This morning I woke up with the rest of the country to learn about the horror of the theatre shooting massacre in Aurora, Colorado. My heart breaks for the family and friends who have been devastated by the loss of loved ones. It’s in these moments of deep anguish and evil that I’m at a loss for words. There are no words that can comfort. Nothing I say or write can diminish the hurt or remove the intense emotions and questions that come in the wake of such tragedy.
I, like many, want to step in and help. I want to offer hope and strength. Yet I struggle to know how to do this knowing that in times like this help often feels trite and hope meaningless. What can I do? What can we do?
I remember a time a few years ago when I was studying the difficult topic of the problem of evil in Oxford. The day we happened to begin dealing with this subject was also the day that evil and injustice hit very close to home. It overwhelmed me to the point of breaking. I burst in to tears in the middle of the lecture, ran out, and spent the next hour locked in the bathroom sobbing. In my pain I had so many questions with unsatisfactory answers.
When the lecture ended, my tutor and a close friend came and found me. They sat with me and let me know it was ok to be broken. They didn’t try to fix me or give me answers to take away the pain. They simply loved me. They sat with me in silence, letting me talk when I was ready. They cried and prayed with me, sharing in my grief. And it was in that moment that God came near. He had been there all along, but through these two friends he clearly showed himself to me. He loved me through them. When life’s pain caused me to question the goodness of God, he demonstrated his love for me in the comfort they offered by their presence. They were a tangible demonstration that the Man of Sorrows had not abandoned me as I walked through the valley of the shadow of death. Through them God reminded me that healing is possible through Jesus, the one who was broken so that I could be made whole.
Today and in the days ahead the people of Aurora will need tangible demonstrations that hope is not meaningless. They will need us to cling to hope for them. Whether we know them or not, let us sit with them, cry with them, pray for them, and allow God’s love to pour out through us. The hurt and pain will not go away. Yet Jesus, who is acquainted with grief, offers strength and hope in the midst of sorrow. And for those who trust in him, he promises that one day he will wipe away every tear and replace every sorrow with joy. He sits with the hurting in Aurora. He weeps with them, just as we do.