Yesterday to celebrate our wedding anniversary, my husband and I enjoyed coffee at our favorite cafe, dinner at our favorite pub, and opera by our favorite composer, Verdi. It was MacBeth, Shakespeare's tale of the Scottish king whose ambition was his fatal flaw. The sets, the direction, the music, the acting, the singing . . . all were collectively grand and spell-binding.
We've been going to the opera for almost 20 years since we met there (as volunteers), and as fond as we are of the art form, it is rare for any performance to excel in all those aspects -- let alone for three hours. And it is also rare (and a wonderful thing) to be in an audience that was universally moved, erupting with joy and applause right along with us.
Late in the opera when MacDuff, a tenor with a heart-piercingly fluid tone, is betrayed by MacBeth and discovers his wife and children slain, he enfolds his limp little girl in his arms and sings a song of grief like none I've ever heard. Tears sprang to my eyes.
I thought of those boys in Duluth and their families' suffering. My conscience stung: it was heartless of me to post criticism after that event. What if the heartbroken parents were to hear of it and suffer more? Whether something has validity or not is hardly the point. Where was my compassion?
I removed the post.
I beg pardon for any hurt, and pray that I will be more sensitive to the suffering of others.