What little we know of the gunman and the crime have been the stuff of 24-hour news coverage all weekend. Facebook, twitter, and a host of social media have been forums for grief, anger, psychoanalysis, parental condemnation, political posturing, demands for policy reform, and endless questioning. Opinions vastly differ, but as one, we are outraged.
I joined those voices, and I certainly joined the throngs of angry, grief-stricken citizens wanting to know why and how such a thing could have happened, demanding that changes take place that will prevent such a thing from ever happening again.
So many voices and so much noise: it is deafening. I dearly hope that some kind of positive change will come out of this disaster. But as the posts and tweets keep flying, and as the news coverage remains stuck on this topic (with so little new information), for the moment I am through with it. I can no longer engage with it; it’s not helping me understand what took place. So as I have throughout my life, I do turn to prayer—I pray for the victims, the survivors, for the law enforcement officials charged with unfolding this unfathomable mess, and for all those affected (directly and less so). I also pray for the murderer, who must surely be the most lost of souls, and for his family. But I also look to scripture and its age-old wisdom. What can it offer me? From today’s readings:
Mi 6:1-4, 6-8
Hear what the LORD says:
Arise, present your plea before the mountains,
and let the hills hear your voice!
Hear, O mountains, the plea of the LORD,
pay attention, O foundations of the earth!
Not surprisingly, the inclination to give voice to concerns and grief isn’t new—it’s just the medium that has changed. Instead of the mountaintop, we have the internet.
Micah is as full of questions as we are:
With what shall I come before the LORD,
and bow before God most high?
Shall I come before him with burnt offerings,
with calves a year old?
Will the LORD be pleased with thousands of rams,
with myriad streams of oil?
Shall I give my first-born for my crime,
the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?
Thousands of years later, these offerings seem as futile as our own questions and arguments about how senseless violent crimes against humanity could be prevented.
God has given an answer, Micah says:
You have been told, O man, what is good,
and what the LORD requires of you:
Only to do the right and to love goodness,
and to walk humbly with your God.
Many of us might read that and think it doesn’t offer much in this situation. We are, more or less, living as we should be living, and we’re not the ones who perpetrated this crime. Our good actions couldn’t do anything to prevent the murderer’s descent into whatever mania or disease caused this tragedy—we’re not his parents or friends, and we weren’t there to see this coming. How could my righteousness have changed the course of events?
I’m not proposing any simple answer here. There is none, in my opinion. My first step toward my own righteousness concerning this story is to recognize that there are no simple answers and that, for the moment, the world doesn’t need another angry voice rising in condemnation. There is a time for that. Right now, for me, with as little information as I have about any of it, this is not that time.
Right now, I think the world needs more humble listeners. The world needs people to bring peace and to hold back from sowing division.
I’m not claiming there is not right or wrong concerning this vicious crime. I’m not claiming that there’s nothing to be done, nor am I condemning those who are demanding answers and insisting upon change. But in the absence of so much information and in the presence of so much noise, I want to make my voice a more humble, peaceful one, and my mind one that seeks understanding and healing in the face of so much anger.
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