On Friday one of my co-workers came to my office door with tears in her eyes, "They think twenty kids have been killed at an elementary school in Connecticut." The shock, the horror, the pit-of-my-stomach sorrow. Eleven days till Christmas. How many presents bought will remain unopened? How many hands poised to rip through wrapping were raised in terror? Lowered, now they rest. We can't endure such things. Our minds shards of broken glass. They thrash, lurch, flail for meaning. We find a voice rooted beyond our recognition crying out in primordial pain, "What the hell was wrong with that guy? Why God why? Why didn't you do something!?" What we feel is beyond emotion and expression. Only the yell that shreds our vocal cords or the groan that shatters our heart can approximate. We have to do something. We gotta make sense. Some how...some way - anger, blame, apathy, excuse. We've gotta push out, away from ourselves. We can't look in. We dare not look in. "In" there lurks something in the shadows - insidious, heinous, beastly. It's too close, too near. We must deflect. We must resist, repel, reject.
"Stay back! 'In' your too damn close. I'm not going to say it again."
It's too late; it's always been too late.
"In" speaks, "You know you're no different. You're desperately lonely and scared. You're angry, envious, and apathetic. You foment lies, embrace deceit, and celebrate violence. Your heart turns cold, your soul runs dry, and your morality rings false. You too are human."
The events at Newtown leave me overwrought with emotion and the awareness that "In" my heart are not only the seeds of anguished empathy but the seeds of all that went wrong that tragic day. Father forgive us for we know and know not what we do.
