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Jim McCrory

Good Evening Bangladesh! What Will Our Journey Be?

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Saturday, 4 Jan 2025, 10:27



"It is not down on any map; true places never are." 

Herman Melville




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Pothik (পথিক, Bengali) A traveller or wayfarer. 

 It evokes a poetic sense of wandering, 

both literal and metaphorical, 

as part of life’s journey.


Yesterday, as the sun dipped low over the west coast of Scotland, its farewell beams invited me on a drive. The beach was tranquil, save for the soothing strains of reggae music drifting from a young couple’s radio as they left the sands.

I greeted them, as is my custom, stepping momentarily into the shoes of those who have often been "othered" in a land not theirs. The husband’s eyes sparkled with the day’s happiness as he shared their small celebration, “We have just had a Barbeque.” It was zero degrees, but that never seemed to matter to them

 “Bangladesh,” they told me when I inquired about their origins. I wished them well on their journey through life, a silent prayer blessing their path as I continued my own walk along the shore.

This encounter lingered in my mind, a vivid illustration of what it means to be a Pothik—a wayfarer not just on the physical roads but on the greater journey of life itself. Our paths cross with others for brief moments, yet these intersections are rich with potential for mutual understanding and connection.

This morning, as I read through Romans 14, the scripture seemed to echo my thoughts from the previous day: “Why, then, do you judge your brother? Or why do you belittle your brother? For we will all stand before God’s judgment seat... every knee will bow... every tongue will confess... So then, each of us will give an account of himself to God.” (NIV).

The words resonated deeply, weaving together the day’s physical journey with the spiritual path we all tread. One day, we will each face our Creator, and the tapestry of our lives—each thread a choice made, each color a deed done—will be unfurled before Him. It is a sobering thought, yet it carries a promise too, urging us to live with compassion and understanding, mindful of the ultimate journey that each Pothik undertakes—towards truth, towards reconciliation, towards home.

 

  • NIV – New International Version
 

 

 

 

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Jim McCrory

Goodbye Norma Jean From a Broken-Hearted Nation

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Saturday, 21 Sept 2024, 11:27


"Pass Us by and Forgive Us Our Happiness"

 Dostoevsky’s The Idiot




Image provided by https://unsplash.com/@vonshnauzer

John Koenig, in his book , The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, coins a striking term— “Dead Reckoning”—to describe the peculiar grief we feel for someone we hardly knew, yet whose death leaves an indelible mark on us.

I wasn’t much more than a child when Marilyn Monroe died in 1962, but I can imagine the way her passing sent waves of mourning across the world. People who never met her still grieved, feeling the strange sting of loss.

 And then there was that August morning, August 31, 1997. I still remember hearing the news over the radio —Princess Diana was dead. I had a speech to give that Sunday, but the words felt heavy in my mouth, like stones. The air in the room was thick, almost suffocating, as if the grief had weight, pressing down on all of us. It was everywhere, this sorrow for a woman most of us had only known through screens and headlines. Somehow, her death struck us deep.

 What perplexes me is how we, as humans, carry this capacity for empathy. Why do we mourn the death of someone we’ve never met? I’ve been pondering this all week, especially as I watched people move through Glasgow Central Station—rushing down the stairs, passing a young girl quietly sitting in a sleeping bag, hoping for help, for someone to notice her. And yet, not a single person stopped.

 Why is it that we can weep for a stranger thousands of miles away, but ignore the suffering of the person sitting right in front of us? Have we become desensitized, numbed by the endless tide of need we see on our streets? Or is it something more complicated, a defence mechanism in a world where the pain can sometimes feel too overwhelming to face?

It’s confusing, deeply so.


Note: When Prince Myshkin in  Dostoevsky’s The Idiot returned from convalescing in Switzerland, He observed how society had lost their moral compass and declared "Pass Us by and Forgive Us Our Happiness."

“Religion that is pure and undefiled before God the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world.” — James: 1:27 ESV


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