There are no words for the bloodshed.
Perhaps that’s why You are silent.
There is no lament that keens deeply enough
So let the psalmists set down their lyres.
Your children are being shot, burned, stolen.
Is it possible for the Divine to experience shock?
The Spirit is making a pilgrimage through the streets,
Laying flowers on the lifeless chests of Her playmates.
They were Her hope in the work of nurturing wisdom;
She was their hope through each day’s encounter with life.
O my God, let the Spirit become an enraged mother
And cry out with indignation and pain for justice;
It is too uncanny to see Her silent with mourning.
How can I pray if She is without words?