It’s been a week, and if we were living scripture, these past days would be read in Lamentations.

The book written after the fall of Jerusalem and the pillaging and the destruction of the temple.  The book read each year on the saddest day of the Jewish calendar. The book that weeps. The book whose name in Hebrew means, How?

How can such a thing happen?

It’s been a week, and there have been funerals and memorials and deep, deep sadness. There have been words flung about, some with questions and some with answers. And some, simply, despairing.

I find myself sitting, just sitting, and mourning this tragedy. I mourn with the families whose children’s Christmas gifts will go unopened. I mourn with mothers and fathers of babies lost. I mourn with those who loved these teachers. Who shared their lives with these people and who will forever live with the wound carved by this day and by those missing.

And I mourn for a mother, her life taken in her own home by her own child’s hand. A child who went on to do… this. And I ache a mother’s ache.

I search a bit and I find Sandy Hook on the map. A stretch of land reaching out toward New York like a crooked finger, beaches and historic homes and… a lighthouse. A landmark featured on tourist brochures and t-shirts, and somehow this means something to me.

Sandy Hook Lighthouse003-1

In this darkness, light.

This is my prayer. That each of us, as we lament, as we sit in sadness with those who have lost so much, will find ways to shine a light.

Shine a light into a world that seems at times so perversely dark. Shine with kind words, open hands, generosity, sweetness, beauty.

Shine a light with love.