Forgetting Uvalde

Why We Want to “Move On” from Horror

Even after several years of unpredicted chaos and suffering, the last three weeks have hit hard.

A white nationalist terrorist gunned down nearly a dozen Black shoppers in a Buffalo supermarket. Another shooter attacked a Taiwanese congregation during a Sunday luncheon. And then another brutally murdered 19 children and two adults at a school in Uvalde, Texas.

After each of these horrors, people often ask, “How long until something is done?” And yet, the sad truth in light of all these atrocities is the declining attention span of the American people.

Axios points to research on the sustained attention of the public—showing that horrors like the Sandy Creek shooting or the Parkland school shooting do not rally the nation’s attention beyond a matter of days. Some might suggest that the country is numb to such tragedies since they happen with such frequency compared to the rest of the world.

But Axios argues that what we are seeing is a people not necessarily numb to horror but overwhelmed by it. The sheer weight of all these incidents can lead to a shutdown in many people, in which they simply give up trying to comprehend it all and move on to something else.

In some ways, the country’s response is similar to how individuals sometimes respond to trauma in their own lives. One reason the book The Body Keeps the Score sells so many copies is that it explains a reality that many people experience. Even after we try to forget an awful event—or numb ourselves with alcohol or drugs or career advancement or something else—our response often shows up in other physical or neurological ways. The mind may forget, the argument goes, but the body remembers.

Sustained attention is so difficult with trauma and tragedy because we don’t want to think about such darkness. There’s a reason why most people turn their heads away when they see a mangled body in a car accident along the highway. We would rather pretend that such horrors don’t, or can’t, happen. And we do this not just with the terrors in the world but with our own personal apocalypse—our impending death.

Blaise Pascal argued that we all know we are going to die, so we try everything we can to distract ourselves from that reality. This conclusion, of course, was anticipated by the writer of Ecclesiastes—who admitted his own search for fulfillment through work, wealth, pleasure, and wisdom, only to find these to be nothing more than vain pursuits.

The writer of Hebrews further revealed that this submerged fear of death is precisely the power that the devil has over us (Heb. 2:14–15). To keep from acknowledging that we are perishable flesh, we pursue fleshly desires with abandon—in a way that just leads to more death (Rom. 8:5–13).

The root of our focus on triviality, pleasure, and diversion is not so much hedonism as it is fear (Rom. 8:15). We are afraid of death, so we look for idols to protect us from that—or at least to numb us to its reality (Gal. 4:8–9).

Our tendency to become overwhelmed in the aftermath of so many horrors is heightened by our sense of powerlessness. Even when we identify actions that could curb the problem, we know that almost nothing is accomplished in a civic and political system as broken as ours. And so, many of us simply “move on.”

This principle has a personal parallel too. How many of us have descended into patterns and habits we know to be wrong and self-destructive because we have given up on pursuing virtue and health? Once a person concludes that he or she is a “lost cause,” with no hope for change, the path ahead is bleak.

Yet a response of overwhelmed numbness can lead to more people getting hurt. Jesus continually confronts us about the ways that we want to look away from the hurting, whistle past injustice, and make the suffering invisible. The sores of Lazarus were no doubt unsettling to the rich man who passed by him each day at his gate (Luke 16:20).

It was easier for the leaders to accuse the blind man of bearing punishment for his own sin than to acknowledge that blindness can happen (John 9). In fact, these leaders were so callous to the blind man’s plight that the problem, for them, became not his suffering but his healing.

We are indeed overwhelmed by much darkness, all around us and inside us. Sometimes we will disagree on the exact steps to take to address the problems. And there will always be powerful forces around who don’t want us to address them at all. So, we just “move on” until the next horror—after which we will move on again.

As the people of Jesus, we dare not fall prey to that tendency. Jesus, after all, is the one who never turned away from even the most terrifying realities—leprosy, bleeding, and suffering of all sorts. One of the most remarkable things about Jesus is not just that he healed those who bore great difficulty but that he saw them in the first place. He sees us.

Jesus moves on, but not without carrying a wounded sheep on his back. We should go and do likewise.

The Difference Between Sin and Corruption

I have no opinion on the skirmishes between the Vatican and some Catholic traditionalists on the Latin Mass. I’m not Roman Catholic, so I don’t know enough about the disputes to have a side. And even if I did, I would have no standing to say anything about it.

That said, in an article on the controversy, I was intrigued by a discussion about a topic I don’t think I’ve ever considered: the difference between sin and corruption.

Austen Ivereigh, in Commonweal magazine, made the case for his view by citing a 1990s-era writing from the then internationally unknown Argentinian Jesuit we now know as Pope Francis. In that piece, Francis distinguishes between sin and corruption—and says that each calls for a different response.

We know what sin is, but Francis describes corruption as resulting “from sins repeated and deepened over time.” The argument goes that even sinners who are not yet ready to repent know at some level that they are sinning. On the other hand, “the corrupted person or organization sees no need of repentance, and their sense of self-sufficiency gradually comes to be regarded as natural and normal.”

Corruption needs an extraordinary crisis in order to be broken, Francis contends. This, Ivereigh speculates, is why Francis’s rhetoric toward, say, the Italian mafia is so harsh compared to his gentleness toward individual sinners.

I imagine this distinction could go wrong in all sorts of ways. People could deem others to be corrupt rather than sinful in ways that would preclude even the possibility of praying for, and working toward, repentance and restoration. Yet there is something biblical in at least some aspect of the contrast—and it should come as a warning.

The Bible repeatedly alerts us that a conscience can be numbed and calloused; we can bypass our discernment between good and evil so many times that we are no longer able to tell the difference between the two (Heb. 5:11–6:8). We can practice habits for so long that they start to feel normal to us. And, like Esau, we can get to the point where we seemingly find no way to undo what we’ve done, though we seek it with tears (Heb. 12:17). We become who we are bit by bit, action by action, rationalization by rationalization.

And the grave danger, Jesus warned, is not for those who are blind but for those who say they can see (John 9:41).

We should take heed, then, both with the sin in our own lives and with the injustices of the institutions for which we are responsible—while we can still see the problems for what they are. When we see something awry around or in us, we should address it now, before it starts to seem normal.

To Read Wendell Berry, Where to Start?

A friend texted me to say that he was ready to try reading some Wendell Berry and wondered where to start. I thought I had answered the same question for one of y’all, but looking around in old newsletters, I couldn’t find it. But so many people have asked me that, even if I did, I’ll answer it again.

For the novels, I would start with Jayber Crow or Hannah Coulter, which I think are his best. His novels are in a connected fictional world, but they are not sequels or prequels. You can read any one of them without needing to know the continuity; they are stand-alone in that sense.

For his nonfiction essays, I’d start with the collection The World-Ending Fire: The Essential Wendell Berry, because it includes essays on a variety of subjects over the sweep of Berry’s career. You can read around and find what you like, then explore more in the volumes they come from if you want.

For the poetry, my favorite (as I’ve mentioned before) is “Do Not Be Ashamed,” mostly because it spoke to me at a key moment in my life. But I might recommend you start with his famous “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front,” which includes these lines, quoted so often because they are true:

Ask the questions that have no answers.

Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.

Say that your main crop is the forest

that you did not plant,

that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested

when they have rotted into the mold.

Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

Put your faith in the two inches of humus

that will build under the trees

every thousand years.

And

As soon as the generals and the politicos

can predict the motions of your mind,

lose it. Leave it as a sign

to mark a false trail, the way

you didn’t go. Be like the fox

who makes more tracks than necessary,

some in the wrong direction.

Practice resurrection.

This week’s submission comes from reader Gail Page Demchik Johnson from Marietta, Georgia, who writes, “Narrowing my list provided me with welcome substitute entertainment. I listened to songs, read the lyrics, and watched videos. Thanks for the challenge. I’m grateful.”

“Romeo and Juliet,” Mark Knopfler—One summer evening at Atlanta’s Chastain Park, male voices filled the concert venue as the “lovestruck Romeos” in the audience sang along with M. Knopfler. It’s my favorite concert memory. I smile just thinking about it.

“A Satisfied Mind,” Robert Plant and Band of Joy—The numerous covers of this 1950s song provide evidence of its greatness. Darrell Scott’s performance is my favorite cover; powerful harmonies are provided by Patty Griffin, Buddy Miller, and Robert Plant.

“That’s the Way the World Goes ’Round,” John Prine—When the guitars come off the wall at my family gatherings, there’s always a John Prine song in the mix. This classic is a humorous reminder that there’s always room for hope.

“Crowded Table,” the Highwomen (Brandi Carlisle, Natalie Hemby, Maren Morris, and Amanda Shires)—This Grammy Award–winning song was released early in the pandemic. Perfect timing!

“City Boy,” Keb’ Mo’—I’ve wondered if Kevin Moore found what he was looking for in Tennessee.

“Jolene,” Mindy Smith—This haunting arrangement chills me to the bone. Since Dolly sings harmony and appears in the video, I think she approves.

“Soulshine,” The Allman Brothers Band—Guitarist Warren Haynes wrote this song later in the band’s long career. Warren also performed it with his band Gov’t Mule.

“Homegrown Tomatoes,” Guy Clark—This clever ditty by song-crafter Guy Clark makes me laugh every single time I hear it.

“Pancho and Lefty,” Willie Nelson and Merle Haggard—Townes Van Zandt’s song of a betrayed friendship gives me something to think about long after the story ends. Townes does a cameo in the video.

“Heavenly Day,” Patty Griffin—Patty said this was the first love song she ever wrote. She wrote it for her dog. That makes perfect sense to me.

“Stranded,” Van Morrison—It wasn’t easy to decide on my favorite Van Morrison song. I chose this one because this playlist needed a good slow-dancing-in-the-kitchen song.

“Sam,” Sturgill Simpson—My 93-year-old mom grew up in rural Overton County, Tennessee. Every week people came to their house to pick and sing. Songs created there often included dozens of verses about neighbors and community events. This song sounds just like a song my musical Pa would have sung, and that warms my heart.

Thanks, Gail!

Readers, what do you think? If you were stranded on a desert island and could have only one playlist or one bookshelf with you for the rest of your life, what songs or books would you choose?

For a Desert Island Playlist, send me a list of up to 12 songs, excluding hymns and worship songs. (We’ll cover those later.)

For a Desert Island Bookshelf, send me a list of up to 12 books. If possible, include one photo of all the books together.

Send your list to questions@russellmoore.com, and include as much or as little explanation of your choices as you would like

Currently Reading (or Rereading)

Paul D. Miller, The Religion of American Greatness (InterVarsity)

Eric Schumacher, Ours: Biblical Comfort for Men Grieving Miscarriage (Good Book)

David Sedaris, Happy-Go-Lucky (Little, Brown)

Geoff Dyer, The Last Days of Roger Federer: And Other Endings (Farrar, Straus & Giroux)

John H. Walton, Ancient Near Eastern Thought and the Old Testament, Second Edition (Baker)

Currently Watching

My son Samuel and I saw Top Gun: Maverick and both loved it.

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Onward,
Russell Moore