Newtown and the God who Knows

“In the face of horror … there is no other answer than the cross of Christ: Love that descends to the abyss of evil.” — Pope Benedict XVI

Words fail at this terrible news, somehow made all the more tragic for the season.

Christmas is coming. These beautiful children, who likely had written their letters to Santa, or perhaps had opened a new window in an Advent calendar before going to school, are lost to us — now — in these weeks where nothing gives us a better sense of promise, a future and a hope, than a child’s smile.

God help us.

In Advent, the days are short; the light is scarce and darkness gathers more fully every day. And today it nearly encompasses our hearts. We need light; we need illumination, because we do not understand.

Striking a match, by the flickering light of our Advent candles tonight, we sing:

O Come, O Come Emmanuel/and ransom captive Israel/that mourns in lonely exile, here/until the son of God appear.

Tonight all I can see is that word, “Isra-el”

Your name will no longer be Jacob but Israel [He Struggles With God], because you have struggled with God and with men-and you have won.” (Gen 32:28)

We all of us struggle, every day, with God and with mankind. Today, our name is Israel, and we struggle.

The chant, then, resonates more deeply:

O Come, O Come God-With-Us/and ransom we who struggle with you, with men/and mourn in lonely exile, here/until the God-Who-Knows appear.

God help us. There are no words. No one has new wisdom. We are broken and in our wounds evil enters in and battles goodness, and all I can do is run to the crucifix and bend low before it and remember these parents, these children, in my prayers, and turn to Christ and his Mother, who understand.

Anger at God is normal. And God has big shoulders, He can take it.

I have found that when it is too much to think of God, it’s easier to think of Mary, who “never did anything to deserve it,” -who spent her whole life only saying “yes” to Him, and in service to His biggest project, ever- but who still had to stay at the foot of her son’s cross and watch him die a most horrible death, after having endured terrible cruelty.

Even she didn’t know what was going to happen next. A mother grieves the unbearable loss of her son, through Passover, and then goes to anoint his body only to find it gone!

What sort of torment is this? Then he is back (!) but he is no longer hers alone, if he had ever been – and for the rest of her life, as she watches His church take shape and form, and helps where she can, she still has all of those memories – the memories a mother cherishes – of an infant tugging at the collar of her gown, looking to nurse, of her son and his loving six-year-old hugs, the scraped knees, the scampish days, the meals they shared. None of this could have been easy for Mary to remember or to reconcile with her human self, or her maternity. He is God. But he was her son, and always will be. He is her son. Her little lad. Her God.

And this is why we call Mary the “Help of Christians.” When it gets very hard, when we feel a little disconnected from God, whether we want to be disconnected or not, when we feel we have been given an unjust burden, we can look at Mary and realize that yes, she kept the faith, but she knew everything we know about how hard life can be. She’s lived through it, and if we ask her to, she’ll pray for us in our suffering.

The cross. The Mother. The Son. Nothing in the Gospels is extraneous, or there without purpose. It is all meant for us, for our understanding and our consolation, too.

People will ask, “where was God, in all of this.” God was in the teachers who pulled little kids into classrooms and went into lockdown, and in the first responders who got survivors to safety and reunited with their parents (pray for the first responders, too; they suffer — often in silence — after they have made safe). God was right beside everyone, and is with them in grief. Because he is the God Who Knows all we feel and experience.

And that is not much help today. There is no new wisdom. There is only what we have always known. President Obama reminded us of it during his well-expressed remarks, when he quoted the third line of Psalm 147:

he heals the broken-hearted,
he binds up all their wounds.

It was a good line. The ones before and after it are good too, theologically, although I understand why he wouldn’t use them:

The Lord builds up Jerusalem
and brings back Israel’s exiles,
he heals the broken-hearted,
he binds up all their wounds.
He fixes the number of the stars;
he calls each one by its name.

Jerusalem means “City of Peace.”

If we think of that not only as a geographical area, but as a spiritual area — the square footage of the soul — then perhaps we can find some consolation, here. That our inner Jerusalem may be built up — that shattered spirits can be healed, eventually. And that our lost ones are known to him — are now before him like stars, each the apple of his eye. Ransomed and brought home.

The Lord builds up the City of Peace/
and brings back those who struggle with God and man/
he heals the brokenhearted/
he binds up all their wounds.
He fixes the number of the stars;
he calls each on by its name.

God, help us.

Related:
On the Suffering of Innocents

Tony Rossi: This world is as broken as it is beautiful

Deacon Greg: Priests rushed to the scene

Prayer in the face of evil…

From Benedict XVI:

“The Holy Father was promptly informed of the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown and he has asked me to convey his heartfelt grief and the assurance of this closeness in prayer to the victims and their families, and to all affected by the shocking event. In the aftermath of this senseless tragedy he asks God, our Father, to console allthose who mourn and to sustain the entire community with the spiritual strength which triumphs over violence by the power of forgiveness, hope and reconciling love.”

Msgr. Charles Pope: Where is God at Times like These?