phone rang at 4am. I was awake in an instant and down at St. Anne's fifteen minutes later. There were fire engines everywhere, the roads were closed. I stood on the pavement with Father Jim, watching incredulously as smoke billowed out of the church. A small crowd joined us; taxi drivers; insomniacs who regularly walk around at night. Words cannot convey the awfulness of that night. Being helpless against the enormity of the situation left me reflecting on my smallness, vulnerability and dependence on God.

The house was out of bounds to us, being a potential danger if the wind changed. We were reduced in solidarity with each other, to the space we stood in under the heavens; helpless, horrified and overwhelmed. Onlookers kept up a supply of coffee and comforting chatter. Speculation keeps people occupied when they feel inadequate in the face of disaster. God was good to us! It remained a mild, dry night and the wind didn't change and threaten the house or school.

The enormity of the disaster struck home to us when tongues of flames started to appear through the roof of the gable at the organ end. Contrasted against the night sky, they were all the more striking. We just kept saying, "Oh dear God," over and over; too shocked as yet for tears. The firemen decided it was time to release the pressure which was by now tremendous in the church, so they made a hole in the roof. Flames burst sky-wards like a massive, well orchestrated firework display. High up on the roof, the stone cross stood out in the flames against the dark sky; defiant; awesome and powerful.

Fifty-five firemen working in co-ordinated unity, like a well-oiled machine is also an awesome sight. Two firemen were raised on platforms, well above the roof and hosed down simultaneously, creating a mushroom of steam which completely engulfed them. I still wonder frequently at the bravery of the people who did that.

Since that dreadful night, I have, like many others, lamented the loss of that beautiful church and all the emotions tied up with that. But each time, I remember those symbolic sights of the cross unthwarted in adversity and the human endeavour towing over the inferno. Although inside the church is now a heartbreaking mess, there are times when the sun shines through the damaged roof and God reveals his beauty in the chaos. At seven a.m., we were allowed to re-enter the house. The next fifteen hours were action packed! There unrolled an incredible witness to the solidarity of our human family. Here God revealed his beauty in chaos. Having heard the local radio, people phoned; stopped by - well-wishers on their way to work; passers-by; local clergy. Distraught parishioners, dignified in their grief, stayed most of the day. It was a family in bereavement. The kettle bubbled permanently and the house resounded to the sounds of life, T.V. cameras, tea and tears!

It is natural to mourn the desecration of a building steeped in sacred connotations and countless blessed memories; yet the witness of faith that keeps the community together and functioning is the indestructible essence of the church.

People will always ask why God allows painful things to happen. I don't believe God allows or disallows. He gave us free will. It is an arsonist's free choice to set fire to a building. It is we who make things happen, or not. It is a person's free choice to risk his life for others; it is a peoples' choice to rise, in solidarity, above adversity. This free will has been ours since Adam and Eve. What God does do , is to draw us all together. He gathers us in the palm of his hand: the arsonist, the fireman, the mournful parishioners and holds us all above the dying embers of a wrecked building.

'There is a kinship among people who have sat by a dying fire and measured the worth of their life by it.'

William Golding. The Spire.