Boston

bostonmarathon2013
Watching the news coverage, tears welling up, I decided to write this. The depth of the tragedy at the Boston Marathon so naked in the video tape, runners writhing in pain on Boylston Street, spectators injured and dying behind the street barriers. The explosions shown over and over. Ball bearing shrapnel. Injured carried away in wheelchairs, stretchers.

Misery visits us once again. There are loved ones mourning tonight, counting agonized minutes in hospital waiting areas, bewildered by senseless sudden death. Lives are changed forever. We search for meaning, but it eludes us. We offer prayers for the dead and injured, console the families, and sift the wreckage of our lives for clues.

When innocents are killed by random acts or policy decisions anywhere in the world, there are always shocked families and friends who wonder why. Some of those victims—whether in Boston, Islamabad, or Baghdad—will learn new lessons in hate. If they learn those lessons well, the cycle of murder will continue. We need to search our hearts for the answers to hate because the questions hate poses can destroy us all.

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