good words

The words on this blog tonight come from President Obama's speech at the memorial service in Tucson. They feel worth passing along.

To  the families of those we've lost; to all who called them friends; to  the students of this university, the public servants gathered tonight,  and the people of Tucson and Arizona:  I have come here tonight as an  American who, like all Americans, kneels to pray with you today, and  will stand by you tomorrow.

There is nothing I can say that will  fill the sudden hole torn in your hearts.  But know this: the hopes of a  nation are here tonight.  We mourn with you for the fallen.  We join  you in your grief.  And we add our faith to yours that Representative  Gabrielle Giffords and the other living victims of this tragedy pull  through.

As Scripture tells us:

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy place where the Most High dwells.
God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day.

On  Saturday morning, Gabby, her staff, and many of her constituents  gathered outside a supermarket to exercise their right to peaceful  assembly and free speech.  They were fulfilling a central tenet of the  democracy envisioned by our founders - representatives of the people  answering to their constituents, so as to carry their concerns to our  nation's capital.  Gabby called it "Congress on Your Corner" - just an  updated version of government of and by and for the people.
That is  the quintessentially American scene that was shattered by a gunman's  bullets.  And the six people who lost their lives on Saturday - they too  represented what is best in America.

Judge John Roll served our  legal system for nearly 40 years.  A graduate of this university and  its law school, Judge Roll was recommended for the federal bench by John  McCain twenty years ago, appointed by President George H.W. Bush, and  rose to become Arizona's chief federal judge.  His colleagues described  him as the hardest-working judge within the Ninth Circuit.  He was on  his way back from attending Mass, as he did every day, when he decided  to stop by and say hi to his Representative.  John is survived by his  loving wife, Maureen, his three sons, and his five grandchildren.

George  and Dorothy Morris - "Dot" to her friends - were high school  sweethearts who got married and had two daughters.  They did everything  together, traveling the open road in their RV, enjoying what their  friends called a 50-year honeymoon.  Saturday morning, they went by the  Safeway to hear what their Congresswoman had to say.  When gunfire rang  out, George, a former Marine, instinctively tried to shield his wife.   Both were shot.  Dot passed away.

A New Jersey native, Phyllis  Schneck retired to Tucson to beat the snow. But in the summer, she would  return East, where her world revolved around her 3 children, 7  grandchildren, and 2 year-old great-granddaughter.  A gifted quilter,  she'd often work under her favorite tree, or sometimes sew aprons with  the logos of the Jets and the Giants to give out at the church where she  volunteered.  A Republican, she took a liking to Gabby, and wanted to  get to know her better.

Dorwan and Mavy Stoddard grew up in  Tucson together - about seventy years ago. They moved apart and started  their own respective families, but after both were widowed they found  their way back here, to, as one of Mavy's daughters put it, "be  boyfriend and girlfriend again." When they weren't out on the road in  their motor home, you could find them just up the road, helping folks in  need at the Mountain Avenue Church of Christ.  A retired construction  worker, Dorwan spent his spare time fixing up the church along with  their dog, Tux.  His final act of selflessness was to dive on top of his  wife, sacrificing his life for hers.

Everything Gabe Zimmerman  did, he did with passion - but his true passion was people.  As Gabby's  outreach director, he made the cares of thousands of her constituents  his own, seeing to it that seniors got the Medicare benefits they had  earned, that veterans got the medals and care they deserved, that  government was working for ordinary folks.  He died doing what he loved -  talking with people and seeing how he could help.  Gabe is survived by  his parents, Ross and Emily, his brother, Ben, and his fiancée, Kelly,  who he planned to marry next year.

And then there is nine  year-old Christina Taylor Green.  Christina was an A student, a dancer, a  gymnast, and a swimmer.  She often proclaimed that she wanted to be the  first woman to play in the major leagues, and as the only girl on her  Little League team, no one put it past her.  She showed an appreciation  for life uncommon for a girl her age, and would remind her mother, "We  are so blessed.  We have the best life."  And she'd pay those blessings  back by participating in a charity that helped children who were less  fortunate.

Our hearts are broken by their sudden passing.  Our hearts are broken - and yet, our hearts also have reason for fullness.

Our  hearts are full of hope and thanks for the 13 Americans who survived  the shooting, including the congresswoman many of them went to see on  Saturday.  I have just come from the University Medical Center, just a  mile from here, where our friend Gabby courageously fights to recover  even as we speak.  And I can tell you this - she knows we're here and  she knows we love her and she knows that we will be rooting for her  throughout what will be a difficult journey.

And our hearts are  full of gratitude for those who saved others.  We are grateful for  Daniel Hernandez, a volunteer in Gabby's office who ran through the  chaos to minister to his boss, tending to her wounds to keep her alive.   We are grateful for the men who tackled the gunman as he stopped to  reload.  We are grateful for a petite 61 year-old, Patricia Maisch, who  wrestled away the killer's ammunition, undoubtedly saving some lives.   And we are grateful for the doctors and nurses and emergency medics who  worked wonders to heal those who'd been hurt.

These men and  women remind us that heroism is found not only on the fields of battle.   They remind us that heroism does not require special training or  physical strength.  Heroism is here, all around us, in the hearts of so  many of our fellow citizens, just waiting to be summoned - as it was on  Saturday morning.

Their actions, their selflessness, also pose a  challenge to each of us.  It raises the question of what, beyond the  prayers and expressions of concern, is required of us going forward.   How can we honor the fallen?  How can we be true to their memory?

You  see, when a tragedy like this strikes, it is part of our nature to  demand explanations - to try to impose some order on the chaos, and make  sense out of that which seems senseless.  Already we've seen a national  conversation commence, not only about the motivations behind these  killings, but about everything from the merits of gun safety laws to the  adequacy of our mental health systems.  Much of this process, of  debating what might be done to prevent such tragedies in the future, is  an essential ingredient in our exercise of self-government.

But  at a time when our discourse has become so sharply polarized - at a time  when we are far too eager to lay the blame for all that ails the world  at the feet of those who think differently than we do - it's important  for us to pause for a moment and make sure that we are talking with each  other in a way that heals, not a way that wounds.

Scripture  tells us that there is evil in the world, and that terrible things  happen for reasons that defy human understanding.  In the words of Job,  "when I looked for light, then came darkness."  Bad things happen, and  we must guard against simple explanations in the aftermath.

For  the truth is that none of us can know exactly what triggered this  vicious attack.  None of us can know with any certainty what might have  stopped those shots from being fired, or what thoughts lurked in the  inner recesses of a violent man's mind.

So yes, we must examine  all the facts behind this tragedy.  We cannot and will not be passive in  the face of such violence. We should be willing to challenge old  assumptions in order to lessen the prospects of violence in the future.

But  what we can't do is use this tragedy as one more occasion to turn on  one another.  As we discuss these issues, let each of us do so with a  good dose of humility.  Rather than pointing fingers or assigning blame,  let us use this occasion to expand our moral imaginations, to listen to  each other more carefully, to sharpen our instincts for empathy, and  remind ourselves of all the ways our hopes and dreams are bound  together.

After all, that's what most of us do when we lose  someone in our family - especially if the loss is unexpected.  We're  shaken from our routines, and forced to look inward.  We reflect on the  past.   Did we spend enough time with an aging parent, we wonder.  Did  we express our gratitude for all the sacrifices they made for us?  Did  we tell a spouse just how desperately we loved them, not just once in  awhile but every single day?

So sudden loss causes us to look  backward - but it also forces us to look forward, to reflect on the  present and the future, on the manner in which we live our lives and  nurture our relationships with those who are still with us.  We may ask  ourselves if we've shown enough kindness and generosity and compassion  to the people in our lives.  Perhaps we question whether we are doing  right by our children, or our community, and whether our priorities are  in order.  We recognize our own mortality, and are reminded that in the  fleeting time we have on this earth, what matters is not wealth, or  status, or power, or fame - but rather, how well we have loved, and what  small part we have played in bettering the lives of others.

That  process of reflection, of making sure we align our values with our  actions - that, I believe, is what a tragedy like this requires.  For  those who were harmed, those who were killed - they are part of our  family, an American family 300 million strong.  We may not have known  them personally, but we surely see ourselves in them.  In George and  Dot, in Dorwan and Mavy, we sense the abiding love we have for our own  husbands, our own wives, our own life partners.  Phyllis - she's our mom  or grandma; Gabe our brother or son.  In Judge Roll, we recognize not  only a man who prized his family and doing his job well, but also a man  who embodied America's fidelity to the law.  In Gabby, we see a  reflection of our public spiritedness, that desire to participate in  that sometimes frustrating, sometimes contentious, but always necessary  and never-ending process to form a more perfect union.

And in Christina...in Christina we see all of our children.  So curious, so trusting, so energetic and full of magic.

So deserving of our love.

And  so deserving of our good example.  If this tragedy prompts reflection  and debate, as it should, let's make sure it's worthy of those we have  lost.  Let's make sure it's not on the usual plane of politics and point  scoring and pettiness that drifts away with the next news cycle.

The  loss of these wonderful people should make every one of us strive to be  better in our private lives - to be better friends and neighbors,  co-workers and parents.  And if, as has been discussed in recent days,  their deaths help usher in more civility in our public discourse, let's  remember that it is not because a simple lack of civility caused this  tragedy, but rather because only a more civil and honest public  discourse can help us face up to our challenges as a nation, in a way  that would make them proud.  It should be because we want to live up to  the example of public servants like John Roll and Gabby Giffords, who  knew first and foremost that we are all Americans, and that we can  question each other's ideas without questioning each other's love of  country, and that our task, working together, is to constantly widen the  circle of our concern so that we bequeath the American dream to future  generations.

I believe we can be better.  Those who died here,  those who saved lives here - they help me believe.  We may not be able  to stop all evil in the world, but I know that how we treat one another  is entirely up to us.  I believe that for all our imperfections, we are  full of decency and goodness, and that the forces that divide us are not  as strong as those that unite us.

That's what I believe, in  part because that's what a child like Christina Taylor Green believed.   Imagine: here was a young girl who was just becoming aware of our  democracy; just beginning to understand the obligations of citizenship;  just starting to glimpse the fact that someday she too might play a part  in shaping her nation's future.  She had been elected to her student  council; she saw public service as something exciting, something  hopeful.  She was off to meet her congresswoman, someone she was sure  was good and important and might be a role model.  She saw all this  through the eyes of a child, undimmed by the cynicism or vitriol that we  adults all too often just take for granted.

I want us to live  up to her expectations.  I want our democracy to be as good as she  imagined it.  All of us - we should do everything we can to make sure  this country lives up to our children's expectations.

Christina  was given to us on September 11th, 2001, one of 50 babies born that day  to be pictured in a book called "Faces of Hope."  On either side of her  photo in that book were simple wishes for a child's life.  "I hope you  help those in need," read one.  "I hope you know all of the words to the  National Anthem and sing it with your hand over your heart.  I hope you  jump in rain puddles."

If there are rain puddles in heaven,  Christina is jumping in them today.  And here on Earth, we place our  hands over our hearts, and commit ourselves as Americans to forging a  country that is forever worthy of her gentle, happy spirit.

May  God bless and keep those we've lost in restful and eternal peace.  May  He love and watch over the survivors.  And may He bless the United  States of America.

Peace,
Milton