There is something about certain places and moments that stops our noise.
We enter space or time that has been set aside, and with it we enter the quietness that it seems to invite or demand.
At times we do not want to disrupt the memory as it passes through consciousness as if happening again.
At times there simply are no words; the sacredness speaks for itself.
At times, giving voice to our thoughts will only further confound what can’t be understood.
Today, there are many noises and voices clamoring to be heard in places and moments deemed sacred.
They strive and strain to describe how we feel, what we remember, who to blame.
They do so flanked by markers and memorabilia.
They do so while showing familiar images vivid, terrifying, and heartbreaking.
If left to ourselves, we may not need the voices or the images.
We are reminded by shrines built in our hearts just as well.
Perhaps on a different day with our noises off, we may be able to remember better.
In these silent moments, we remember tragedy past and tragedy ongoing.
We remember noises of a decade ago and in the decade that has followed.
We remember our own noises of that day and how we’ve stumbled toward healing ever since.
We remember others whose noises cry out for their own relief that has yet to arrive.
We remember other things.
We remember you, who releases people captive to noises of destruction and loss.
You, who soothes throats gone hoarse from crying out to be healed.
You, who silences explanations that damage and demean.
You, whose Easter promise speaks for itself.
Stop our noise. Move us to silence.
Make our memories adequate and our spirits hopeful.