And so once again we go to sleep and wake up with ‘why?’ freshly pressed upon our lips. In the blink of an eye and the explosion of two bombs, lives are changed forever. A day that had begun in the pursuit of physical training and prowess, ended in a state of disbelief and horror. As most of us listened or watched reports over and over again, our hearts were torn with the echo of ‘why?’

As reactions began filtering in to the bombings at the finish line of yesterday’s Boston Marathon, I found it particularly interesting that people did not search for the words of a great historian or theologian. No one that I heard quoted Jesus or Mohammed or the Buddha. Though people offered prayers, I did not even hear the name of God, one of the many, invoked.

Instead, across social media everywhere, people posted over and over the words of Fred Rogers. That’s right. Mister Rogers. This kind, gentle voice that called to children through several generations was the source of solace then and now. How often I sat with one of my young boys and felt welcomed to a neighborhood where everything was drenched in kindness, creativity and goodness. I believe nearly every parent whoever switched on that screen had to admit that going to Mister Rogers’ house, watching him slip on his cardigan and tennis shoes, was as much for them as it was for the kids. Everything seemed more possible, no matter how tired or overwhelmed I may have felt, after hearing him say “won’t you be my neighbor?’

Last night his voice rang out once again: “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of ‘disaster,’ I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world.”

And of course, that is what we saw when we looked at the scenes coming from Boston. Runners and crowds of people cheering them on. And when things turned for the worse, we saw the helpers. Helpers in uniforms. Helpers in running shorts. Helpers with discarded, cheering signs. Those who knew what to do immediately and those who did what they could. Those who made phone calls, held hands and offered prayers, their blood, their tears.

A few weeks ago I sat in a setting where a speaker emphasized over and over that ‘the world has gone mad’. I realized how angry this statement made me because, though I don’t agree, I have carried it around all this time and have been replaying it in my mind. I had wanted to argue with this person, prove him wrong. But I realized later that, perhaps to him, the world has gone mad. It seems when the world does not work the way we think it should, does not follow our rules or beliefs or worldview, the world has gone mad.

What I would have said to that person if I’d had the opportunity is that the world has always contained madness. We need only read ancient texts, scripture or otherwise, to see the madness that makes its way into the world. Wars are waged. Children are abused. Women and men suffer in horrific ways. Bombs are planted by people whose intention is to do terrible harm.

But even in the midst of what seems madness, I believe there exists, and always has, a beauty and goodness that seeps in the cracks and crevices of the painful and horrible acts. Sometimes this comes in the form of an outstretched hand or a cool drink of water. Sometimes it is the warm breath that blows over a fevered face. Sometimes it is a kind word or a crust of bread. Sometimes it is a whispered prayer. Sometimes it comes in the form of a helper.

And sometimes it comes in the quiet, gentle sound of a voice that reminds you of what it feels like to snuggle by your mother, or your son, on a couch, just before nap time.