Ten years ago, today, I got out of bed and in my bare feet stepped on a half-inch staple in the darkness. Fortunately, my tetanus was up to date, but if you’ve ever stepped on something sharp with your feet, you know how painful it is. I had tears in my eyes, as I pulled it out, once I got the light on. Apparently, there are a lot of nerves in your feet, and what’s worse, you kind of need your feet to get around. Every step is a reminder of a little, but influential wound. What a way to start a morning! And you know the rest of the day is going to be painful before it even gets going. At least it was my day off, so I could limp around the house without too much trouble.
As I look back, I wish that was the worst part of that day. But as we all know now, within a few hours there would be reports of another shooting at a school, this time in Newtown, CT. The reports got worse and worse throughout the middle part of the day. Twenty children and six adults would be reported dead by the time all the facts were known. Most of the children were first graders, the same grade my older daughter was in.
That afternoon, Donna and I were both waiting on the school bus to pull up outside our house. Many parents were waiting on the bus, as I found out later. We tried to play it cool as we hugged her, but I could tell she was surprised to see us both waiting. On the short walk up the driveway my emotions began to rise, so I veered off into the garage to hide my tears – not because I was ashamed, but because I didn’t want to alarm my child. I heard similar stories from many families that weekend as the country grieved together.
The afternoon of the shooting, I sent a message to the congregation, which read in part: “One of the themes of this season of Advent is light - light breaking into the darkness. Today our nation is gripped in one of those dark moments as the unthinkable has happened…If you are like me, you have absorbed this news and thought of your own children or grandchildren. Perhaps you have experienced anger or numbness; no doubt many of us are shedding tears of sorrow. Throughout all of these emotions and reactions we hold on to our faith - a resurrection faith - that teaches us that the darkness will never overcome the light. It is this faith that allows us to stand at the grave - in the face of death - and make our resurrection song: alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!”
This is the song of Advent people in a world that still has too much darkness in it. It is a song of hope and trust, often sung through the tears of pain and grief. We yearn for an end to the sorrows and trials of this world, and pray, “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel!” God has promised to care for God’s children, and we trust that God is fulfilling that promise, even if it is a process that slowly unfolds over centuries. In the meantime, we carry various wounds and injuries with us and even accumulate new ones. Though the pain dulls over time, we can’t help but feel a reminder with each step forward or each anniversary of the original trauma. We still have to move around in the world and keep living our lives while we wait, even if it feels like stumbling around in the darkness. We can’t escape pain, but we give thanks that our Savior bears it with us and helps light the way.
Today I pray for the dozens of families for whom this is the most painful of days; may God surround them with mercy and love. We remember, not to get lost in old grief, but to inspire us to bring light into the world however we can. The world needs the light of Christ that is in us to shine brightly.
Tom+
Loving God, Jesus gathered your little ones in his arms and blessed them. Have pity on those who mourn for children and all innocents slaughtered by the violence of our fallen world. Be with us as we struggle with the mysteries of life and death; in our pain, bring your comfort, and in our sorrow, bring your hope and your promise of new life, in the name of Jesus our Savior. Amen.
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