He looks like so many little boys in his First Communion photo. There he is in a pure white suit with a matching tie, a picture of innocence with that generous grin showing missing teeth.
Like most little boys, though, he was probably prone to mischief at times — and it’s a good bet his fine suit had a few chocolate smudges by the end of the day.
But this little boy is different from so many others because, you see, he will be forever 8 years old. He will be forever held in people’s memories as the little fellow who died in the horrific bombings at the Boston Marathon.
He was there with his mother, father, sister and brother, and they all had gone to get ice cream when the whole world turned upside down. Obviously when the family headed out for the race that day, it was all about having fun, and watching a race that the boy’s father usually ran but was sitting out this year due to an injury.
And, of course, the parents will look back and wonder because that’s what parents do. The mother may wonder why they didn’t do something else that day.
The father may wonder if things might have turned out differently if he had run despite his injury. They will surely ask why their son was taken.
Some people will try to blame God for the whole event, saying he should have protected the innocent boy, as well as the other victims.
And it might be wonderful if God would do just that, perhaps showing up at every gathering where a madman is about to detonate a bomb or wield a weapon.
But it doesn’t work that way because God doesn’t interfere with our free will. And the lovely part of free will is all the people worldwide praying for the family and all the people who rushed in to help the injured that day.
The lovely part is that the little boy’s parents at one point in the past married and went on to have a family. And they provided the boy with many moments of joy in this world.
But the horrible part is what we read about too often in the news. People screaming, running in terror, covered in blood. Bombs going off in the midst of friendly gatherings. Guns firing and knives flashing and malicious deeds being executed.
And where was God that day? I can imagine him looking down and weeping at what was going on in the world. I can imagine him especially grieving for the parents who lost their little boy.
He, too, lost a son in a world torn up with violence, and even if that was long ago, it looks like things are just as bad today.
And I can almost hear the words echoing from the cross down through the ages, and coming now from a little boy in white: “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”
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