Special post: In Response to Nashville

I take my lead from a daily devotion written on Tuesday morning of this week by former staff member and continuing friend of Pinnacle, Allen Hilton.  Allen began his devotional with the right New Testament passage for this week, from 1 Thessalonians:

Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of humankind, who have no hope. For 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 4.13-14

And then six names

Evelyn Dieckhaus (9 years old)
Hallie Scruggs (9 years old)
William Kinney (9 years old).
Cynthia Peak (61 years old)
Mike Hill (61 years old)
Katherine Koonce (60 years old) 

There's more to be said, but maybe a long pause is in order here.

These are names of the dead from Monday at Covenant School, part of Covenant Presbyterian Church, in Nashville.  Add to this six the name of the 26-year-old shooter, Audrey Hale, who even in derangement was loved by God. 

Six names (seven).  Six families (seven).  Multiple networks of friendship, love, and community.  A nation that reels too many times and for too many names.  A world where preventable tragedies come far too often.  Just the day before this Nashville attack a massive fire broke out at an immigrant detention center in Ciudad Juárez, Mexico.  At least 38 people died there, people who were abandoned behind locked gates and couldn't get out. 

Too many to grieve. 

But Jesus says "blessed are those who mourn" (Matthew 5:8).  One wonders how much blessing must we endure to receive blessing.

Does the blessing Jesus promises to those who mourn contradict that passage from 1 Thessalonians, where we seem to be told that we don't have to grieve?  I don't think so, for perhaps the blessing we can find in all of this, in the face of a God who also grieves, is the power to grieve with resolve, with direction, and with hope--not to cover over, but to see more clearly; not to hide, but to acknowledge the anger and the horror and the shame of it all.  Grief, but not with despair.  Grief with honesty and resolve and faith that God can hold it all. 

The sting is still there, though.  How can this happen?  How do these families go on?  How do we protect the living--our children, our dear ones, our teachers, . . . all who are vulnerable?  How do we combine prayer and action--knowing there is evil and pain and trauma we won't vanquish this side of eternity,

There's a sentence going 'round social media from Miroslav Volf.  Miroslav is a theologian who's not unfamiliar with violence and tragedy from his native Croatia.  He's been part of Pinnacle's ministry in podcast and webinar through the Park Center.  The phrase from him is not poetic.  It's actually quite simple.  But, perhaps, it says something that needs to be said—stripped of theological language and said in a way that all might hear:  "There is something deeply hypocritical about praying for a problem you are unwilling to resolve."

There is no final resolution to violence, or indifference, or inaction, or tragedy, or evil this side of eternity.  But there is still action to take.  There are things we can do to inhibit, to respond, to care—in hope, to bless. 

Let's.