The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it (John 1:5).
If you are a little kid, two weeks can seem like forever if you are waiting for Christmas.
If you are retirement age, two weeks can seem like the blink of an eye as the routine of days passes into weeks and the fortnight flies by.
If you are engaged, two weeks till the wedding can seem incredibly short if you are behind in your preparations and incessantly long if you have cold feet.
If you are expecting a baby, two weeks till delivery can be exciting, tiring, terrifying, and forever.
If you are a grieving parent who had your child ripped from your life by an emotionally deranged classmate, two weeks can seem like an eternity ... or a blink of an eye ... or a detour through the suburbs of hell ... or a dizzying and maddening ride through grief, sorrow, anger, bewilderment, loss, abandonment, weariness, heartbreak, and ... whatever lies beyond words in the moments of irreparable loss and inconsolable sorrow.
Two weeks ... April 16, 2007 ... Virginia Tech ...
Words cannot express our heartbreak for those who have lost their precious friends, loved ones, classmates, and children. Words cannot mitigate their circumstances, alleviate their pain, or push back their sense of bewildering loss.
So what do we do to bring grace, provide hope, and offer healing?
What did God do to speak to the hurt of our world?
He entered our world.
He shared our sorrow.
He touched our hurt.
He bore our grief.
He gave up his life.
So rather than give trite explanations and hand out buckets full of blame, let's remember the truth ... the ultimate message of God ... was not an explanation, or a condemnation, or a theological exploration of mortality. It was an incarnation of grace: a commitment to be there and share and bear the sense of loss.
So let's do the same ... with those nearby ... within our reach ... in the part of the world God has assigned to us, in which we are to be the presence of Jesus ... the second incarnation of grace.
Only then, only when incarnation is real and mortality is real — entered, shared, touched, borne, and lost — can resurrection and hope be real, too.