15 April 2013


I am alright.  The friars in Boston are alright.

But then again, I'm not alright, not in the least bit.  No one is, really.

I'm sitting in my office in the friary at the moment, attempting to put pieces together, attempting to get a handle on what has happened.  And all of the news web sites are just as impotent, just as unsure as they always have been and likely always will be.

And it feels as if I'm in honors chemistry  on a Tuesday in September in 2001: there's an announcement over the speaker about something happening in New York.  We're all in the gym and there are rumors about just how bad it is.

It is bad.

What is it really that we can do, how does one respond?

I pray.  It's impotent.  It's pointless.  It's as if I'm throwing verbal rocks against a mass of something else, the tumult of hatred and violence and vengeance.  And yet, I'm going offer evening prayer in just a few minutes.

It's all I can do.

A friar mentor of mine once said in response to something bad that had happened on campus in college: "What do do now is pray.  That's what we do."

So we pray: for victims, for forgiveness, for justice, for the perpetrators even.

That's all we got, you know?  Prayer.  Perhaps it's just words.  Or perhaps the Lord hears us.

I'll bet my life it's the letter.  God help us all.

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