The Necessity of Hope

            Like many others in America, I have been spending the last few days glued to the news. How can this be? It’s been four days but still a part of me does not want to accept that this can be reality. What has happened at Sandy Hook Elementary School just does not compute. Today, I sent my 2^nd grader to school with a satchel full of chip bags for her classroom. The bag contained 20 bags of chips. 20 bags of chips… all I could think about was 20 pairs of little hands that will enjoy tearing open those bags of chips today and the 20 pairs of six-year-old hands that will never do something as simple as that again. I know there are 40 parents who would do anything for a chance to take a damp paper towel and wipe chip residue off six-year-old grimy little hands today.

            Last night I could not get one child off my mind. She was the one who made it out by playing dead. They say she was in that classroom in a pool of blood with sixteen deceased classmates for 20 or 30 minutes. When she came out of that building, she told her mother, “Mommy, I’m okay but all my friends are dead.” I keep thinking about my little girl having to do that; having to see the images that child must have seen and why? That question is never ceasing. Why her? Of all the children in that classroom, why was she the only one to survive? What makes her different? Why should anyone have to pay such a high price for life? Would God spare her just to tell what she saw? Why should any child have to witness that? Why would any human do this to children? Why should we even have to think about these things at all?  Why hasn’t there been more done to prevent things like this from happening? 

            Yet, despite all the questions, a little girl is alive today… not the same as she was, but alive.  Children from the other classroom ran for their lives as that gunman shot up their teacher. They saw terrible things and they are forever changed but they are alive. They are here. These children are a reminder that it is not futile to hope. Their parents stood in that fire house, hoping against all hope and for them, that hope was not in vain. But, what about the others? How will they even have the strength to breathe? Are they tempted, as I have been before, to utter the same words Ellie Wiesel recounted in his book, Night, the words he heard someone behind him crying out as they were forced to witness the murder of a child, “Oh God! Where is God?” 

            I am so moved by the people of Newtown. I am in awe of their stubborn refusal to let this senseless violence define them. “No!” They seem to say. They seem to have set their jaws grievously but firmly against that temptation. They will not be governed by anger or fear.  Instead, they are comforting one another. They are holding on to love. Somehow, they are still holding on to God and as they do so, they are reminding us all about something so important. “We have to lead with love,” one of their school board members said. “Sure, we need to have some serious discourse as a nation. We must talk about these issues but always in love,” she kept saying. I could see that love pouring from her eyes, lingering in her voice. And, that is exactly what Newtown is doing. They are leading this nation. They are wounded healers, helping us to remember something sacred. Love never fails. Love never ends. Love conquers all.

            On Saturday, a father stood for his daughter to comfort and encourage a town and a nation because he knew that is what she would have wanted. That is love. Because of what he did, my children have learned the name, “Emilie”. They have learned that even a six-year-old can do things to comfort the people around her. Even a six-year-old can help tie shoes and teach someone else to read. Even a six-year-old can make a difference in the world. Even a six-year-old matters.  And, they have seen that six-year-old’s father stand in courage, dignity and strength with tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat to offer love and hope to others, just as his daughter would have done.

They learned the name, “Aidan” when they watched his parents talk about how courageous and fortunate he was to run past the gunman to safety, leading several of his friends out of harms way. They also learned that Aidan is afraid that gunman is coming back for him every time the doorbell rings.  But, they were assured that his parents love him so much and they are going to help him feel safe again. They have learned that even after something so terrible happens, good can still be found in the world. There is still hope and a refuge. They have learned that love waits on the other side tragedy.

A little boy named Noah was buried yesterday. As I am writing, my Noah is in the next room, playing on his 3DS and nursing a bad cold.  Even though I have asked him to put away his toys at least 7 times, his room is still a mess. I can’t get him to eat much of anything that is actually good for him. He keeps wiping his nose on the couch and I can’t get him to keep socks on his feet. But, he’s still here. Noah Pozner, on the other hand, is not. His sister is without her twin brother today. The family says that little boy was rambunctious and lit up a room.  I have a little girl who fits that description. Her rambunctious tendency often gets on my nerves and when she is busy lighting up a room I am usually telling her to tone it down.  Noah Pozner’s smile and those dazzling eyes keep lighting up our t.v. screen though and I am chastised, “Don’t miss it. Don’t miss a minute of their boundless wonder. Don’t miss a minute of their passion for life.” Yet, by 8pm last night I was cranky like I am any other night. I was tired. I just wanted the kids to leave me alone and give me some peace. I felt so ashamed for wanting that “peace” last night.  I have to figure out a way to have more of myself to offer them at the end of the day.  I don’t know how to do it but I have to. Noah’s smile reminds me of that. “Figure it out,” he seems to say. “Don’t live to regret the way you spent these years. Live to love.”

            Last night I watched a Sunday School teacher tell about the decision she had to make to keep or remove a little boy’s name from the roll posted outside her classroom.  To leave it there would cause pain, to take it off would also. There was an empty spot in her classroom on Sunday morning. A student raised their hand in the middle of her lesson to say, “My friends died.”  And what could she do? She cried with them and she prayed with them. She loved and consoled them and she hoped for something better with them.

 

            It is the Christmas season. How in the world is God’s light able to shine so profoundly in Newtown through such darkness?

            This Sunday, many churches who celebrated Advent, lit the pink candle. It represents Joy. How foolish, inadequate and irreverent many ministers may have felt at the very thought of lighting that candle. But, I suppose they were reminded that the very first candle they lit was the candle to celebrate hope.  And what a necessity there is for hope this Christmas. How can we sing, “Joy to the World” until we are able to fully realize that hope has come.  It is not that hope is coming but hope has come.  It has already arrived.  It came two thousand years ago to be wrapped in rags and laid to rest in a feeding trough. It is here among us now, moving back and forth across this earth manifesting itself through the Holy Spirit that resides in each of God’s children. It is here to love and comfort us; to guide and strengthen us with grace to face whatever life may bring us. “Come to me all of you who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest,” is what Jesus said. “I will never leave you, nor forsake you.”

           Joy - Isn’t it the feeling we experience when we have hoped for something and are finally able to experience it?  Yet, hope itself is something that we can hold on to; something we can celebrate. The apostle Paul said, “Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. (1 Thess. 13-14)

 

I am not naïve. I know there are bitter days ahead for the people of Newtown. I know they are still in a state of shock and that there are many tear filled days ahead for them but I also know that the consolation so many of them experience now is real because I have walked in it. I stepped into it the moment my mother stepped out of this earth. In that moment I was immediately filled with both grief and joy because I literally felt her spirit joined with Jesus in the room and it was astounding; immensely comforting and it was real. In that moment, I began to experience a new facet of life on earth; a quiet consolation; a hope that prevails. I would not be so presumptuous as to believe these people will experience loss the same as I have but I am confident in saying that I know God gave me that prevailing hope and He will grant it to all who call on his name. It may not come to those parents in the same way it came to me but it will come, none the less.

            How was Emilie’s father able to stand and forgive the gunman, share the memory of his daughter and offer support to both the grieving and to those who are nursing the wounded spirits of the ones who witnessed this horror? How is a Sunday school child who has lost his friends able to draw the word “God” inside a smile? How does he hold on to that child-like faith Jesus told us that we all must have? How are so many of the people of Newtown able to lead with love in the face of this tragedy? I believe they are able to do it because the light of hope is not just shining on the candles of their Advent wreaths. Hope lives in their hearts. It is a quiet flame but it burns persistently.

I believe God is in Newtown. Newtown may be angry at times. Newtown may be sad but Newtown is not without hope. They are not without the peace that passes all understanding. As the sign posted in their town says, “Our hearts are broken but our spirits are strong.” Perhaps their spirits know that there is a third verse to Joy to the World and maybe their hearts are singing it:

No more let sins and sorrows grow,
Nor thorns infest the ground;
He comes to make His blessings flow
Far as the curse is found,
Far as the curse is found,
Far as, far as, the curse is found.

These people of Newtown do not seem to be questioning God. They seem, instead, to be questioning humanity. Both hurting and hopeful, they look to us in love, to softly and simply say:

“No more.”