Over the next few days our national conversation will focus
its attention on the motives and reasons for a horrific tragedy. We will watch
TV and read articles that attempt to explain to us why the unthinkable
occurred. They will tell us how it could have been prevented and also how it
was unpreventable, how it was a failure of the system and something that the
system could have never expected. There will be op-ed pieces and Facebook posts
about gun control and mental health. Arguments will start, tempers will flare,
and fingers will be pointed.
Eventually, we will have a clearer portrait of the killer
and a clearer portrait of his mother. Perhaps we will learn the reasons for his
actions and perhaps they will remain forever in the shadows, a mystery to our
ever curious minds.
As a country, we will hypothesize and hyperbolize. We will
juxtapose perception and conjecture with fact until we are able to weave a
coherent narrative for ourselves, one that we think makes sense.
In our quest to answer, “Why?” we will draw from psychology,
philosophy, religion, sociology and our own personal experience of life and we
will overlook that our cry was not a question, but a lament.
The questions and cries and pleas spurred by the tragedy in
Newtown, Connecticut are not of the typical variety. They are the kind of
questions, the kind of cries and desperate pleadings that come from the depth
of our soul that understands that something is fundamentally wrong. They are
the kind of questions we ask when we encounter chaos instead of design.
There is no answer to what happened Friday. There is no way
to explain it away and make sense of it. Perhaps there are ways to prevent
similar tragedies in the future, but that is a different conversation. “Why?”
is not a question of practicality and function, it is a question of existential
despair and pain and lament.
As Christians, our tradition is full of this kind of lament.
From Job to Lamentations to Jeremiah to Ecclesiastes to the Psalms, it is
everywhere. Jesus laments. Paul laments. We are a people who are allowed to
feel pain and express pain without glossing it over with answers to dull the
pain.
So, I ask you to do something. When you feel like you look
for an answer and have found a cohesive narrative that explains the events of
Friday, let it go. And when you hear someone tell you that they understand how
God works and that this is all part of his will, let it go as well.
The verse that I keep coming back to over and over as I
reflect on this tragedy is Psalm 35:22, “LORD, you have seen this; do not be
silent. Do not be far from me, Lord.”
When you are tempted to answer the unanswerable and when you
are tempted to defend God in the face of tragedy, remember to wait and pray to
the LORD that he will not stay silent forever.
Peace,
Ben
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