Images of Grief and Grace

Once again, the headlines speak of an unfathomable tragedy in our country, only this time the culprit has no face, no pressure cooker bomb, and no accidental spark. Unlike the predicted, albeit unwelcome appearances of Katrina and Sandy, the tornado that tore through an Oklahoma City suburb left no name on its calling card. Yet call she did, and we once again are watching the all-too-familiar scenes of loss and devastation. Just as the images of grief and grace were present in Boston, Massachusetts, Newtown, Connecticut and West, Texas, so too are there images of the horrendous and the miraculous coming from Moore, Oklahoma.

The horrendous is everywhere in the photos flooding the news websites and network television news. Scary scenes from Plaza Towers and Briarwood Elementary Schools show injured children, courageous teachers, and heart-wrenching reunions. The aerial photos bear witness to the strength of this EF4 tornado that cut a swath of destruction through a community just like ours - lined with homes, schools, and a hospital. Some of the scenes look as though King Kong wandered into Oklahoma, tossing automobiles around with abandon, as though they were Matchbox cars.

One photo juxtaposes the red, white and blue of an American flag with a concrete angel kneeling in prayer on the hood of a damaged auto. Perhaps the photo was staged, but it serves as a reminder of the strength of our country, flaws and all, and of the power of faith in the face of tragedy, a thread that reaches upward and encircles  the grieving.

Because of my many years of ministry in the Salvation Army, I was especially moved by a picture posted on Facebook by Wendy Morris, a Salvation Army major who shares the leadership responsibility for Oklahoma and Arkansas with her husband Steve. The photo shows a battered pair of black dress shoes, scuffed and muddied as Steve surveyed the damages and worked to organize a response team from staff and volunteers. Wendy wrote: "Steve was able to get an hour's sleep last night between assessment meetings and interviews and he left again early this morning. As I was getting ready today, I was stunned to find his uniform shoes and realize all the places his feet had been in the last 24 hours."

When we tie our shoelaces each morning, we may anticipate a typical day, but, as our Oklahoma brothers and sisters discovered, not all days are typical. I think especially of teachers, heading into the home stretch in these end-of-school days, and of our safety forces, with the spit and polish shine to their shoes that comes from discipline and bravery. The shoes of those who extend a healing touch often move silently in the quiet ebb and flow of life, yet rush to respond when trauma strikes. Oh, if only our shoes could talk.

I thought, too, of the friend of a friend, who grabbed her barefoot children, piled them into the mini-van, and managed to outrun the twister. They spent a restless night with friends, not knowing what might remain of their home directly in the path of the tornado. Will they even be able to find a single shoe in the rubble? When confronted with so much damage, where do survivors even start?

Perhaps they too can begin with these same images, looking to the American flag, tattered yet still standing, proclaiming the support of Americans from sea to shining sea, who will do what they can to shore up the recovery process for those whose lives were blown to pieces in a matter of minutes. They can look for the praying angels, symbolic of the gifts of faith and hope that remain, even in the midst of the darkest night. And they can seek out the shoes of the helpers, those combing through the debris, walking the demolished neighborhoods with cups of cold water, setting up cots in the shelters, and coming alongside in the physical rebuilding and the emotional and spiritual restoration so desperately needed. A flag, an angel, and a pair of shoes -it's all there - grace in the midst of grief.