Prince of Peace

I am not in grade school. I am not a teacher. I am not from Connecticut. I do not have children. I have never been the victim of a violent crime.

Why, then, do I feel attached to what has happened? Why do I feel sorrow for the families? Why do I feel anger toward the perpetrator? Why do I feel responsibility to know the story and understand what happened? We all share it together, don't we? We are connected by our humanity, connected by the
hope of redemption and healing, and we are connected, ultimately, by our createdness. We prove it when we cry out together for justice. We prove it when we mourn over our dinner tables and read the stories.

I want to read more, I want to be there, don't you? I want to hear the stories first-hand. I want to go back in time and stop it, but I can't. It seems like nothing can stop things like this from happening. Our news articles and stories are not enough. Our grief is not enough, our hopes and beliefs are not enough, our justice is not enough, our armies and weapons are not enough, and our laws are not enough. It seems that even our prayers are not enough.

But You, Prince of Peace, You are enough. Come, Emmanuel, to our dark and broken world. Come, Jesus, come.