Reflection over these past Five Days
July 25, 2012
There are times within our lives when an event stops us cold in our tracks. This past Friday (July 20, 2012) is one of those times. Often these times are not a result of our actions; rather, they are invasions upon our life.
This particular event that I am referring to is the mass shooting at the Century 16 Cinema Complex in Aurora, CO. where 12 people lost their lives and over 50 others were wounded. As I woke up that morning and lazily went to my computer to check my morning e-mail before starting my typical Friday routine, I innocently assumed that this Friday would be like any other (of going to Starbucks to write my weekly sermon with the assistance of several large cups of caffeine.) I noticed one e-mail from a friend who was anxious to hear that I was safe and had not been near the theater where “the shooting” took place earlier that morning. My first thoughts were that of wondering why she was so concerned. After all, shootings happen all the time, correct. I thought that there must have been an altercation between a couple of people at a theater and it ended badly with the exchange of gun fire. Just after answering this friend and assuring her that neither my partner nor I were out the night before another e-mail popped into my box, this one from a church in Alexandria, Virginia expressing grief and concern and indicating that their church was holding the congregation that I am serving and the community of Aurora up in prayer over the shootings at a local theater. Finally bells went off in my brain warning me that something very evil had occurred during the night.
After watching about twenty minutes of news in utter disbelief about this tragic event, I felt myself sinking into shock. Usually my first response to “breaking news events” is to wake up Paul and share that news with him, but I found myself needing this time alone, so that I could absorb the gravity of what I was hearing. I needed this time not only to process the news reports, but to first educate myself as quickly as to the available information, and then it began to soak into my brain that the next few days were going to be filled with challenges that I had never planned for and was not sure I was equipped to handle. Then I began to fret about the safety of my congregation – were any of them at that movie last night? I had not received any phone calls telling me so and so had been hurt or killed. I then started formulating my plans of action – things that I needed to do in the awake of this community disaster. First off I needed to contact my family to assure them that I was not immediately involved in these shootings, then go down to my office and check-in to see if there were messages left on the phone system there. After that, I hadn’t a clue what I was going to need to be doing. I woke Paul up and let him know what had happened during the night and set off for a day of unknowing.
Just as I walked into the church, I received a phone call from Tom Rehling, my Conference Minister with the UCC, asking if I had any information about immediate involvement of members. Then a quick check-in with my secretary for any information on potential injuries of church members. Luckily there were none. After that, I started phoning and texting churches that I have relationships within the Aurora area, to see if there had been anyone in their congregations directly affected. Amazingly, we all seemed to have been spared that piece of the tragedy. Then came a long barrage of phone calls and e-mails popping up on my computer screen every few minutes, and text inquiries by friends wanting to know if Paul and I were alright. The Denver Presbytery called to check on how things were with us at Mountain View and let me know that the Presbyterian Disaster Assistance Team was on its way into Aurora as a resource to the local churches. Then someone from the National New Office of the United Methodist called requesting a short interview, of which I was totally unprepared to do, but seemed to muddle through it. What was this person thinking about when she asked “what was I going to say on Sunday in Worship?” I had no clue as to what I was going to be doing thirty minutes from now, let alone thinking about what to say two days from then.
After spending almost four hours at the church, I finally decided to go home and escape from life for a few hours. Even at home, my phone was constantly ringing with meetings being arranged for the incoming Presbyterian Assistance Team. There had been a vigil planned for that evening and I was ready to attend, and then received several e-mails indicating that it was being post-pone until that coming Sunday. I was glad of that, and decided to spend a couple of hours working in the flower bed. I was needing time to myself and this was a productive way of physically being active while letting my mind sort through the days information and start the work of self-examination as to how this shooting was victimizing me personally.
Boy did that process of self-reflection open up my awareness of feeling victimized from a personal trauma that happened five years earlier with the murder of my beloved Howard. I recognized that as I was first hearing the news on T.V. about the shootings at the Midnight Movie premiere of Batman, that I was recalling my feelings of a late night phone call from Howard’s daughter Amanda, choking out the words, “Daddy is dead. They shot daddy.” The chill that ran down my spine with those words and having to work through her grief on the phone to gain enough information about how Howard had just gotten home from work, with the car still running, checking for mail at the mailbox at the end of the drive and was shot in the head at blank range by people in a car, who had just executed two other men two houses down in their front yard.
A grave full of grief, anger, and pain had instantly been opened up just ten minutes after waking up last Friday morning. How was I to deal with this new found personal grief as well as dealing with potential grief from the larger community? How was I going to be able to separate my personal feelings so to best help others during their grief without transferring any of my “stuff” onto their needs? Of course this is one of those things one deals with in seminary, but academics are not the same as the feelings of the moment.
Has this past weekend been a struggle personally for me? Yes, a very deep on. My mind goes fifty differing directions with just the prompting of a single word. If only I could keep it to just one word, at least I could focus on it and work through those feelings that are evoked. But there isn’t just one word; it’s a constant bombardment of a whole dictionary. Words that fall under the general heading of “Theological” or “Philosophical”, in other words, words that ask the “why” questions, the questions that are perpetually asked, because there are no real answers.
How does one man become so ‘off’ balanced that he calculates how he can do the most harm to strangers? Why does ‘evil’ exist? Why does God allow these people the freedom to hurt others? How have we as a society failed this man who killed 12 people? How his parent’s hearts must be breaking in two over their son’s actions.
On Sunday evening I went to the prayer vigil that was held by the City of Aurora. I chose to identify myself as “clergy” in that setting, as a way of making known the presence of the church. While I was there, I was reminded once again of what a sacred trust I have been called to, as a clergy person. That the job that I do day in and day out is so different from other jobs that one can do. When I looked around the crowd and made eye contact with strangers, I could see that I wasn’t seen as just another person in the crowd, mourning along with everyone else, I was there representing an idea, a concept that is never seen, but often felt. The concept of a “higher power”, a presence that we as humans feel but do not physically see.
When I am wearing my clerical collar, I am a representative of “hope.” As a professional clergy, my job is to relate in physical actions, those attributes, those expectations, those images we have of the creator of all. It is an overwhelming realization, one that makes me more than humble. Why? Because, I am not God, I am human, and I most fear of failing people who transfer their mind, heart, and soul toward God onto me. Me, who so often falls short of doing good, of being unconditional, of being just “a guy.”
Until this last Friday, I am not sure, that I have fully anticipated the depth of my job and the impact that as a clergy I have? Growing up, I was never the “outstanding” person in my class. I don’t think I ever really strove to be a “leader” among my peers. I’m not even sure, or maybe a more accurate phrase would be, I never felt that I was particularly bright, academically or socially. Oh yes, I loved being noticed for sure, but it always seemed to be a struggle to be “accepted” in my environment.
Even now, I feel that I do not give enough toward what I do. I’m selfish with my time and with my private thoughts. Unlike my husband Paul, I seem to struggle to reach out to people who are in need. I so admire Paul’s genuine gift of compassion toward others, I am put to shame in his shadow. Yet, I find that I have been called to be this ambassador for the creator of all things, to speak the truth of love, in love, and through love. Again, why? Why would I be someone who is so capable of doing more harm for God’s kindom than good be directed into this profession we call “minister?” I receive far too much affirmation for little effort. Or does it seem like “little effort” because the things that “the job” asks of me, are things that I so enjoy giving?
We live in a world filled with irony. There is daylight and darkness, love and evil, happiness and sadness. Sometimes these opposites exist alongside one another. We start the day out refreshed and positive and with just a few words it can turn into a nightmare. We generally get through it all with surprisingly few lasting bruises. Events as this present tragedy, this evil that was showered on this community, will eventually fade into the recesses of our minds, until the next traumatic event. Yet, it during these times in our lives that we take stock. We take stock of what is true value, those riches that we possess in our life and realize that the material stuff is just that, things that can easily be discarded, realizing that the riches that we possess and will always possess are found in our relationships with one another. Even when those that we love pass on into another dimension, we still have within our hearts and minds those precious experiences.
What am I feel most at this stage, five days later? I miss being with my family: my children, my mother, and sister and brother. I miss Howard deeply. I lament in what life might have been for me, if he were still alive. I miss being with his children, of the weekend gatherings of our family time. I miss some other relationships of my past, although all of those are still living, so inner action continues with most of these past relationships. Maybe I even miss my childhood, that simplistic period in my life where I was unaware of the cruelty that life brings to us all if we live long enough.
Right now, I am not able to think about the things that I am thankful for. That is okay, for this is truly a time for mourning, for creating space to lament, so in time I will be able to once again sing praise of how sweet life can be. Now that the initial part of this week is winding down, I am going to take a week off for myself to connect with those who have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I am going to take some time to care for myself, so that I might come back refreshed and prepared to do the long caring for those who need the gifts that God has given to me, specifically for helping those whose path I might cross.
Thank you God, for the gift of my job. Help me to not stumble and disappoint those who rely on me as your physical presence in their lives. Be with those families who have been directly affected by this current evil, help them to feel your presence in their sorrow. Amen
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