How long, oh Lord?

Jess: When I was a just barely fourteen-year-old high school freshman, the world crumbled around me (or so it seemed). On a typical Tuesday morning, terrorists struck out against the US. The World Trade Centers fell, and with them my innocence regarding the power of evil on earth. I was certainly not alone in feeling this way; people all over the country felt fear—for themselves, for their families, for the future of our nation. Yet before the smoke had even stopped billowing, nations from around the world reached out in solidarity with the US. 

As the people of the US rallied together in solidarity, people around the world condemned our attackers and pledged aid where aid might be needed. Not long after seeing the very worst of what people with evil intentions can do, we saw the very best of what people with compassion and good intentions can do. We listened to men and women aboard the airplanes who called their family members with messages of hope and love. We heard about those who stood up against the terrorists and—knowing they would die—struggled to save other innocent people. We watched first responders rush into chaos to save those who were trying to get out. We heard cries like, “Today, we are all Americans,” a resounding call to not let this terrible act of aggression destroy our unity.

Then, in a fit of rage and fear, the US sent troops into a nation in which this terrorist group resided. Fourteen years later, we have still been unable to extricate ourselves from this mess. Despite promises from more than one president, other political leaders, and potential future presidents, we are still at war. An entire generation of Americans has grown up knowing only a nation at war. An entire generation of children thinks that it is normal to expect that some of their friends’ parents—or their own—will have to go overseas and be killed in a winner-less war.

Last week, terrorists attacked Paris. Let us not forget that terrorists attack homes, villages, cities, and nations more or less every day of every week of every year. Yet France and its citizens remind us of ourselves. There has been much discussion of why this tragedy has been so well-covered when others are ignored. Perhaps it is because we see ourselves in the French people who are scared for their lives, the lives of their children, the future of their nation. Perhaps it is because we know what it is like to go from innocence to terror in a few seconds on a normal day. Perhaps it is because we know what it feels like to send out troops in rage and fear to defeat a terrifyingly powerful and well-hidden enemy.

I have been incredibly disappointed by the reactions of many Americans to this disaster in France. Instead of saying, “Today, we are all French,” we are saying, “That’s why you don’t let refugees into your nation.” Instead of saying, “We stand with you in solidarity,” we are saying, “At least it’s not us again.” Instead of saying, “Terror is an enemy that we cannot fight with guns and fear but with unity and hope,” we are saying, “Bomb the hell out of them.” This was not the answer 14 years ago. It is not the answer now. I don’t claim to have all the answers, but I do know that history is repeating itself. The main difference? When the US was attacked, the world joined with us in mourning instead of pointing fingers and placing blame. Have we learned nothing?

Wes: As I am writing this, I still can’t decide what exactly to write about. There are so many points I want to make, so many statements I want to unpack, and so many arguments I want to get in right now that it’s hard to decide which one among them is winning in the emotionally-driven fight currently taking place within my soul. I want to talk about how helping people should not be a partisan position. I want to talk about violence and how it does not beget anything but more violence. I want to talk about how an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind. And I want to do all of this because I react with such anger and frustration every time I read something someone wrote or hear something someone said as they are reacting with anger and frustration to an act of terror that’s purpose is to make us react emotively in anger and frustration.

Try to diagram the above sentence and you start to understand just how ridiculous this all is.

I want to talk about all of these things, but I’m going to try, very hard, to practice for a moment a lesson I learned from my Jewish brothers and sisters called sitting shiva. You can read a little more about it here, but the gist of it is this: when someone is in mourning, you join them in mourning. You don’t try to give them answers, you don’t try to fix it, and you don’t try to fill the empty space with emptier words.

Instead, you just sit.

In silence.

And you be with them.

If they want to talk, awesome. Let them. Join in the conversation and engage them how they can be engaged. But if they don’t, if they just want to sit in silence in the muck and mire of brokenness for a little bit, then you do just that. You mourn with them. You suffer with them. You sit in the ashes alongside them and you shut up and you be whatever they need you to be.

Right now, we are a part of a global community that is suffering. Paris, Beirut, and Baghdad all had really bad weeks last week. People died and terror reigned for a while and it was not good. And they are not the only places. Syria has been in the grips of a years-long civil war that has left untold numbers dead and destitute. There were two earthquakes last week that left a path of destruction in major cities. There are still children being abducted and forced into soldiering and prostitution in Africa.

There is quite a lot of pain in the world. And yes, we absolutely should do something about it. But do you want to know how evil wins? Do you want to know how the terrorists win? (And I say both statements without a lick of sarcasm).

When we react out of fear and anger and frustration, we feed the fires of evil and brokenness. So before we act, before we engage these awful events in any way, let’s take a moment to sit shiva with those who are suffering. To be with them in the ashes, in the muck and mire of pain.

Then, after we’ve sat shiva, let’s tackle this together. Not out of a place of anger or fear, but out of a place of love and strength. Let’s seek to mirror together that perfect love of God that drives out all fear, and let’s start by joining Christ, our God-with-us, in the muck and mire of sitting shiva.