Our little town, Moscow, Idaho has been dark and cold for the last few days. The national news spotlight feels like a black hole directed at us, sucking all our light away. The icy fog that has hung over us hides our distant view that so often comforts in this beautiful place.
Bad things happened here. Yet we must go on. We need some light. But this is a very dark time of year.
I have no answers, no moral drum to beat. I know the people working to bring justice and I trust they are doing their best. I also know that some answers, some knowledge might ease our uncertainty, and our fear in the face of this tragedy. But I respect their judgement. They have a very hard job right now. The investigation, apprehension and bringing to justice of the perpetrator of this violent deed is their paramount task. We should respect this priority.
The community unease, the nervousness we feel, is palpable and immediate to each one of us. But our fears are not the prime focus of their efforts right now, nor should they be. We want to feel safe. Don’t we all? But these tragedies remind us of our fragile claims to comfort, warmth and safety.
One of my first coroner calls came on a rainy November Friday afternoon. A man was shot and killed. I worked all weekend to arrange an autopsy and recover the deadly bullet. The police asked me to remain quiet about the investigation, since they had a suspect and thought with some hard evidence, they could get a confession. They did. Monday morning, I got an angry call from our local newspaper editor. Why hadn’t I informed the public? I felt just fine telling him I felt no need. They got the story Monday morning of a murder and an arrest. It can be comforting when justice is swift.
But it isn’t always.
Our town, indeed, the nation seems to be very impatient right now. We want the election results soon as the polls close. I can understand that. The internet has made us all two-year-olds. But patience is a virtue we should all practice. And now is as good a time as any to start.
I could share some more coroner stories, or wax on about election results, but it’s really not the time.
I built up a fire out here in my writing room. It was quite cold since I have been avoiding this task for some time. It crackles and pops behind me and an occasional car will drive by. When I went out to get the wood for the stove, I watched the pickup I didn’t recognize as it went down the hill. It kept going, but I imagined it stopping and the driver tossing something over the steep embankment to the north. I am more vigilant than I have been. Fear should prompt vigilance. Vigilance can keep one alive.
The comfort of the warming fire eases my fears and my aching bones.
But vigilance is a worthwhile practice, right up there with patience.
I have heard the families of our victims decry the rumors on social media. I admit to such supposition. I even postulated theories when I first heard the horrible news. I was wrong. I was not patient.
Healthy communities can balance their fears and work toward justice. Vigilance should not breed vigilantes.
Patience should not promote passivity.
I would hope for such virtues for your communities. And I would hope that you would not need violent tragedies to inspire such virtues.
Hold us in your prayers.