The Forgotten: A Memorial Service

​Source: https://angelusnews.com/news/us-world/coptic-orthodox-to-dedicate-church-to-new-martyrs-of-libya/ 

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On February 15, 2015, terrorists decapitated on camera twenty Coptic Christians working in Libya, as well as worker from Ghana. The beheadings were rehearsed many times and filmed. One cannot remember every act of terror in our world—there are too many. I remember this one as a symbol of them all.
 
The Forgotten: A Memorial Service (1) 

     mouths dripping with the saliva of terror
     —Czeslaw Milosz, “From the Chronicles of the Town of Pornic”
 
     From afar I bear timid witness.
 
February 2015 – February 2024
 
Nine years have passed, nine winters
whose lies and self-deceptions
have not effaced the horror

Today I remember

Hani Abdel Messihah
one of twenty-one beheaded
on a cold beach just after

the day we give to Valentine--
a saint who, before we prettied him up,
was himself beheaded.

His color is red.
The surf on the beach
in Libya was bloody.

Join me in mourning.


MAGDA, HANI'S WIFE (2)

I felt he was an angel.
A prayer
was in every word he said.


THE MOTHERS
adapted from a Coptic hymn (3)
 
I am the mourning mother. Who now will comfort me?
Let the death of your Son be life to those who lose it.
 
The Mother of Jesus wept and then the watchers wept.
Let the death of your Son be life to those who lack it.
 
The dove sighed for the scattering of her family.
Let the death of your Son be life to those who seek it.
 
The daughters of Jerusalem cry for their lost sons.
Let the death of your Son be life to those who want it.
 
Come to Mary His mother to weep and comfort her.
Let the death of your Son be life to those who love Him.


THE POET

I could not sleep--
in the street
another lonesome dog.


THE SWORD OF ISIS

I am a thirsty mouth--
your bodies were
my drinking cup.


THE ORANGE JUMPSUITS

In me you looked alike
and easier to kill.


HANI

I prayed death would not call
till I had named all I love
and loved all I name.


THE MARTYRS

History
a gift from God
we would like to give back.


THE POET

Sudden death
moon
slips below the horizon.


MEMORY

So many have fallen, without my inspiration
how can anyone remember them?
But now I recall for you the twenty-one
for whom between the shoulder and the mouth
a holy chasm opened. They will be named
on this little wall of poem:

Abanub who fell by Milad,
waiting his turn by Maged,
     for they were patient men
in line with Kirollos,
Ezzat and Tawadros,
Bishoy, and Samuel
     for they were orderly men
wishing they could say
to Malak, Mina, and Hani,
God bless you, farewell,

and to two named Girgis,
another Malak and Samuel,
and to Youssef “who lived
according to the Book”
     for they were faithful men.
They were weeping for Loqa,
for Munir and Esam,
for Sameh and themselves,
     for they were kind-hearted men.
These poor Egyptians wept

for Matthew of Ghana
who had joined them to work
in the oil-rich country
of kidnappings and killings
     for they were brave men
and send money home. He worked
with them and died with them,
and like them said, “Yes, we need
to flee—but not yet,”
     for they were sometimes foolish men.

In each of them a world
lost its husband, father, son;
creation lost men who loved
the cooing of the doves in the tall dovecotes,
the songs that wail from the speakers
in the souk, the smells
of pounded sesame and honey,
the mud of the Nile drying on the feet.

Weep for the sand they stood on, big as a sea.
Weep for the sea they looked out on, big as the sky.
Weep for the sky they looked up to, bigger than everything. 

Hear their prayer as they died with Jesus on the tongue:

We thank You for everything,
concerning everything, and in everything
for You have covered us, helped us, guarded us,
accepted us to Yourself,

You have spared us, supported us, brought us to this hour

in which we have been unguarded, unhelped, and uncovered,
our flesh neither spared nor supported,
but for which ascending on high we thank You in everything,
concerning everything, for everything.4


THE POET (5)

Seventy times seven times each one died.
At the first rehearsal the twenty-one cried.
Then, numbed, drugged, frightened into compliance,
only their murmured prayers disturbed the silence.
Then the performance: heads fell by their sides.

Their souls, to Jesus’ love securely tied,
rose on the fledgling wings they’d never tried
but trusted. Forgiveness is the holy science:
seventy times seven times

it flew them higher, still higher, into the side
wounded by a spear, where they abide.
In what hope can we place a sure reliance
when evil flourishes in arrogance?
Let us be of this mind—God will provide
seventy times seven times.


Notes:
(1) Unless otherwise noted, information on the martyrs is from Martin Mosebach, The 21: A Journey into the Land of Coptic Martyrs. Translated by Alta L. Price. Plough Publishing House, 2020.
(2) Sophia Jones, “ISIS Boasted of These Christians’ Deaths. Here Are the Lives They Lived. Huffington Post, 18 February 2015 (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/02/18/isis-christians-killed-_n_6703278.html). An excellent photo-essay. 
(3) Ana Al-om Al-hazeina, http://tasbeha.org/hymn_library/view/1694?mid=7401.
(4) The final three stanzas of this section are based on a Coptic prayer of Thanksgiving (http://tasbeha.org/hymn_library/view/1833).
(5) The beheadings were repeatedly rehearsed to make the final on camera “performance” perfect.