[insert school/city name here]

“‘No Way To Prevent This,’ Says Only Nation Where This Regularly Happens” It’s the headline we read every time there’s another mass shooting. The Onion, struggling to remain satirical in a world stranger than fiction, knows the power of the headline’s meaning. Replace the city’s name, update the number of fatalities, add new picture, repost. It’s always the same. It’s all the same.

Early reports of a shooter on social media. You notice, but don’t click. Don’t bother unless it’s close by or they start reporting fatalities. Injuries don’t warrant attention anymore. Rumors of multiple shooters. Rumor debunked. Images of victims running away, of SWAT teams gathering, of onlookers crying. Early reports of the shooter’s name. Numbers start to come in from hospitals: x dead, y wounded. No, x+z dead now. Calls for gun control. Calls for not using this event as a call for gun control. Thoughts and prayers. “Thoughts and prayers are not enough.” Reports that police have found shooter’s journal and social media. Analysis starts on his motive (it’s always a him). Conjecture. Loner, bullied, radicalized, heartbroken, mentally ill? Honoring the hero that died saving others.  Vigil for the victims. How could we have prevented this? How could we prevent the next one? Then another disaster strikes the news cycle, and the story slips down, eventually becoming just an item on the lists of deadly shootings. The local community is left to bury their dead and deal with their trauma, and everyone else just hopes the next community isn’t theirs.

After running through the cycle a few times, it’s not so shocking. It’d be silly to say that a shooting is shocking. It’s scary and tragic and traumatizing, but not shocking. It’s not a surprise. We know our role in the routine. We all have our stock answers, our trusty thoughts and prayers and gun lobbying statistics. I used to wonder how people in war-torn places dealt with everyday life when there are soldiers and shootings and bombers all around them. But I think I get it now. You bury empathy unless it hits too close to home. You don’t let yourself mourn every life lost. There isn’t time for mourning or processing or deep introspection. You learn which routes are safest, physically and mentally, and make that your routine. You turn off a part of your own humanity because you’re in an inhumane environment.

At the beginning of the school year, kids across the country do fire and tornado and active shooter drills. Because they are disasters that children need to be prepared for. Because they are disasters that can’t be predicted or prevented. Any post-Columbine student knows how to react to a shooting just as much as a fire. Repeat the drill so if the real thing happens, you can just go on autopilot. Turn off that part of your humanity. Know your role in the routine. Carry the training into the real world, to your work, your church, the movie theater, the concert venue. Always be alert. Always be ready. Why are our kids so anxious?

Why are our kids so anxious? Because it is beyond their control. That’s part of the training. We have no control over a fire or a tornado or an active shooter. They’re just disasters that sometimes happen. It’s an inhumane environment; just get out alive. We have no way to prevent this, says the only nation where this regularly happens.

Roses are Red, Ashes are Gray…

Due to an unfortunate lap of calendars, Ash Wednesday and Valentine’s Day fall on the same day this year. For the Church, there is no question: Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent trumps a saint’s feast day. But on a practical level, people are trying to figure out how to have nice dinners and chocolates on a day of fasting and penance.

It truly shows the secularity Valentine’s Day has taken. Because some people aren’t concerned at all with Ash Wednesday’s arrival. It’s a day of romance and celebration. Although the martyr Valentine would probably be more than happy to suppress his feast for Lent.

But people have a hard time letting go of feasts and are eager to look for loopholes out of fasts. I feel like trying to find compromises of combining the two kind of miss the point of both.

Cardinal Dolan recently pointed out that the day of feasting and the day of fasting do have something in common: they are both matters of the heart. Romance is a shadow of greater love. Pink paper hearts and lace prepare us for bloody hearts and spears. This year, the 14th is still about a heart, but the Sacred Heart. It’s about the love that dies for its creation, the love that led Valentine to martyrdom, the love that encourages us to spend 40 days in fasting and penance. Lent is somber, but it needn’t be dreary. There is beauty and expressions of love to be found in a toned down season. It’s a time to work on your relationship with Christ. It’s a six-week getaway with the one you love.

Spiritual Speed Skating

The Winter Olympics. Also known as that period where I marvel how these talented athletes don’t break their legs every single day while also judging that one skater’s slow rotation from my slothful sofa. Olympians make it look so easy, because they are the best competing against the best. Because they have dedicated their entire lives to that one moment. Because I don’t see their lives when the camera is off. But it is hard work. It toils on their bodies and spirits. They have a few seconds to prove themselves in front of the world—victory or defeat.

As I tuned into the speed skating, I figured this sport had a low learning curve for me the viewer. No weird technical jargon, no judges’ scoring system to unpack. Skate fast = win. And it seemed like that for the first few rounds. I thought it was odd that they competed in pairs; why not eight or ten out there like runners do? Then in one fall I learned why.

The pair competing was Norwegian Allan Dahl Johansson and Dutch Koen Verweij. Johansson crashed just before the halfway mark. There were gasps, as there usually are with falls and crashes at the Olympics. Then the commentators said, “This is it for Johansson and for Verweij.” How does his competitor’s fall affect him? For the rest of the race, they watched Verweij, knowing his chances of medaling were all but gone. Without someone to race against, the pace was lost. And now it was just him. You could see the agony in his face and legs. You could see the strength and training and resolve it takes.

It reminded me of how we need people in our spiritual challenges. Even if we think we can go it alone. Even if the other people aren’t necessarily friend. It’s harder alone. It’s all but lost alone. The toil wears faster. The resolve falls quicker.

Others can make it look easy, as if prayer and spiritual relationships develop naturally. But they take pain and practice and a lot of hard work. They only look easy because you see a few seconds of that person’s life. Each decision comes after hours and months of prayer, confession, failing, and resolve. Each decision is a moment for victory or defeat. And it’s much harder to attain victory alone.

A Light in Winter

Since joining the Church, one of the feast days that really draws me (and which I don’t understand doesn’t get more importance) is Candlemas. It sounds so quant and English in my mind, and I suspect there is some novel I read as a child that mentioned it, which is why it enthralls me. Soft glowing candles in the dreary winter season. As for its actual meaning, I don’t give it much thought.

Candlemas marks a few important things in the infancy narrative of Jesus. But they are foreign traditions so they are easy to miss. It’s been forty days since Christmas Day. Women were considered unclean after giving birth, and 40 days after bearing a son, she could reenter social life. This was marked by bringing the baby forward to a priest and making an offering, either a lamb for turtledove. So the feast is sometimes called the Purification of Mary.

The ritual also marked presenting Jesus, her first born child, to God. The scriptures said, “Every male that opens the womb shall be called holy to the Lord” (Luke 2:23).  Like Hannah and Samuel, Mary took Jesus to be presented at the Temple (although she didn’t leave him there). So the feast is sometimes called the Presentation of the Lord.

During the presentation, Simeon recognized who Jesus was and rejoiced at living long enough to see the Messiah. His canticle calls Jesus “a light for revelation to the Gentiles.” So the feast is sometimes called Candlemas, and the Church uses that day to bless the candles for the year, both for church and home use.

As the last mention of Jesus as an infant, it the official end of the Christmas season. So you should really take down those Christmas decorations now.