Ordinary Days...

In the midst of reading Tillich's views of how history progresses in all of its glory and tragedy, I browsed the news online and found news of this tragic, horrific shooting at Virginia Tech. Tillich says that particular groups bear their own histories, and right now, this particular group of students, faculty, staff, and parents are bearing the weight of an overwhelmingly tragic moment in their collective history.

I feel like I should be praying, and encouraging others to do so, and part of me wishes I could keep some vigil instead of going back to the normal routine of the rest of my Monday. I wish I could stop time and find a way to give God back to a community that surely must feel as if they have lost him.

I've been listening to Jars of Clay for a half an hour or so this afternoon (good background music for homework), and some songs have really struck me:

"The ice is thin enough for walkin'
The rope is worn enough to climb
My throat is dry enough for talkin'
The world is crumblin' but I know why
The world is crumblin' but I know why...
It's just enough to be strong
In the broken places, in the broken places
It's just enough to be strong
Should the world rely on faith tonight"
(Faith Enough)

"Not much for conversation
I still find need to pray
Sometimes I get tired of walking
Through these ordinary days...
I don't know where
I don't know how
I don't know why
But your love can make
These things better"
(Ordinary Days)

"Sometimes I cannot forgive
And these days, mercy cuts so deep
If the world was how it should be, maybe I could get some sleep
While I lay, I dream we're better,
Scales were gone and faces light
When we wake, we hate our brother
We still move to hurt each other
Sometimes I can close my eyes,
And all the fear that keeps me silent falls below my heavy breathing,
What makes me so badly bent?
We all have a chance to murder
We all feel the need for wonder
We still want to be reminded that the pain is worth the thunder

Sometimes when I lose my grip, I wonder what to make of heaven
All the times I thought to reach up
All the times I had to give
Babies underneath their beds
Hospitals that cannot treat all the wounds that money causes,
All the comforts of cathedrals
All the cries of thirsty children - this is our inheritance
All the rage of watching mothers - this is our greatest offense
Oh my God..."
(Oh My God)