I write this morning following a night that suffered yet another American mass shooting, the thirty-sixth this year. This one in Maine, a place that, in its largely rural, wooded, northern nature is not so dramatically different than Montana, where I live, which is another reminder, as if we needed such reminders, that evil exists everywhere and no one is immune to erratic violence by virtue of location, lifestyle, economics, or demographics. The unpredictability of such murders is one of the elements that causes so much omnipresent fear and anxious suspicion, even as our culture is so saturated with the regularity of mass shootings that we risk becoming numb to their impact. Too often we turn the page. Too often we fail to think about the victims or their families, likely because to do so enacts such a toll on our own mental health. In the case of last night’s event, we do not yet know the number of victims, let alone the identities of those killed and injured. Of course, one question is, once we do know the names of those we have lost, will we take the time to learn their stories? Will we reach out to help care for the loved ones they have left behind?