My bones are shuddering

I am sitting in a small courtyard of the Holy See, outside the Vatican Observatory, writing.  The sun is warm, the fountain burbles, the birds chirp and the silence punctuated by the occasional church bell.  Pace. Peace.

I pulled up Facebook to wish my niece a happy birthday, and instead see a friend's posting about another mass shooting:  "We have blistered into callouses where our hearts and compassion used to be."

I opened a link to the New York Times and my stomach turned over.  I wept.

Have pity on me, LORD, for I am weak;
heal me, LORD, for my bones are shuddering.
My soul too is shuddering greatly—
and you, LORD, how long?
Turn back, LORD, rescue my soul;
save me because of your mercy.  — Psalm 6:3-5

My soul shudders, and I wonder how long we can continue to close our hearts to such violence?  How long before we allow ourselves to be rescued?  Before we can admit that we can never assure our own safety?