The Scope of Tragedy

The scope of tragedy  

As we know, it’s usually the big things that get our attention, that motivate us to act or think more deeply. You can’t get much bigger than the Titanic, the beast deemed “practically unsinkable.” (What did they mean by that adjective anyway?). Yesterday our family visited the Titanic exhibit at the Franklin Institute in Philadelphia. As we entered the exhibit, we were all given a card with the name of a passenger and at the end, we could check and see if our person survived. Our family held the cards of three survivors and two who perished.  (Interesting enough, Nathan got the card of Father Thomas Byles, a priest on his way to preside at the wedding of his brother in New York City).

Getting such cards and finding out their fates does bring a level of emotional attachment to the exhibit, as does seeing the many names on the wall. This is why we create memorials such as the Vietnam Memorial Wall or the 9-1-1 memorial. This is why, after the massacre in Newtown, simple listings of the names of those lost held such power. The large scope of the tragedy brings attention, but it is the personal stories that help us cope with such disasters.

What troubles me is that while we are motivated by such huge tragedies, “smaller” daily tragedies pass by largely unnoticed. Yesterday, on our way home from the museum, we stopped at a restaurant for dinner. As I was in the restroom with one of my children, a woman came in dragging along a young boy, probably about the age of two. I could tell from her face and presence that she was angry. As she was in the stall with the boy, I overheard her chastise the toddler severely for having an accident in his pants and then striking him more than once as he cried. I don’t know if my own child noticed this as he washed his hands, but I was greatly distressed the rest of the evening. While I can sympathize with parents at their wits end and wanted to be motivated with some compassion for her, my heart broke for the child, for one of the least of these that are defenseless at the hand of an adult. We will not spoil the child if we spare the rod; we model the way of non-violence that Jesus lived out. This situation, to me, was a tragedy, one that will inevitably affect him and others. We are all interconnected and who knows what living with such violence will mean for this small child as he grows.

How can our eyes be opened to the small tragedies, the ones that don’t make the headlines? How can we not throw up our hands wondering “what can one person do?” How do we respond? If we pray, we have the lament psalms; we have “Lord have, mercy.” What actions follow the pleading prayer?