Beacons of Hope

There were a lot of things I expected out of my study abroad experience. Living in a new city, improving my French, making international friends, eating pastries, visiting museums- the usual. However, three days into my time in Paris and I was faced with something I never thought I’d experience.

It was Wednesday, January 7^th, 2015. I was spending the day in the Latin Quarter with two other Notre Dame students. We spent the morning in the French Social Security office filling out paper work. After, we decided to reward ourselves with a warm Panini and a trip to the Pantheon. The Pantheon is a peculiarly interesting old church converted into a burial place for the famous writers and thinkers of France. We passed time visiting the tombs of Victor Hugo, Voltaire, and Marie Curie. As we were on our way out, I noticed a missed call from my dad. When we got outside the monument I called him back.

“It’s expensive to call me, so be pithy,” I quipped when he picked up.

“I just want to make sure you aren’t dead,” He said bluntly. I exchanged confused glances with friends.

“Why would I be dead? Did something happen in Paris?” I asked.

He went onto explain that a terrorist attack had happened there that morning. He didn’t know much about it, only that the terrorists were still on the loose. I was instantly terrified. All of a sudden the city I had dreamed about became sinister and threatening. Each person walking by was a potential threat. Nowhere felt safe. I began shaking, tears threatening my eyes. I can never remember ever feeling as afraid as I did in that moment.

We ducked into a Starbucks to figure out what was happening. We were finally able to use the internet and look up the news. We figured out that it had been a planned attack against a satirical newspaper, Charlie Hebdo, which had been under threats for portraying Mohammad in their notoriously anti-religious cartoons. Learning that the attacks were planned and not just random made us feel a little bit safer and eventually we found the courage to leave the Starbucks and walk back to our dorm.

The next few days continued to be frightening as the city fell into lock down. Going to class, visiting monuments, and even getting into our dorms required ID and mandatory bag checks. The metro stations were filled with armed guards. Military vehicles drove down the streets. Sirens blared non-stop.

On Friday, we found out that hostages were being taken. The Eiffel Tower was evacuated. Some metro lines were shut down. Our professor encouraged us to go home and stay inside our dorms. Too afraid to take the metro, we walked back from class. Not long after we got back, we found out that the hostages had been released and that the suspects were dead.

After it was all over, I was so confused about how to feel about the whole event. I was overwhelmed with the sadness of the loss of human life. I was upset that my first week in Paris was marred with such pain and terror. I was equally mad at myself for letting the events affect me so much. I felt like I should have deep philosophical thoughts about Freedom of the Press and religion, but I only had inarticulable, disjointed thoughts. I didn’t know what to think or feel, but I felt as if I should.

I began to try to look for signs of hope, which began to flicker up in the stories that emerged afterwards. There was Ahmed Merabet, a Muslim French police officer, who died while protecting the cartoonist of Charlie Hebdo. He lived out Voltaire’s quote, “I do not agree with what you have to say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it.” He also died bravely, laying down his own life to protect others, even those who mocked his own religion.

There is also Lassana Bathily, a man from Mali working at a Jewish grocery store where the building was taken hostage by terrorists. He bravely and quicklyushered the costumers of the store into the shop’s freezer when he heard the gunshots. He thought beyond his own safety and used his courage to save the lives of others.

There were other signs of hope that I experienced personally. As the events across Paris transpired, my inbox began filling with messages from friends and family checking to make sure I was okay. I was so touched by the people who reached out, not just with whom I am close, but professors and friends I haven’t talked to in years. It reminded me just how much people care about me and my well-being.

Situations like this are difficult- they are unexpected, they are upsetting, and they leave you at more of a loss for words than for answers. Yet in the wake of the event emerges stories of hope and through this hope we begin to feel God’s love. Each night, I fall asleep watching the light at the top of the Eiffel Tower pass over the city. It reminds me of the beacon of hope that is God’s love. It washes over the city, shining on each person. God’s love is endless, it shines on controversial cartoonists, and heroic citizens, and small scared study abroad students, and even terrorists. God’s love has no stopping or ending point, no limits. So as I continue to search for answers in the wake of horror, I realize the answer is simple. It is the same thing that God has been doing forever and that we must do now- love.