Bono-Easter and Lent

April 19, 2009
Op-Ed Guest Columnist
It’s 2009. Do You Know Where Your Soul Is?
By BONO
I AM in Midtown Manhattan, where drivers still play their car horns as if they were musical instruments and shouting in restaurants is sport.
I am a long way from the warm breeze of voices I heard a week ago on Easter Sunday.
"Glorify your name," the island women sang, as they swayed in a cut sandstone church. I was overwhelmed by a riot of color, an emotional swell that carried me to sea.
Christianity, it turns out, has a rhythm — and it crescendos this time of year. The rumba of Carnival gives way to the slow march of Lent, then to the staccato hymnals of the Easter parade. From revelry to reverie. After 40 days in the desert, sort of ...
Carnival — rock stars are good at that.
"Carne" is flesh; "Carne-val," its goodbye party. I’ve been to many.
Brazilians say they’ve done it longest; they certainly do it best.
You can’t help but contract the fever. You’ve got no choice but to join the ravers as they swell up the streets bursting like the banks of a river in a flood of fun set to rhythm. This is a Joy that cannot be conjured. This is life force. This is the heart full and spilling over with gratitude. The choice is yours ...
It’s Lent I’ve always had issues with. I gave it up ... self-denial is where I come a cropper. My idea of discipline is simple — hard work — but of course that’s another indulgence.
Then comes the dying and the living that is Easter.
It’s a transcendent moment for me — a rebirth I always seem to need.
Never more so than a few years ago, when my father died. I recall the embarrassment and relief of hot tears as I knelt in a chapel in a village in France and repented my prodigal nature — repented for fighting my father for so many years and wasting so many opportunities to know him better. I remember the feeling of "a peace that passes understanding" as a load lifted. Of all the Christian festivals, it is the Easter parade that demands the most faith — pushing you past reverence for creation, through bewilderment at the idea of a virgin birth, and into the far-fetched and far-reaching idea that death is not the end. The cross as crossroads. Whatever your religious or nonreligious views, the chance to begin again is a compelling idea.
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Last Sunday, the choirmaster was jumping out of his skin ... stormy then still, playful then tender, on the most upright of pianos and melodies. He sang his invocations in a beautiful oaken tenor with a freckle-faced boy at his side playing conga and tambourine as if it was a full drum kit. The parish sang to the rafters songs of praise to a God that apparently surrendered His voice to ours.
I come to lowly church halls and lofty cathedrals for what purpose? I search the Scriptures to what end? To check my head? My heart? No, my soul. For me these meditations are like a plumb line dropped by a master builder — to see if the walls are straight or crooked. I check my emotional life with music, my intellectual life with writing, but religion is where I soul-search.
The preacher said, "What good does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses his soul?" Hearing this, every one of the pilgrims gathered in the room asked, "Is it me, Lord?" In America, in Europe, people are asking, "Is it us?"
Well, yes. It is us.
Carnival is over. Commerce has been overheating markets and climates ... the sooty skies of the industrial revolution have changed scale and location, but now melt ice caps and make the seas boil in the time of technological revolution. Capitalism is on trial; globalization is, once again, in the dock. We used to say that all we wanted for the rest of the world was what we had for ourselves. Then we found out that if every living soul on the planet had a fridge and a house and an S.U.V., we would choke on our own exhaust.
Lent is upon us whether we asked for it or not. And with it, we hope, comes a chance at redemption. But redemption is not just a spiritual term, it’s an economic concept. At the turn of the millennium, the debt cancellation campaign, inspired by the Jewish concept of Jubilee, aimed to give the poorest countries a fresh start. Thirty- four million more children in Africa are now in school in large part because their governments used money freed up by debt relief. This redemption was not an end to economic slavery, but it was a more hopeful beginning for many. And to the many, not the lucky few, is surely where any soul-searching must lead us.
A few weeks ago I was in Washington when news arrived of proposed cuts to the president’s aid budget. People said that it was going to be hard to fulfill promises to those who live in dire circumstances such a long way away when there is so much hardship in the United States. And there is.
But I read recently that Americans are taking up public service in greater numbers because they are short on money to give. And, following a successful bipartisan Senate vote, word is that Congress will restore the money that had been cut from the aid budget — a refusal to abandon those who would pay such a high price for a crisis not of their making. In the roughest of times, people show who they are.
Your soul.
So much of the discussion today is about value, not values. Aid well spent can be an example of both, values and value for money.
Providing AIDS medication to just under four million people, putting in place modest measures to improve maternal health, eradicating killer pests like malaria and rotoviruses — all these provide a leg up on the climb to self-sufficiency, all these can help us make friends in a world quick to enmity. It’s not alms, it’s investment.
It’s not charity, it’s justice.
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Strangely, as we file out of the small stone church into the cruel sun, I think of Warren Buffett and Bill Gates, whose now combined fortune is dedicated to the fight against extreme poverty. Agnostics both, I believe. I think of Nelson Mandela, who has spent his life upholding the rights of others. A spiritual man — no doubt.
Religious? I’m told he would not describe himself that way.
Not all soul music comes from the church.

The garden

I love olive trees. They are so old and gnarly. They are a picture of something that grows well-in an orchard. An orchard is a managed space, not a wild one, or a free market to use an economic term. In fact olive trees will grow for 1000's of years. Not many things seem to grow well on their own. Most things, like you and I, need pruning (amongst other things). Pruning makes us like plants, send roots down deeper, spurs growth in healthy directions, creates opportunity for more fruit, and produces more consistent fruit production.

What happens when we are not pruned? Well, we grow in unhealthy directions, fruitless directions, we tend to be full of leaves and only have a little fruit. Ever felt like you had a lot of stuff going on and not much to show for it? Not pruning also produces one other ill effect that few consider. A garden that is left to itself, that is unmanaged usually grows to the detriment of something else. Some other plant will get squeezed out. An unchecked garden is a place only the strong survive. Ultimately we need to be pruned for the sake of others. Our ministries, our pride, our productivity left unchecked will squeeze the life out of other plants, other good things. Things that are still small, tender and undeveloped may not develop because they are not in an environment where they can thrive.

Think about our economy, our lifestyles, do we think we can grow, consume and have and not hurt, not crowd others around us? Our pruning is ultimately for the good of others, so that others can grow.

For me this revelation is hitting home as I consider my role as a pastor, and leader. In helping people live with one another. In creating a place for people to grow, pruning is one of the most important things I can encourage, because if I don't the plants in the garden will compete, fruit will decrease, and only the strong will survive.

cheers