My son woke me up this morning with a phone call. He lives a rather nocturnal schedule, working evenings and sometimes as late as 12:30am, then socializing with his friends at the local Denny's (where everybody knows his name, as the song goes). So I'm not surprised when I hear his car pull up at 3:00, 4:00 or even 7:00 in the morning. But a phone call at 6:00 is not a good sign.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm okay."

That's not a good sign, either. What 18-year-old calls to say that they're okay, unless something has happened? "What's wrong?" I instinctively asked.

I dragged it out of him word-by-word. My son's 20-year- old friend hanged himself in his parent's home earlier this morning.

A million dfferent thoughts went speeding through my head as soon as I heard that. I wanted to know exactly who this friend was, how my son knew him, who were the people in his life who did not see the signs that he was this troubled, or was there just something that no one could help him with?

And then there were the grateful, selfish thoughts--I'm so glad that that mother is not me. I'm so glad that my son is not only safe, but knew enough to call his mother and let her hear his voice. No sound has ever been sweeter in my mind right now than the sound of my son's voice this morning, tremulous and near-to-breaking though it was. I pray for all the mothers who will never again hear their child's voice, especially this mother I do not know.

My Righteouse Raging thoughts are these: How could we as a world not hear this one particular voice crying out? Have we become numb to the pain we see all around us?

This week, the lectionary is all about voices: Isaiah's certainly got one, and John the Baptist, too. Isaiah says, "Comfort, comfort my people. Tell them that their penalty is paid." What comfort is there to grieving parents? Who is paying the penalty for what happened to this young man?

We are all to blame, and yet none of us are to blame.

If you are a parent, an aunt, uncle, godparent, or someone who has children in their life, please hear the voices crying out today. When you hear your children's voices, let them know that you love them. Do this in memory of Rich, who had to silence his own voice this morning.