Right Now. Today.

We don't know anything about the explosions in Boston, really. Right now, we don't know who set them (or even if all the incidents were set), let alone by the same people.

We don't know their agenda.

We don't know their names.

We don't know why.

We may never know why, because the "who" will not that give that away and the statements made after we know the "who"--if any--may not tell us very much at all.

We do not, for example, understand the "why" of Oklahoma City.

Do you think, really, that we know the "why" underlying the September 11, 2001 attacks? I don't.

So this is a brief window of innocence, in a way. The killers could be anyone, of any faith, of any ethnicity, race, or political persuasion. When we know the "who", and that is no longer the case, a story will be told.

We will hear, "they hate us for our freedoms," or "fear of our own government, and a burning desire for revenge, or some rambling policy bullcrap that I can't wade through. It could be oppression. After all, often is. It could be the stunningly blasphemous lie that murder is acceptable in God's sight, in accordance with his plan.

In fact, they all kind of assert that, each in his own way. They all pick an evil to slay, a wrong to right. They all pick the biggest dragon, the best cause they can find. The most sympathetic, just cause they can use to justify their burning desire to kill.

They're lying, whoever they are, whatever motive they offer.

They kill because they feel small. Because they want to have an effect, make a splash. Because some idiots will look up to them, others will hate them, many will see them and feel their impact.

They will matter.

Because we have a culture of death. We celebrate the vigilante, the outlaw, the man of violence who, by gun or bomb, makes it all better. By killing. After all, "only a good guy with a gun can stop a bad guy with a gun."

And so we make the weapons a cause, virtually a sacrament. No matter what. No, really.

So when we get a name, and a face, and a story, remember this: It's just a story. The cause may be good or bad, but it's not a cause that leads people to kill the innocent, trying to run a marathon, or get on with a day's work, or eat at a bistro. It's a lack of empathy, an insatiable need to matter, to prove to one's self that they are not dead.

Because, in a very real way, they are. The living don't need blood sacrifices, and neither does God.