On this Day After, I feel I should be adding my voice to the chorus of lamentation over the death and suffering in Paris. I believe that somehow I should have something to say, some insight to offer, some outrage to give voice to, some balm for our aching souls. I have none.
I feel I should be posting encouraging Scripture verses that reassure us that God is still on his throne, despite the evidence to the contrary. Or perhaps I should be offering prayers of comfort. Maybe my contribution is a clenched fist of solidarity and a vow of “No retreat, no surrender!”
I can’t seem to muster any of these things. I am just sad. And mad. And afraid. The words of the Isis statement claiming responsibility are meant to strike fear in my heart, and although I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of frightening me, they do. They are words of darkness and chaos; people who say yes to this kind of mass murder are not likely to say no to much else. And while I feel safe here, now, I know I have no more reason to than those who innocently went out to dinner, or to a concert, or to a soccer game yesterday in Paris.
I ache for the lives lost, for the suffering ahead for the wounded, for the people afraid to leave their homes for fear of what a trip to the bakery might hold. And I know that God wants me to feel compassion, to mourn with those who mourn. I know that when I do this, I am most like Jesus. And yet, I somehow have to do this without being overcome by the horror of what has happened, I have to hang onto some hope. Hope that God will comfort. Hope that God’s justice will prevail. Hope that this will not be the final word.
But maybe The Day After it is too soon for me to hope. This morning, I opened my Bible app and this is what I saw:
I lift up my eyes to the hills — from where will my help come?
My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.
On The Day After, as I resist being pulled into the vortex of death, darkness and despair, all I can manage is to lift up my eyes to the hills and wait for the Lord to send his help.
Thank you for being real, for being honest and mostly for NOT offering platitudes. You echo what I believe many are experiencing: horror and disbelief in the evil of (some) humanity. I believe God honors our confusion, anger, heartbreak and despair. I have to believe that He honors honesty above all. That in itself is comforting. Thank you for your honest expression. Your words are balm in this chaos.
THANK YOU, dear friend. So good to read the words that we all feel but are not always able to say. Love to you….