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Leader: Let us remember

All: That we are in the Holy Presence of God.

(Short Pause)

Reader 1: From "The Cellist of Sarajevo" by Paul Sullivan [Adapted]

In May of 1992, a bakery in Sarajevo which happened to have a supply of flour was making bread and distributing it to the starving, war-shattered people. At 4 PM a long line stretched into the street. Suddenly, a shell fell directly into the middle of the line, killing 22 people outright and splattering blood and gore over the entire area.

A hundred yards away lived a 37-year-old man named Vedran Smailovic. Before the war he had been principal cellist of the Sarajevo Opera Company—a distinguished and civilized job. When he saw the massacre outside his window, he was pushed beyond his capacity to endure anymore. Driven by his anguish, he decided he had to take action, so did the only thing he could. He made music.

Every day thereafter, at 4 PM precisely, Mr. Smailovic would put on his full, formal concert attire, and walk out of his apartment into the midst of the battle raging around him. He would place a little camp stool in the middle of the bomb craters, and play a concert to the abandoned streets, while bombs dropped and bullets flew all around him.

Day after day, he made his courageous stand for human dignity, for civilization, for compassion, and for peace. As though protected by a divine shield, he was never hurt, though his darkest hour came when, [as he took a little walk] to stretch his legs, his cello was shelled and destroyed where he had been sitting.

(Short Pause)

Response: From "Instrument of Thy Peace" — Alan Paton (exiled from South Africa in 1968)

to stand up and be counted

to stand up for those who cannot stand up for themselves,

to stand up for ourselves when it is needful for us to do so....

Let us love nothing more than we love you,

for thus we shall fear nothing also.

Let us have no other god before you,

whether nation or party or state or church.

Let us seek no other peace

but the peace which is yours,

and make us its instruments,

opening our eyes and our ears and our hearts.

So that we should know always

what work of peace we may do for you.

At the International Cello Festival in Manchester, England last April, I heard the greatest cellists in the world gather for a week of celebration. The opening night featured unaccompanied cello only. There on the stage sat a single, solitary chair. No piano, no music stand, just a chair. Yo Yo Ma came out and played a piece called "The Cellist of Sarajevo" by contemporary composer David Wilde. Quietly, almost imperceptibly, the music started, creating a shadowy, empty universe, pervaded by a sense of death. Slowly it built and grew into an agonizing, screaming, slashing furor which gradually subsided back, fading shamelessly into silence.

When he finished, he remained bent over his cello, bow still resting on the strings. No one moved—we scarcely dared to breathe. We all felt that we had just witnessed the horrible scene ourselves. After a long period of absolute silence, Yo Yo slowly straightened in his chair, looked into the audience, and raised his hand. He beckoned someone to come to the stage, and we realized it was him—the cellist of Sarajevo himself.

Vedran Smailovic, who had just escaped from Sarajevo, dressed in a tattered and stained leather motorcycle suit with fringe on the arms, rose from his seat and headed down the aisle as Yo Yo came off the stage and headed up the aisle to meet him. His wild, long hair and huge mustache framed a face that looked 80 years old—creased with pain and wet with so many tears. This was the first time he had heard the piece. With arms flung wide, they met each other in a passionate embrace right at my chair. The audience leapt to their feet in a chaotic, emotional frenzy, clapping, weeping, shouting, embracing, cheering. It was deafening and overwhelming. All the jewels and perfume and sophistication, now completely meaningless and forgotten—all stripped down to the starkest, deepest humanity. What a triumph for us all. And what a triumph for music! Here was a room filled with 600 people whose lives had been largely devoted to that simple and unassuming instrument. Here were bow makers, collectors, amateurs, historians, varnishers, and, of course, the greatest master players came from all over the world. And here they encounter a man who shook his cello in the face of bombs, death, and ruin—and defied them. It became the sword of Joan of Arc. It became the mightiest of them all.

(Longer Pause)

Response: From Abraham Lincoln's writings.

All: Grant, O merciful God,

that with malice toward none,

with charity to all,

with firmness in the right as you give us to see the right,

we may strive to finish the work we are in:

to bind up the nation's wounds

to care for those who have borne the battle

and for their widows and orphans,

to do all which may achieve and cherish

a just and lasting peace

among ourselves and with all nations.

Leader: Saint John Baptist de La Salle

All: Pray for us.

Leader: Live Jesus in our hearts.

All: Forever.