I don't often write about tragedy. Most of the time it's because I believe that words just won't do. Tragedy draws out the great tension of articulation. Other times, it's because I don't think I am the one to speak. Tragedy often makes me feel weird about the burden I have inherited.
But what I am learning is two things.. which has led to the reason for this post.
The first is that a crisis, a trauma, a tragedy has a communal effect that's almost ethereal. It's like the ripples of the ocean. There creates an incredible bond, heartrending conversation, a shared experience both with those close and with those far away. In a painful experience, people pull in close to one another in love and kindness. I am finding that it is indescribable.
And the second is that sometimes there's inspiration in tragedy.
I think often of the summer tragedy in Charleston. I think often of the people, of the hatred, of the love that turned out to be much stronger than the hatred. I think of heaviness that turns to hope, of brokenness that makes me curl up on the inside, of the resiliency of the human spirit.
Most of all, I think of the welcome.
It was welcome that allowed that young man to attend Bible study, that prayer group, on that particular night. Seething in hate, a stranger, he was welcomed into the church. He was welcomed into their building, into their study, their love, their time, into their community. It's the way the Church should be.
If I'm being honest, I have felt betrayed and confused by the welcome. Is welcoming people in supposed to be so costly? Is it supposed to be this costly? Is it supposed to hurt this badly?
What is most surreally stunning is the welcome in the aftermath.
This quote, said by a hurting relative to the gunman at his arraignment, shakes me to my core.
"We welcomed you, Wednesday night, in our Bible study.. with open arms. You have killed some of the most beautiful people that I know. Every fiber in my body hurts. But, as we say in Bible study, we enjoyed you. And may God have mercy on you."
I stumble over the depth of what these dear people have uncovered about who God is. I am quite honestly in deep awe of the grace and humility these words hold. It seems otherworldly and, well, I think because it is. He is still welcome to receive. It echoes of Christ on the cross, welcoming the thief into paradise. Christ on the cross, praying forgiveness because his killers did not know what they were doing. It inspires me deeply. The costly welcome.
These tragedies tear people from the inside out. I cannot speak to the immense grief and sadness personally, but I can imagine it might make you not want to move again in more ways than one. I feel it many layers away, and I grieve with these people I know and do not know. But what I have observed in the tragedy is this inner strength of hope. This courage that helps you move forward. It's that quote, isn't it?, that has this booming undercurrent of courage. Courage and hope that says, no matter what you do to us, no matter what happens, and no matter what cards life deals us, we know God is with us. May God have mercy on you. There's power in forgiveness, in welcoming people into grace and love, and I believe it lifts us up and moves us forward.
It continues to inspire me.
(My good friend writes over at FrenchpressedFridays about this power of resurrection in the face of unspeakable circumstances and I believe he says it best. Will you please check it out?)
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