As I sit outside on a refreshingly cool, clear day in Columbia, Missouri, I’m reflecting about the chaotic week in Boston and west Texas. I smile remembering how in the early 1980s I listened to marathon coverage on the radio while living near Boylston Street in an apartment full of cockroaches among a bunch of boisterous college students while working towards my Master’s in music composition at New England Conservatory and Berklee College of Music. I am a lifelong Red Sox fan, and was moved when the Yankees played “Sweet Caroline” during their seventh-inning stretch to show solidarity with their archrivals. I am relieved that my friend returned safely to his home in Little Rock, Arkansas, after running the Boston Marathon, and that all my friends and associates there are safe, if not more than a little shaken.

Like everyone else, I am grateful that so many law enforcement officers, military personnel, medical staff, and others ran towards the scene of the explosion to try to help those in need while others ran away. I am grateful for everyone who captured the terrorists in less than five days. I am grateful that we as a people can still support each other in a crisis despite political differences.

Lord, help me remember that similar attacks happen every day all over the world, some caused by actions ordered by our politicians and carried out by those charged with keeping us safe, and at least quietly supported by most of us. You command us to love our enemies. Come on now, really? it’s so much easier and more liberating, in the short-term at least, to hate my enemies. Don’t we have an obligation to protect ourselves and those around us? I guess it’s an ongoing process requiring constant prayer, thought, and action, but please help me figure out how to strike a balance between protecting myself and others around me from the actions of evildoers and loving my enemies.

And Lord, please continue to bless West Texas and Boston, especially those that mourn, as they continue to heal. Please highlight the good, and support us as we learn what we need to from these terrible violations.

In Dave Zirin’s April 15th column about the bombings at the Boston Marathon, he wrote:

“Through 1966, women weren’t allowed to run the grueling 26-mile race. But in 1967, a woman by the name of Katherine Switzer registered as K.V. Switzer and, dressed in loose fitting sweats, took to the course. Five miles into the race, one of the marathon directors actually jumped off a truck to forcibly remove Switzer from the course, yelling: `Get the hell out of my race!` But the men running with her fought him off. For them, Katherine Switzer had every right to be there. For them, the Boston Marathon wasn’t about exclusion or proving male supremacy – pitting boys against girls. It was about people running a race. Somehow Katherine Switzer kept her pace as this mayhem occurred all around her. As she said, `I could feel my anger dissipating as the miles went by–you can’t run and stay mad!`

“When the pictures from the marathon were transmitted across the globe, the world saw two opposing models of masculinity: the violence and paranoia of the marathon director vs. the strength and solidarity of the other male runners. And at the center of it all, the resolute focus of Kathy Switzer. In that moment, sports bridged the gender divide and gave the world a glimpse into what was possible.”

What a beautiful example of how to seek justice! And as Bono reminds us in his song “One Love,” “We get to carry each other, carry each other.”

Lord, please give us the grace to carry and be carried.