For the most part we are all aware that the world in which we live is a broken place. It is populated by broken people, families, communities and countries. Suffering and tragedy occur on a massive scale, and they occur every day.

Thankfully for many of us, pain, horror and helplessness strike home only rarely.

So when they do — when an innocent boy suffers a sudden, horrific, and needless death — it shakes us to our core.

It becomes a visceral reminder that the strength we need is far beyond our human capacity. That our society continues to fail the most helpless and vulnerable among us, and that the price for those failures is far, far too steep.

It reminds us that while our shared narrative is commonly called The American Dream, it all-too-frequently falls into an American Tragedy. Those tragedies can be quiet and privately destructive. Or, like the death of 4-year-old Bentley Thomas Miller, they can become public traumas.

It is no surprise that, in the wake of Bentley’s death, the community is searching desperately for answers. How could such a thing happen? Why would anyone perpetrate such a heinous crime? How can we make sure this never happens again?

These are worthy questions. But part of our pain — our brokenness — is the knowledge that they will never be answered to our satisfaction.

Sometimes the best we can hope for is righteous anger. Righteous anger can help galvanize a community. It can focus and unite us, and remind us to be thankful for the people who help shoulder the pain and suffering of our failures.

And there are many people who already deserve recognition for that work — from the emergency responders who attempted to save Bentley’s life, to the authorities leading the investigation into his death, to those who rallied hundreds of people last week to mourn and memorialize Bentley in Diamond Park.

In opposition to those people — let’s call them the Forces of Good — are those who fall into a destructive cycle of rage and pain. They lash out. They call for blood. They forget that meeting suffering with more suffering isn’t noble or redemptive. It’s self-lacerating.

Today we are thankful for those in our community who, even in their suffering, anger and confusion, see more clearly and have begun to help fashion a legacy that will do Bentley justice.

The story of this community’s embrace of Bentley Miller will not be one of rage, revenge and vulgarity. It will be one of love, loss and responsibility. That is the way Butler will honor the memory of a smiling, energetic, angel of a boy.