On Wednesday, a South Korean ferry carrying 475 passengers—mostly high-school students on a class trip—capsized off the coast of the peninsula. As of this afternoon, the families of about 300 victims were still waiting to hear the fate of their loved ones.
A few days ago, a friend posted an article about the Nigerian bus station blast on Facebook. It was a devastating attack that left more than 70 people dead. I remember thinking how particularly sad the news must be for my pal, who is Nigerian. I said a quick prayer for the blast victims and their loved ones and mostly forgot about the story—until this morning.
I’ve been reading about the Korean ferry accident for a couple of hours now. It’s not the same situation, but I felt what I imagined my friend felt as I watched videos of the victims’ loved ones camping out in a gymnasium in Jindo, anxiously waiting and angrily demanding answers from authorities. I watched the clip of the ferry captain apologizing to victims’ families. “I am sorry, I am at a loss for words,” he said quietly, hiding his face in a dark hoodie. Regardless of how the accident happened or whether he was at fault, I felt for him very deeply. For the past hour, I’ve thought about calling my parents to comfort them; I’m certain they are grieving as much as I am—maybe more.
She covers a lot of important and surprising ground in this article and I hope you’ll read the whole thing. She talks about our church toward the end and describes better than I could why this young congregation has become a family to us.