It was on a spring Friday in the Northern Hemisphere. I walked along the bus route to the terminus and then to the bus station and caught a much later connecting bus, getting home in the dark. (You just get on with life in this moments)
My parents were frantic having heard about the bomb blast on the radio. There were, of course, no telephones and no mobiles and they did not have a car. They did not know what to do. They did not know if they had lost a son.
I have always felt an affinity with the six who died. I did not know them personally although I probably had seen them at bus stops or on the bus. May their souls Rest In Peace.
It is almost forty years now. It is a significant anniversary and I am grateful for every breath I have taken since then. For some of you, it may reflect the frenetic way I try to suck the marrow our of every experience of life.
It was weird that June 2nd this year was a Friday as well. I am touched with great emotion this week. I remember London with the IRA bombings, bag searches etc.
I am a Christian but I still find it hard to forgive the people who almost took my life that Friday afternoon. I almost understand why they did it but I cannot condone their strategy.
Terrorists have tried to silence the lives of children and adults across the globe since the dawn of time. It is not a new weapon. It is a cowardly weapon. But it is also a weapon used by the desperate, people who see no answer but to lash out and destroy.
Name calling, bombing and retaliation won’t stop it. Justice and reconciliation will. Jesus calls on humans to love. May we have the strength to do it.