The recent shooting at Annunciation School in Minneapolis continues to haunt our collective consciousness. While the news cycle moves forward—with yet more senseless acts of political violence—the Annunication tragedy leaves deep scars and pressing questions for our religious community: How does a young person educated in a Catholic school become capable of such violence?
There are no simple answers. Research consistently links exposure to media violence—including video games, television, movies, and music—with increased aggression in youth. Violent video games, in which killing is winning, is one of many influences on the behavior of youth today. While violent video games alone do not cause violence, when combined with depression, isolation, or family dysfunction, they can become catalysts for aggression. Some scholars suggest these games may serve as virtual rehearsals for actual violence, particularly when killing becomes synonymous with winning.
Violence is woven into the fabric of existence itself. Darwin described evolution as “red in tooth and claw”—a process that advances through struggle and death. Indeed, approximately 98% of all species have perished throughout evolutionary history. Yet paradoxically, death does not triumph. From destruction emerges new life, more robust and resilient than before. As Saint Paul wrote: “Death, where is your victory? Where is your sting?” (1 Cor 15:55).
Today’s unprecedented pace of evolutionary change leaves us struggling to adapt. Our relentless pursuit of perfection and accumulation paradoxically diminishes our humanity. We find ourselves increasingly anxious, depressed, and disconnected—quick to defend our positions, slow to connect with others. American culture still celebrates the “Marlboro man”—the lone individual who conquers opposition through force or cunning and rides off victorious. This ideal of rugged individualism is not merely unrealistic; it is fundamentally anti-human because it denies our relational nature.
Modern physics reveals what ancient wisdom long knew: we are intrinsically interconnected beings. As physicist David Bohm observed, beneath our apparent separateness, we share common cosmic roots and participate in the same cosmic process. This deep interconnection explains why violence anywhere wounds us everywhere. We feel its impact in our hearts and bones because we cannot escape our fundamental unity.
Feeling helpless against violence, however, we risk becoming violent ourselves—frustrated, angry, volatile. Thus, violence can breed violence in an escalating cycle. While spirituality offers an antidote to violence, we need an intermediate step: learning to grieve. We must weep for innocent lives lost, for possibilities destroyed, for the breakdown of community. Our culture mistakes grief for weakness, but this rejection of mourning leaves us spiritually impoverished.
Ancient cultures understood what we have forgotten: personal and collective mourning binds communities together in the midst of tragedy. Crying, wailing, dancing, drumming—these rituals express the deep pain of loss while affirming life’s preciousness. Grief awakens us to what matters most. It is a profound response to loss that deepens our capacity for life, love, and growth. Without grief, we can become mechanical, lifeless. If we cannot grieve, we cannot truly love. When we fully feel the pain of loss, our hearts become more tender, more open. Someone who has grieved deeply often becomes more compassionate toward others’ suffering. They develop what we might call “emotional muscle”—a greater ability to hold both joy and sorrow simultaneously. This is not about becoming hardened by suffering but rather becoming more fully human through it. Grieving for the loss of life humanizes us.
Even God grieves. The divine suffers within us the pain of loss—only a God who suffers can truly help us. God’s love is unconditionally present within us, infinite and ungraspable, making the impossible possible, to see life beyond death. God is ultimate mystery and to dwell with God is to dwell in mystery—a space not of easy answers but of transformative questions. In our violent age, the essential question becomes: How can we love more and better in the face of violence? Confronting violence with opposition—whether through actions, words, or protests—may provide temporary relief but such actions cannot achieve lasting transformation. Something deeper is needed.
The philosopher Henri Bergson recognized that while evolution carries us forward, conscious human effort is needed to transcend mere survival. Human spirituality, he argued, is essential to our evolutionary journey. What distinguishes humans is our capacity for spiritual transcendence: acquiring new minds and hearts that perceive new worlds. Jesus of Nazareth and Francis of Assisi, both living in violent times, taught that transcending violence requires an inner revolution. The fullness of life emerges from within, through practices of silence, fasting, prayer, and solitude. These disciplines connect the surface self with the deeper Self, where the divine is born.
Humans possess a capacity for mystical vision that distinguishes us from other animals. The mystic sees from a different center and loves from a deeper wellspring of love—a vision that seems incredible to the world at large. Jesus exemplified this mystical vision, perceiving possibilities invisible to those who could not see or who saw superficially.
Surprisingly, technology offers its own form of transcendence, imagining new planetary futures. Yet technology without spirituality can become dangerous, amplifying our destructive potential without developing our inner capacity for wisdom and compassion. If we seek to transcend ourselves with technology, the first question we must ask, toward what end and why?
Evolution has brought humanity to unprecedented levels of intelligence and self-consciousness. Our transcendent nature, however, demands spiritual development equal to our technological prowess. To awaken to this deeper nature is to grieve the losses in our midst while committing ourselves to a higher life—not beyond this world, but revealing the hidden potential of this world for greater life and love.
To live between loss and life is to grieve deeply—for young lives lost, for all lives lost, for communities shattered, for our collective failure to nurture the human spirit. Perhaps our modern culture cannot get beyond violence because we have not yet sufficiently grieved.
But grief is not the final word; it is a form of awakening to life on a deeper level. It must lead us inward, connecting us with the infinite love that draws us toward greater life. We cannot correct the tragedies of the past, but we can transform our lives toward a better future. The way forward is inward.
Our most urgent task today is helping younger generations discover their inner center—teaching them not just to succeed in the outer world, but to thrive in the inner landscape where true transformation begins. Only by embracing both grief and spiritual growth can we break the cycle of violence and fulfill our evolutionary potential.
The choice before us is clear: evolve spiritually or risk destroying what evolution has taken millennia to create. In choosing the path of inner development, we choose the power of love, the possibility of the impossible—a new world born from the heart of the divine mystery we call God.
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