I’m referring, of course, to what happened Friday morning at
Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut: 20 kids and 7 adults murdered in a shooting rampage that lasted only a few minutes and has no readily apparent motive. The blogosphere and
social media sites exploded around 10 a.m., with more than a few of the
reactions reflecting the sentiment that, “There are no words.”
That’s understandable, coming from a nation worn out by what
happened twice this week, and in September in Minneapolis, and in August at
Texas A&M, and in July at the movie theater in Aurora, Colorado, and on two
separate occasions this year in Wisconsin, to name a few. But, like many
conclusions we grasp at when tension runs high, it’s wrong.
It turns out that there are
words, plenty of them. And those words will heal us.
Words make the abstract concrete, assigning some meaning to what are otherwise just nebulous feelings. I used words like "horrible" and "unfathomable" in the first paragraph of this post, and they are clues as to how I'm processing this. Notice that, sadly, I didn't use the word "shocking". Apparently I've come to accept that "these things happen", and I hate that that's the case.
We all try to make sense of the world we live in. Kids do this too. Confusion is unsettling; clarity, comforting. Words have to be spoken at
a time like this, because it’s not as if the jumble of feelings will just iron
themselves out. It doesn’t work that way.
I’ve never understood people who try to prescribe or preempt
what we are and aren’t allowed to express in the wake of a tragic death. It’s
usually "out of respect for the families", which is noble, but the truth is that
death is death, and both its finality and the way it comes unlocks
certain things in each of us that otherwise aren’t acknowledged. Words need to
flow freely at a time like this, to bring the inside out. Sometimes the words are imprecise, but every attempt at verbalization brings us closer to a realization of what we're dealing with. Sometimes the words are raw,
because they reflect the torment raging inside of us.
Two years ago, the thing-that’s-not-supposed-to-happen-here
happened here, in Carlsbad, California. Friday’s incident reawakened feelings
of panic in parents who had been a part of that. Everyone at that time felt
lucky that no one had been killed. How lucky did they feel on Friday, faced
with the reminder that what they went through could have been so much worse? (I’ll answer that:
extremely lucky.) And there were lots of words spoken back then, many of them
redundant, some of them over-the-top, but all of them valid.
President Obama spoke Friday after the shooting, reacting “not
as a president, but as a parent.” He was applauded by some for keeping his remarks constrained to the human side of the tragedy and derided by others. Frankly, his obligatory words as mourner-in-chief matter
little to me. School officials spoke, and they said about what we expected they
would. Pastors will be called on to conduct funerals, and they’ll summon as
best they can words of comfort. They’ll try to lend perspective and offer hope.
But the best words at this time come from you and me. People
need to get their words out there, and they need to do it now, while thoughts
and emotions are fresh. It is healthy. We’ve all been trained a little too well
to play nice, to not speak things that will bring upset to other people. The
price of that, though, is unprocessed grief that corrodes the soul. Even if
inelegantly stated, words are the vehicle that shed light in dark places. They
are our coping mechanism.
Does God have anything to say about an event like this? Yes, he does. But let's not forget that God's communication with the world tends to be more global than situation-specific. In the book of Job, he simply lets Job and his friends rail on and on until they run out of steam. And then God speaks. He's not obligated to take the podium within hours of a school shooting. His "reaction" is less a reaction than a reiteration of foundational truths about himself, humankind, sin, and the prospect of redemption. Ultimately, he expressed himself through the Incarnation - "The Word became flesh and lived among us" - and all who were confused about the nature of God needed to wonder no more. That grand articulation is the reason we have Christmas.
I know I said earlier that words need to flow freely at a time like this, but spiritual platitudes meant to "help" are probably the least effective words that can be spoken right now. Christians believe God is true, and if God is forever, then truth is forever too. I think that's one reason we feel compelled to find words, even when it seems there are none, because deep down we can't and won't accept that something so awful can exist for no reason at all.
Someday, long in the future, the parents of 20 kids who
died Friday will be able to say, “In 2012, something terrible happened to me and
to my child. I couldn’t make sense of it then, and I can’t make sense of it
now, but it’s part of my story. And I accept that.” When they can speak those
words and mean them, it will mark a great step toward healing.
"There are no words"? But there are. And we'll find them.
