Add my hometown to the endless
list of places where mass shootings have occurred. A 36-year old white male with an A.R. rifle
killed seven and injured nineteen during a confusing ride through Odessa before
his own death. Somewhere in the midst of
that run, the shooter sped through my old junior high school neighborhood, shot
a postal worker, and took off in her van.
I am amazed at how much this shooting has affected me; since yesterday,
I’ve felt generally ill and preoccupied, and sad. Although we in the United States now
experience one mass shooting every two weeks, according to an F.B.I. agent in
today’s press conference, there is something different about these shootings
when they hit close to home.
I can agree with Texas Governor
Abbot on one thing: “I am tired of the dying.”
But that line in itself is disheartening; how long does it take us to
become “tired” of the dying?
When these shootings occur, there
are two immediate responses. First,
everyone sends or asks for “thoughts and prayers.” Second, everyone thanks and praises brave
first responders. Both of these actions
are noble. Neither is enough. Acknowledging the bravery and sacrifice of
first responders is important. In times
like these, we know that we lean on their shoulders as they seek to protect us,
and as we learned in the Odessa chapter, no routine stop is routine. I cannot imagine the stress and exhaustion
that law enforcement personnel must daily bear, and I join others in grateful
admiration for these protectors and responders.
I wonder, however, if the litany of thanks and praise does not mask
deeper problems. We thank the responders
because thanking them is one of the few immediate actions that we can do. But we also thank them because enough
acknowledgments can convince us that we have helped. More gratitude and praise will lead them to
more courage and fighting at the next shooting.
We must never doubt the sincerity
of someone’s desire for thoughts and prayers, but all too often that move
signals our lack of any perceived ability to help, or our own inability to see
solutions or act for less violence. God,
after all, is somehow in charge and has a plan for us all. Sometimes when a friend has a tragedy, I do
want to send my thoughts and prayers; it’s a way of saying “I don’t know what
to do other than pray.” But that is the
rub. I think I do indeed know what to do
before the next shooting.
I can certainly call on community
and government leaders to help us return to a Godly, conservative morality. The problem, we have begun to hear again, is “the
evil acts of a handful of people,” as state Rep. Matt Schaefer said
Saturday. If fathers will not leave
their wives and children, if discipline is used in the home, if “God-given
rights” are protected, then the evil go away.
Often the refrain is slightly stronger: “Get God back in our schools!”
they say. I agree. I call on legislators to increase funding for
public schools, increase the minimum wage and provide better public
transportation for mothers and fathers, and promote the discipline of caring
and the virtue of selflessness. I ask
that Christians look to Jesus and seek to embody his model of justice and mercy,
forgiveness and love. I call on
community leaders, pastors, and teachers to encourage contexts and communities
of diversity, where fears, dreams, hopes, and actions bridge ethnicity and
social status. Watch as hate begins to
go away.
And I can encourage action on
sensible gun control. Universal background
checks, red flag warning systems, and outlawing military-style guns are widely
supported measures. The arguments here
are so common and so tired. We no longer
see how sensible and reasonable these changes are. It is time to say no to the NRA and to vote
out legislators who remain beholden to that organization.
After the El Paso shooting, I
found myself embroiled in a social media “discussion” about guns and mental
illness. I pointed out that the mentally
ill are rarely perpetrators of mass shootings and more often the victims of gun
crimes. My interlocutors found it
difficult to see how anyone who was not mentally ill could kill in such a way. But attitudes of the heart (such as hate) are
not the same as deficiencies of the mind.
The painful truth is that “normal” people like you and me – people who
have good days and bad, times of joy and moments of anger, desires for love and
thoughts of revenge – can do horrible things.
So I mourn the deaths of
yesterday and today, and I recommit to doing what I can. Will you join me?
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