The events yesterday at the finish line of the Boston Marathon sickened me and brought me to tears. The story of the little guy, Martin Richard, who ran out to congratulate his Dad finishing the race, then ran back to where the explosion happened and was killed, took the heart out of me. When any kid dies, it's sad. When any kid dies as part of some lunatic act of terror, no matter what the cause, it's an abomination. God bless his family in their grief and anger and confusion at such a senseless act. Bless the families of the others killed and bless the wounded and their families. Bless all the people of greater Boston and their marathon guests from around the world whose wonderful day was so marred by the act of terror.
Many people have mentioned the First Responders as shining lights on a dark day. Once again, cops, firefighters and emergency medical personnel run toward the danger and the awful suffering, joined by numerous Boston Athletic Association race volunteers and brave spectators who joined in the rescue efforts. Class acts, all of them. That's where I look for the clear signs of a loving God who has to walk with us, his poor creatures, through the worst that this world can deal.
More than once when I've tried to congratulate a First Responder, they somewhat indignantly informed me that it was "no big deal, that's our job!" Some job, guys and gals, some job. You teach us so much more than you realize. Thanks are due.
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