There Was Silence in Heaven for Half an Hour

For God's sake, is there nothing that will shut up the chatter?  Is there no tragedy so great, so profoundly disturbing we cannot note it with silence born of grief to deep to express?

Yet again we hear the mind-numbing blather of those who immediately politicize a tragedy.  Take away the guns!  Keep the guns!  Analyze the killer!  Reform the educational system! 

Yet again we see odious reporters shoving microphones into the faces of stunned parents and grandparents while equally opportunistic photographers focus on the distorted faces of uncomprehending victims and bystanders.  

Yet again experts rush in to administer instant palliatives to the bereaved, the shocked and the outraged.

Meanwhile, among the victims still alive and those who are close to the fallen, an almost feral instinct arises as confused and unrelated fragments of thought race through the brain.  "Leave me alone!  Stop!  Get out of my face. I can't speak.  My baby just died. God, I had his Christmas presents already bought.  Jesus, this could have been Suzie.  How do I tell her father about this? Mom-mom and Pop-pop!  He was their only grandchild!"

Heartsick, broken in spirit and almost without words, they and we simultaneously offer hearts' grief heavenwards on behalf of slaughtered lambs even as we clutch the living to our hearts in gratitude they are still alive. Wordlessly, we instinctively hold out our hands.

Mortals can learn something from the angels and spirits living in a perfect realm. Even in Heaven, where it is said there are no more tears, there is a time for silence.

Could we imitate the angels and just shut up for at least half an hour?


--Fay Voshell can be reached at fvoshell@yahoo.com


For God's sake, is there nothing that will shut up the chatter?  Is there no tragedy so great, so profoundly disturbing we cannot note it with silence born of grief to deep to express?

Yet again we hear the mind-numbing blather of those who immediately politicize a tragedy.  Take away the guns!  Keep the guns!  Analyze the killer!  Reform the educational system! 

Yet again we see odious reporters shoving microphones into the faces of stunned parents and grandparents while equally opportunistic photographers focus on the distorted faces of uncomprehending victims and bystanders.  

Yet again experts rush in to administer instant palliatives to the bereaved, the shocked and the outraged.

Meanwhile, among the victims still alive and those who are close to the fallen, an almost feral instinct arises as confused and unrelated fragments of thought race through the brain.  "Leave me alone!  Stop!  Get out of my face. I can't speak.  My baby just died. God, I had his Christmas presents already bought.  Jesus, this could have been Suzie.  How do I tell her father about this? Mom-mom and Pop-pop!  He was their only grandchild!"

Heartsick, broken in spirit and almost without words, they and we simultaneously offer hearts' grief heavenwards on behalf of slaughtered lambs even as we clutch the living to our hearts in gratitude they are still alive. Wordlessly, we instinctively hold out our hands.

Mortals can learn something from the angels and spirits living in a perfect realm. Even in Heaven, where it is said there are no more tears, there is a time for silence.

Could we imitate the angels and just shut up for at least half an hour?


--Fay Voshell can be reached at fvoshell@yahoo.com


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