Tragedy, Lament, and Boston

I ran the Chicago marathon way back in 2002. At the time I was a sophomore in college, and this was the biggest accomplishment of my young life to date. I trained hard for four months, and then I did it. I ran a marathon.

Of all the things I remember, what's most stark in my mind even now, eleven years later, is the joy at the end. There was utter jubilation at that finish line. Not just for me - for everyone.

Runners were exuberant with their accomplishments.

Families and friends gathered to celebrate.

It felt like half the city was out there watching the end of the race.

At the finish line, people who had never met were suddenly hugging and jumping up and down and reveling together.

At the finish line, there was a huge tent full of carb-laden food to help the runners replenish what they'd lost. Free bagels and beer abounded (the irony there is not lost on my current gluten free self!).

My family spent their entire morning riding the El train to try to see me at different viewpoints along the race. Because I was faster than they'd expected, they never saw me run. So by the time I was ending the race, they were standing at the finish line waiting with great anticipation to welcome me across.

Runners are some of the nicest people you'll ever meet, and during the course of my race a 30-something woman from Madison befriended me at the starting line. We ran the entire race together. When I wanted to take a break and walk, she pushed me to keep going.

I met other folks along the way, too. The middle-aged man who told jokes to anyone within earshot. (About two hours into the race when we were only 13 miles in, he quipped, "Well, the Kenyans are back in Kenya by now.") The trio of young women wearing pig ears, pig snouts, and fairy wings with t-shirts that read "We said we'd run a marathon when pigs flew!"

Stages were set up throughout the various neighborhoods with bands playing. A Chinese dragon welcomed us in Chinatown. It seemed that almost every business along the route had its doors open and music blasting to help pump us up.

Running that marathon was an incredible, joyful experience. I went home buoyed not just by my own success (I finished! Yay!) but by the collective exuberance of the whole event.

Marathons are just good fun.

***

Fast forward to yesterday when over 140 people, at last count,  were killed at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. At the time I write this, three people have lost their lives.

A bombing anywhere is senseless. Tragic.

But a bombing at the end of such a long, hard race is insane. Absurd. Gut-wrenching.

A bombing that ripped through jubilant crowds welcoming their friends and family members and loved ones home at the end of their race is abhorrant. Horrific. Sickening.

I wish I had something to say, but there isn't anything to say. In times like these, I am thankful for Psalms of lament.

Answer me when I call to you, my righteous God. Give us relief from our distress; have mercy on us and hear our prayer. --Psalm 4:1

My prayers are with those in Boston. My heart goes out to the runners, the spectators, the killed, and the injured. My heart goes out to the police force, the first responders, the medical teams, and the families.

For other pastors' takes on the bombings, check out Christianity Today's Gleanings.

God help us.