Where do we begin...

...to make any sense of the atrocity at Manchester this last 24 hours. I don't know. I can't explain. I can't understand. All I can do is pray. Maybe I can share some of my confused thoughts and prayers through this sad day.

As I heard the news this morning, I remembered at once that I would be at St Charles School later in the day for our May Procession. It became clear that some of the children injured and killed in the blast were of a similar age to the precious children in our school. For a brief moment I wondered whether I could face the children this afternoon. Should we cancel the procession? No. Of course not. Our prayers, our love were more necessary than ever.

I prepared for the usual morning Mass. The first reading had noise and violence: a flogging, an earthquake, someone wanting to kill himself. This was not what I needed. Lord give me something more peaceful, more hopeful, more comforting on this awful morning. But wait. Faith in the risen Lord changes hearts. The gaoler who locked up Paul and Silas, still bleeding from their beating, washes their wounds even though it was late at night. He takes them home and feeds them. It was just like the only hopeful bit of news - the kindness and generosity of the people of Manchester. And the gaoler receives baptism from his erstwhile prisoners, and enters the risen life of the one who died, praying for his enemies, refusing to give into hatred.

And so a few hours later I made my way to school. I heard that the community had already prayed and reflected on the horrors of the night during morning assembly.

We gathered in the sunshine for the procession. I invited the children to offer their prayers, their rosary for those killed, wounded, grieving, and for the emergency services. I suggested that we asked Mary our Mother to hold them all in her arms.

We set off praying the Sorrowful Mysteries on this sorrowful Tuesday. I tried to plead the suffering and sorrows of Jesus and Mary for the suffering, sorrowful ones of Manchester. Between the mysteries we sang the very familiar processional hymn to Our Lady. The words, so, so familiar seemed to have a new relevance today:

...bless, sweetest lady,

the land of our birth.

For poor, sick, afflicted

thy mercy we crave;

and comfort the dying

thou light of the grave.

There is no need, Mary,

nor ever has been,

which thou canst not succour,

Immaculate Queen. 

And the hope, the faith, the uplift of this verse as we approached the end of the procession:

And crown thy sweet mercy

with this special grace,

to behold soon in heaven

God’s ravishing face.

May this be granted to those who have died in such an untimely and violent way today.

So the May Queen crowned the image of Mary in our school grounds, and it was almost time for tea and cakes. We don't sing Fr Faber's hymns much these days, but one line of his kept coming into my mind this afternoon: "victory remains with love." So we sang of the victory of that love as our Chant Club led us in the Easter Anthem to Our Lady, Regina caeli, laetare, Queen of heaven, rejoice...

Resurrexit, sicut dixit, alleluia,

 Ora pro nobis Deum, alleluia.

He has risen as he said, alleluia.

Pray for us to God. Alleluia

As we ended, our Aves, our Alleluias seemed stronger, more powerful than the noise of any bomb. Victory remains with love. That's what I am trying to hold in my heart tonight.