As a terrorism researcher for the last two decades, I am intimately familiar with the worst that society can produce. As a lifelong Catholic, I lean on faith as a guidepost to not be subsumed by abject sadness that studying the depraved human condition can offer. From time to time after a particularly egregious act of terrorism in the United States, I find myself staring off lost in thought and despair wondering what could have been done to prevent such tragedies. It is in those moments that a line from the Chaplet of Divine Mercy echoes in my head.
For the sake of his sorrowful Passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world.
The words, as told by the Church, were given by an angel to St. Faustina, a Polish nun in a vision. Whether you believe that actually occurred or not, is of no matter to me, but I simply find that particular prayer comforting in times of need.
Have mercy on us and the whole world.
It’s hard to ask for mercy when two children, ages 8 and 10, have been struck down by the hands of a madman. Anger is the natural human emotion when faced with such tragedy.
We do not yet know the gunman’s motivations. Having sat in coffee shops and at dining room tables with victims of terrorism and their families, I can assure you that determining the reasons does not mitigate the pain. It provides but a miniscule comfort to a gaping hole of loss. I hope in the coming days clarity of motivation can be found but trust me when I tell you that it will never be enough.
If you haven’t grown up in a Catholic community setting, it’s hard to explain the importance of the first school-wide mass at school. It’s a moment of joy, a time to bring together children of all ages from kindergarten to eighth grade under a unifying set of Catholic beliefs. Beliefs that are far too often, subject to ridicule and misunderstanding. There are many young people sitting under the steeple who question those beliefs but attend the ritual nonetheless because the act of attempting to understand is one of the last few noble endeavors left in the world. There is something quite powerful about looking over the sea of church pews filled with people that are struggling with their faith and their own tribulations and knowing that you are not alone in an ever-changing world.
In their crisp new school uniforms, children as young as five typically walk in formation to the church, take their pews with their classmates, and try their best to not get a disapproving look from the religion teacher for not being properly pious as they talk to their friends before the signal to the faithful bell rings. As the mass progresses, teachers, parents, brothers, sisters, and friends say in unison the Profession of Faith. The ritual of it all is a powerful moment.
Today, a community in Minnesota mourns along with millions of its religious compatriots. And if history is a guide, there will be more communities that mourn in the coming days and weeks. Such is the tragedy of our times where far too many have accepted that moments like these are unpreventable. Despite two decades of datapoints that seem to agree with them, I stubbornly do not share that belief. But as the Book of James reminds me, “faith of itself, if it does not have works, is dead.” We must commit ourselves to do the hard work to prevent another day like this.
Have mercy on us and the whole world.
And while that line repeats in my head throughout today, I will endeavor to remember the closing moments of the Divine Mercy Chaplet:
Look kindly upon us and increase your mercy in us, that in difficult moments we might not despair nor become despondent.
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