by Dr. Lori Randall
Today’s calendar brings sorrowful remembrance for residents of the U.S. and for our friends around the world who watched with stunned sympathy as buildings collapsed and loved ones were lost.
Regrettably, the days of sorrowful remembrance on the human calendar are all too many. Statistically speaking, it is almost certain that each day brings a local sorrow to at least one someone somewhere: the anniversary of a death, of a falling-out with a friend, of an illness or accident, of a decision with unforeseen consequences. Meanwhile, history suggests that each day could very well bring the remembrance of a larger-scale sorrow to at least one part of the world: war, oppression, genocide, or the devastation of a natural disaster.
The collective weight of human suffering seems, sometimes, almost too much to bear. And yet, in the midst of sorrow, we often find the most tender expressions of Humanity. History is filled with stories of Humanity shining through in times of extreme darkness: people who protected their metaphorical brothers and sisters from Nazi persecution; people who fought against the idea of buying and selling humans as property; people who fought and continue to fight for the human and civil rights of their metaphorical brothers and sisters at home and abroad.
Most of us will never be called upon to act in such heroic ways for the good of our Human family. But what about all the ordinary ways we bring compassionate Humanity to the ones among us who sorrow?
When I was worried about a medical procedure, you drove me to the appointment and waited with me.
When I had a really awful day—the kind of day when everything goes wrong—you made tea for me.
When I needed to travel home unexpectedly for my brother’s funeral, you made travel arrangements for me.
When I had the flu and didn’t have enough energy to go buy medicine, you went to the Walgreens for me.
When I lost a beloved pet, you brought me flowers.
When I was lonely, you were a companion to me.
When I felt like I was unworthy of love, you gave me your smile and your ear.
When my sorrow was too deep to describe, you held me.
When I had a problem too big for either of us to handle, you prayed with me.
If you’ve been the “you” in any of the scenarios outlined above, you know how simple—almost insignificant—your actions were. You may find yourself thinking, “I should have done more.”
If you’ve been the “I” in any of the scenarios outlined above, you know how profoundly you were touched by the actions of the “you” who recognized and responded to your sorrow. While each of these responses may have been simple, none of them was insignificant. Each of them soothed your heart and your soul; each of them brought Light into a time of intense personal darkness; each of them reminded you of the precious gift we have in one another. Each of these actions lightened your sorrow and brought you a measure of joy in beholding the beauty of Humanity.
When the calendar days of sorrowful remembrance seem overwhelming, respond with resolution to bring Light—no matter how faint it may seem to you—into the darkness.
—Lori Randall, in remembrance of the events of September 11, 2001, and in compassion for all those affected by the landslide and flooding in the Himalayas, September, 2026.
Click https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tHGLX-0zkjI to hear how composer Eliza Gilkyson brought Light into the sorrowful darkness of an international tragedy. Gilkyson composed this piece, Requiem, as a response to the devastation of the 2004 earthquake and tsunami in the Indian Ocean. Nearly 228,000 people across 14 countries are estimated to have died in this event. The version of Requiem heard here, performed by the ensemble Conspirare, was arranged and conducted by Craig Hella Johnson.