“There is more love somewhere…. I’m gonna keep on, til I find it…. There is more love somewhere.”

I’m not sure why this hymn keeps rattling through my head today, because honest-to-pete, I have been astonished by how much love I have witnessed the past few days. It’s more than I ever imagined possible. (And please bear in mind that “love” may be my least favorite word in the English language — though that’s another story.)

The outpouring I’ve seen makes me not just glad, but actually proud, to be part of such a wonderful faith community (Unitarian Universalist and beyond). At my church’s vigil last night, I heard that many (maybe even all) of the different churches and temples in Knoxville have reached out to help their UU neighbors.

From my worm’s eye perspective, it’s in-my-face evident in the TLC our family has received around the loss of our beloved Roxy. There has been so much terrible news for the church the last few days that I assumed the death of a 95 year-old would have to take a back seat. But no. Not two hours after hearing of the second tragedy, the President of the congregation called me to say we weren’t going to be forgotten. At the point he called it hadn’t even crossed my mind.

Then this morning I thought we shouldn’t bother our Caring Committee about a reception after the memorial service this coming Saturday. But no again. The minister said they actually want to do this. Their chair even called her about it yesterday — from the road, returning from a vacation. I shake my head in wonder. And I hope I can find ways to mirror this love back.

Like many in my congregation (First Unitarian Universalist Church of Nashville), I currently am reeling not just from the shock of the recent tragedy at our sister church in Knoxville, but also the death yesterday of a beloved youth in our congregation. And in my case, I am processing the recent illness and death of my mother-in-law.

From my sorrow one memory keeps emerging, like a lotus from the mud. I share it in hopes it helps others coping with these or similar tragedies and losses.

About 10 years ago, I went to one of Vanderbilt’s Holocaust Lecture Series. Several survivors were generous enough to speak of their experiences in what may be the most moving lecture I have ever witnessed.

My clearest memories are of two different women. One recalled how for 40 years she had never spoken of what had happened to her until one day, at the urging of a friend, she spoke before an Episcopalian congregation. She had her talk written out in front of her, but could not get through even the first page as the tears started to flow. Then she looked up and saw the whole congregation was crying with her.

The other spoke calmly, emanating a remarkable sense of serenity, of the terrible things both that had happened to her and that she had witnessed. Then she talked of her struggle to come to terms with these horrors — and she said (with a profound conviction that my written words can only begin to convey) what I will never forget…. Love is the only answer.