public affairs

I was just sitting down to write an update—really to let everyone know that my own family is safe and well following the Boston Marathon bombing and the following manhunt, just a few miles from my house—when I saw on the TV, “Suspect in custody.” Well done and thanks, Boston area police! What a tremendous, professional job. As I write this, we still don’t know any of the details, just that they took the suspect alive, a nineteen-year-old kid who somehow got drawn into being part of this atrocity of terrorism and murder. And we still have the unanswered question: Were the two brothers acting alone? The story is far from over, but God willing, the day of fear has come to an end.

I was miles from the finish line of the Boston Marathon when the bombs exploded yesterday. Busy with mundane tasks, I didn’t hear much about what had happened until hours later, when I started getting text messages from out of state, people checking to see if my family and I were all right. (We are.) When I finally got caught up, I realized I was learning about something just a few miles away that was breaking news around the world. Unlike September 11, 2001, when I saw the TV images minutes after the attack, this came to me as a slow-building shock. I think it’s still building.

Are my loved ones okay? Thankfully, yes. A number of people where Allysen works were running in the marathon. They’re all okay. The soon-to-be-incoming pastor at our church was running. He’s okay. The son and daughter of someone I know made a last-minute decision not to go see the finish of the race. To the best of my knowledge, no one I know personally, or even second-hand, was physically harmed in the attack.

Emotionally is another matter. People are sad and shaky and angry and depressed. Our hearts and prayers go out to the families whose lives are shattered. I find myself wondering what kind of vicious and demonized thinking can lead someone to murder and maim innocent strangers, and presumably rejoice in it. (Yes, I know, this sort of thing goes on every day, somewhere in the world. But this time it happened in my city.) I don’t propose to answer the question, because I have no answers. It’s been going on for thousands of years. But only in the recent past has it become so easy to commit acts like this with relative impunity.

I’ve never gotten personally involved in the running of the marathon, despite knowing some people who have participated. But to me, the marathon is like the Olympics: it’s a place where people from all over the world come together to compete as friends and equals. It’s a stage that brings out the best in us as people. A stage where money doesn’t matter, nationality doesn’t matter, religion and politics don’t matter. It’s a time for coming together, and celebrating the winners and almost-winners alike.

Was that why the marathon became a target? Because it celebrated the best? Because there are those who don’t like celebration, don’t like seeing people of all nations and colors running together? I don’t suppose we’ll ever know for sure. But I’m pretty sure of this: It wasn’t an attack just on America; it was an attack on humanity.

Here’s a photo posted to Facebook by Canadian astronaut Col. Chris Hadfield, from the International Space Station, titled A somber Spring night in Boston.

One online response to the photo was this: “Can you see our broken hearts from space?”

President Obama gave his State of the Union speech last night, and it was a great speech. But for any serious people watcher, at least half the game was watching Speaker of the House John Boehner, sitting right behind the president.

Let me preface by saying that Congressman John Boehner is from my home state, the Great State of Ohio. I’m guess I’m not that much of an Ohioan anymore, having lived in Massachusetts for far longer than the years I spent growing up in Ohio. But still. You can take the boy out of Ohio, but you can’t (entirely) take Ohio out of the boy.

And so it made me wince to see Ohio’s most powerful member of Congress look like he’d eaten a bad Brazil nut for a solid hour, while listening to the president’s State of the Union address. Okay, sure, Boehner doesn’t agree with all of Obama’s policies. Hell, I don’t agree with all of Obama’s policies. (What’s up with the drone strikes, Mr. President? And why, after the Gulf oil disaster, are you so eager to fast-track oil exploration?) But most of what he said was, in my opinion, good common Midwestern sense, mixed with a healthy dose of much-needed inspiration.

So why did our most prominent Republican look as if he were receiving an hour-long prostate exam? Was it the bitterness of a vanquished foe? Or was it just a visible symptom of our still deeply divided country?

One of the many things I liked about the speech was the stories that Obama wove into it. I like stories. They humanize discussions that can otherwise become abstract and cold, and turn into endless confrontation between entrenched positions. Stories move us, and help us listen to each other. Who could fail to be moved to grief by the story of the young woman who, one week, was participating in the Presidential Inauguration, and the next, was struck down by gunfire near her home in Chicago? Or heartened by the cop who took twelve bullets while performing his job, and lived to inspire others? We can’t make national decisions based just on stories. We need hard facts to help us decide what to do about global climate change, for example. But stories have their place. Sometimes they can soften a hardened heart, and help us pay attention to what the other is saying. They might not change our minds. But they help us listen.

And listening is something we need a lot more of in American political life today.