A man for others

I can’t get enough of James Foley, the journalist who was murdered by Islamic militants in Syria last week. His last photo alive showed him standing dignified, in an orange robe, his head shaven, his executioner in front, ready to behead him. I did not look at the other images that followed.

All I know about James Foley is what I have read –— two letters he wrote and the stories of those who knew him, and what comes across is a generous, compassionate, truly exceptional human being. The world knows about his brutal death at the hands of terrorists, but there is much more we can learn from how he lived his life.

James Foley was a Jesuit boy who, as a student in Marquette University, a Jesuit school, had volunteered to work for the poor in South Dakota and Mississippi where he learned, “I was a sheltered kid and the world had real problems. I came to know young people who wanted to give their hearts for others.”

Inspired to become an inner-city teacher, he joined Teach for America, a program for disadvantaged youths in Phoenix. Later, in Chicago, he helped inmates learn to read and write.

Jim wanted to be a writer so he went to journalism school. According to his mother, when he began working with the disadvantaged, “He realized that the stories he wanted to tell were real stories — stories about people’s lives — and he saw journalism as a vehicle for talking about what’s really happening in the world.”

With a master’s in journalism, he covered the US troops in Afghanistan, Iraq and Libya as an embedded reporter. Captured in Libya by Khadafi’s army in 2011, he spent 44 days in a military prison. But soon after he got home, he was raring to go back to the conflict zone where there were stories to be told, knowing full well the danger he was courting.  

Jim was captured again in November 2012, in Syria, but this time, he would not get out alive.

A co-detainee in Libya, Clare Morgana Gillis, posted on the Syria Deeply website about how Jim kept everyone’s spirits up in prison. “Every day he came up with lists for us to talk through. Top 10 movies. Favorite books. The fall of the Roman Empire and the rebirth of Western civilization. Which famous person would you most like to meet? What’s your life story? How does war change you? How can we be better people when we get out of here? When I was in tears after a six-hour interrogation that ended at sunrise, he observed matter-of-factly, ‘It’s their job to break you. They did it to you today, and they’ll do it to me tomorrow. Get some sleep.’”

From a friend in the eighth grade to his colleagues in media, we learned that Jim was brave, kind and compassionate, with a strong moral compass. And he was deeply spiritual.

The Marquette University website tells of how Jim was comforted in jail in Libya by another captive who, from on the other side of a wall, read to him daily from Scriptures. Jim said, “Then I’d pray to stay strong. I’d pray to soften the hearts of our captors. I’d pray for God to lift the burdens we couldn’t handle. And I’d pray that our moms would know we were OK.”

He began to pray the rosary. “It was what my mother and grandmother would have prayed. I said 10 Hail Marys between each Our Father. It took a long time, almost an hour to count 100 Hail Marys off on my knuckles. And it helped to keep my mind focused. Clare and I prayed together out loud. It felt energizing to speak our weaknesses and hopes together, as if in a conversation with God, rather than silently and alone.”

He added, “If nothing else, prayer was the glue that enabled my freedom, an inner freedom first and later the miracle of being released during a war in which the regime had no real incentive to free us. It didn’t make sense, but faith did.”

Another letter, Jim’s last letter home, was delivered orally. Since all of his previous letters were confiscated by his captors in Syria, he asked a fellow detainee who was going to be released, to memorize his message to his family.

“I remember so many great family times that take me away from this prison. Dreams of family and friends take me away and happiness fills my heart. I know you are thinking of me and praying for me. And I am so thankful. I feel you all especially when I pray. I pray for you to stay strong and to believe. I really feel I can touch you even in this darkness when I pray.”

He thought a lot about his siblings  — “playing Werewolf in the dark with Michael” and “chasing Mattie and T around the kitchen counter”; visiting Big John in Germany and Mark in the West Coast. “I especially remember us going to the Comedy Club in Boston together and our big hug after. The special moments keep me hopeful.”

To his only sister Katie: “So very proud of you. You are the strongest and best of us all!! I think of you working so hard, helping people as a nurse. I am so glad we texted just before I was captured. I pray I can come to your wedding… now I am sounding like Grammy!!”

And to Grammy, “Please take your medicine, take walks and keep dancing. I plan to take you out to Margarita’s when I get home. Stay strong because I am going to need your help to reclaim my life.”

James Foley was a hero and a martyr — a kind and caring teacher, sibling and friend, an incredible human being. The world has lost a true man for others.