Why? That is the biggest, most profound question in human existence. Why? We see the unexplainable, the horrific, the soul searing, and stare up at the sky, asking, “Why?” You will wait until you’re dust, pray until ice forms on your upraised palms, and never be able to comprehend, “Why?”
For the last week I’ve been studying the death of JonBenet. We’ll never understand the mind of the person who perpetrated the act, indeed, if we understand, then we are as depraved as that person was. No, the why here is why does it make any difference after twenty years. On this I can enlighten you. It makes a difference because the death of that little girl stole not only her life and innocence, but ours as well. We all wish that life were beautiful, and Shirley Temple was forever singing “The Good Ship Lolly Pop,” but JonBenet’s death reminded us that the ship ran aground that day, and we were forced to look at the crumpled body of our dreams on a basement floor.
I noticed that as I watched documentary after documentary I began to focus more and more on the beautiful, and less on the basement floor. I was absolutely stunned at the talent in that little body, and still asking, “Why?” It’s as if God is using her death to teach us a bunch of lessons. God didn’t make this happen, man has free will, but once it did happen He used it. He used it to show us what evil is, how we will always be exposed to it, and how we answer the “why” determines how we fight it. God also challenged our arrogance. For all the “trace DNA,” and national data bases, FBI, CIA, NSA, and gumshoes taking a magnifying glass to ever part of that house we will most likely never surely know what happened in that basement in 1996! God knows, and he waits at the Gate behind that big cash register in the sky to total up the bill. JonBenet will have an eternity of dancing with the Angels, and whomever killed her will dance with the devil.
Why? My six year old grandson got to go to school for the first time this year. All his life he got to watch his brothers and sister get on that big yellow bus, and ride off to a mysterious place that he wasn’t allowed to go, and he longed for the day when he, too, will be a “big boy,” and take his place on that bus. I’m telling you this because I want you to understand that I feel the wonder, the joy, in a little boy’s mind on that day. My grandson was transformed, invigorated because it was a right of passage. On that day we stopped calling him “New Baby,” and called him by his name, Stevin! Out in Carolina there was another little six year old boy. I know he was just as thrilled to be a “big boy” too, and I know he loved his teachers, his lunch, his books, and the school ground . . . where he was shot while going to his school. He lingered for most of a week, and now he plays with JonBenet. Why?
Bill the Butcher