Over the last few days I have read several blogs, articles and posts from bloggers and friends all trying to make sense of Friday's tragic events. The writers, all trying to sort through their own feelings and emotions, offered words of comfort, advice, wisdom, or even condemnation towards other's responses to the horrors of Friday. Writing is therapeutic, so I could understand the need to try to sort through emotions and form them into some type of order in the midst of chaos, to try to make sense of sheer madness, to try to cope with grief completely unimaginable, to try to find a way to prevent something like this from ever happening again. And yet even as I understood and felt the need to myself to put pen to paper in order to work through the myriad of thoughts swirling chaotically in my mind, no words would come.
How does one even begin to express grief so great? Are there words truly adequate enough to convey this type of loss? When I first heard the news on Friday I was on my way home from lunch with a dear friend. And all I could think of was that as we sat laughing and making merry, children lay dying. 40 parents in Connecticut were being told the most unimaginable, horrific news possible. And there were no words. I wanted to cry, to shout, to make sense of it all somehow and yet as I opened my mouth, all that escaped was a deep moan that I didn't even recognize as my own voice. And then one word. Over and over again. It was all I could say. "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus."
I so admire the Godly men and women who have since Friday been articulating the truths found in Scripture that we so desperately need to hear right now. God IS good. God IS in Sovereign. God is NOT the author of evil. God can use anything, ALL things for good. And yet as I KNOW with every fiber of my being that these things are true, in my humanity, I don't understand. I don't understand how this could be good. How can it be ok that these moms and dads will never hold their precious babies again? That presents under the tree will remain unopened? How can it be ok that the surviving children have experienced terror that will haunt them for the rest of their lives? And as I wrestle with these questions and search for answers my heart groans again, "Jesus. Jesus. Jesus."
Friday night I couldn't sleep. I lay there in bed, staring at the ceiling. Taking it all in. Children quietly sleeping in their beds. The rise and fall of Matt's breath beside me. Even the gentle snoring of my dog on the floor by my bed. Peace, calm, quiet. And yet somewhere in Connecticut there were mothers who were probably longing to close their eyes and wake up to a different time, where the nightmare was gone, where their babies were safe. Tears, flowing down my cheeks at the thought of a grief so crushing. How would they survive this? And there it was again, like a whisper to my soul. "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus."
As a follower of Christ, I know the answer to the question most are asking. Why? Why did this happen? We live in a fallen world where sin has stained every heart, where every inch of this ground is cursed and broken. We shouldn't be surprised that it happened, and yet we are. Even as believers who know this truth, that the world is ugly and damaged, we can easily forget just how shattered it really is...until we come face to face with it ourselves. We know that children are starving in third world countries, that babies are being murdered every day just down the street at abortion clinics, that dictators are relentlessly killing their neighbors or their own people, that young girls are being sold into slavery and prostitution around the world, and yet we go about our daily lives: busy, happy, fulfilled, blissfully ignorant because its not on our own front door. Until it slaps us in the face and we can no longer ignore it. The groaning of the world around us; hurting, bleeding, crying out for release. "Jesus. Jesus. Jesus."
This season of Advent has been more meaningful to me in the last few days. Advent. Waiting. Eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Messiah, the Savior. As we hang each ornament on our Jesse tree, my heart whispers it again, "Jesus. Jesus. Jesus." He is there in every story. He is there from the beginning. Coming to make all things new. And He has come. The great 'I AM' who was there from the very beginning. He has come in the flesh. Immanuel, God with us. And when He came, he took all of the sin, the brokenness, the loss and grief upon himself when he was nailed to a cross of wood. And death was nailed to that cross. And sorrow was nailed to that cross. And small caskets were nailed to that cross. And all of it that doesn't make sense to me in my flesh was nailed to that cross. And so I don't have to understand. I just have to trust.
Advent. Waiting. Yes, we are waiting. For He will come again. The One who was pierced for our transgressions, He will come to make all things new. And we will experience the full consummation of what He did on that cross. When the old order of things will pass away. No more tears. No more grief. Death, swallowed up in victory. "Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!"
So while I admittedly don't understand. While my heart still aches and groans with sorrow, I hold fast to the promise of Jesus. And He holds tightly to me. So, I don't need to know. I don't need to understand. I just need to know one thing. And there really are no other words necessary. Just one. "Jesus. Jesus. Jesus."
