Darkness in Blacksburg

Note: This piece is the article I am publishing in our church newsletter this week. I thought I would write a separate piece for the Express, but this one says what I want to say, so creativity is not needed. I covet your response to my thoughts, if you so choose, but more, I hope you will address the larger issues the tragedy in Blacksburg, Virginia raises. I'm not trying to start a petition, but rather a conversation. Use the Comments link below this post to participate.


The shootings on the Virginia Tech University campus have shaken both a community and a nation. How to explain the conduct of a solitary student who apparently used two handguns to take 33 lives, including his own.

It was methodical murder. It was planned, albeit small-scale, genocide.

Already, the psychological and sociological pundits are already in action. The alleged shooter was a loner, isolated from healthy relationships. His disturbing creative writing had prompted school representatives to recommend counseling to him, an invitation he apparently declined.

While I am predictably curious about the demons with which he may have wrestled, in this case my passion burns less for the criminal and more for his weapons.

I say “his” weapons; that’s imprecise. I should write “our” weapons, because as a society we have decided people need the freedom to own the kind of guns he used. The result? 33 dead in Blacksburg.

Why do we allow people to own handguns, weapons whose principal use is to threaten, injure, or kill people? Why do we permit access to such dangerous instruments to anyone other than military and law enforcement people?

Many gun rights supporters point to our constitution’s second amendment, and its “right to bear arms” provision. Indeed, a recent federal court ruling raised serious questions about the constitutionality of all gun control legislation, a ruling based primarily on an interpretation of that amendment.

Well, then why don’t we let people own machine or artillery guns? Why not a bazooka or an AK-47 in every home? Because we have decided there are limits even to constitutional rights, we have concluded that machine guns are too dangerous for widespread distribution. It’s time to decide handguns are too dangerous, too.

In case you care, I don’t want to ban hunting rifles or trap shooting weapons. I just want handguns out of circulation. I want anyone caught in possession of a handgun sentenced to serve at least five years in prison, regardless of whether they used the weapon for any other crime. And I want gun manufacturing, distribution, and importation strictly regulated.

More red tape? Yes. A new black market? Yes. Would it even work? I don’t know. But in 2005, 70% of the 16,000+ murders in the U.S. were committed with firearms; of those firearm-related deaths, nearly 80% came specifically from handguns. We need to do something.

Don’t tell me guns don’t kill people; people kill people; that’s a smokescreen. Had you been among the dozens in those besieged Virginia Tech classrooms, which would you rather have faced: An assailant carrying a bowie knife, or one with an automatic weapon backed by lots of ammo? Can anyone seriously believe 33 people would be dead today had the shooter not had access to handguns, had we not decided he had the "right" to bear those arms?


Pray with me:
God of everyday miracles, we need one now. Heal families. Mend a community. Restore hope. Raise 33 of your children to new life. Grant us wisdom and courage for the facing of this hour. In the name of Jesus, Amen.

A HOLY WEEK: Day Seven

So it comes down to this. The resurrection is at hand. The tomb’s stone is on the move.

I don’t know what kind of week this has been. It was intense, but at times for the wrong reasons. It was faithful, at least when I was focused. It was satisfying, particularly when I was in worship.

But there was always some task to complete, some appointment to keep, some schedule to uphold, some worship to engage in. There was always something.

Perhaps that’s part of the bargain for people deeply connected to a congregation’s ministry – you may have felt a similar pressure as the week’s faith journey unfolded for you – but I wish there was a better way.

Part of it is the concentration of events. Last Sunday’s palms triggered a spiritual avalanche. If Jesus had distributed the events that led him to the cross across a span of several months, we could more pleasingly pace our efforts.

Or even if there were only a bit more separation between events. For example, we could celebrate Easter sunrise on the Sunday in October when we move the clocks back an hour; that would be quite convenient. And who says Maundy Thursday must occur on a Thursday? Why not place it at the end of a regular Sunday morning worship? More people would participate. Churches would likely save on electric bills in that they wouldn’t be turning on lights for an otherwise inactive weekday evening.

I have lots of time, energy, and exhaustion saving ideas, if only the now-raised Jesus will listen to them. Chances are, however, he will repeat his teaching regarding people who try to save their lives losing them, and those who lose their lives for his sake (and apparently not their own sakes) saving them. More to the point of this weekend, Jesus will also kindly, lovingly ask me who is Lord. And then I will shut up... and worship.

Praise God! Glory be to God! Jesus is our risen Lord, and because of that, this has truly been a holy week.

A blessed encounter with the risen one to you and yours.


Pray with me:
You have saved me, God. Thank you. I was lost. I was alone. I was undeserving. I was on the handle end of the hammer that drove the nails into his hands. Yet, you saved me. As Jesus rises to new life, take me with him. Through him, draw me deeper and closer to you. In the name of the risen one, Amen.

A HOLY WEEK: Day Six

It’s Friday of this Holy Week. This is the day Jesus dies. No more meals. No more garden moments. No more trials or administrative hoops. Today he dies.

As I drove home from church this afternoon to make final preparations for our community worship observing his death tonight, I didn’t notice anything special. No cars were pulled to the side of a road in shows of respect. No school children were grouped on street corners, heads down in prayerful remembrance of the sacrifice he made. No church bells rang to notify the community of the monumental occasion.

Seemed like any other day.

In November each year, people understandably make a big deal out of the Kennedy assassination anniversary.
In April, people rightly recall the horrible day Martin Luther King was killed.
In June, Bobby Kennedy’s death gets attention.

But today, Jesus’ death didn’t stir much interest.

Of course, the people for whom those assassinations make the most noise are those who were there when the events occurred. I was only six when JFK traveled to Dallas, yet I remember vividly the classroom speaker buzzing with an announcement of the tragedy, and my teacher’s tearful response. If you were old enough to be aware, then you no doubt remember their impacts.

Maybe that’s it, then. For Jesus’ death to pack a punch perhaps you have to have been there...or have to be there, now.

We’re using an old hymn as a recurring component in our community worship tonight. The hymn is “Were You There” (...when they crucified my Lord?). I may change the words as I sing:

Are you there?...


Pray with me:
If I am not there right now, lead me there (or pull, drag, cajole, or coerce me) as you need, for I need to be there as Jesus dies for me. If I’m not, then I am an impartial observer, a dispassionate historian. I want, I need to be more than that. In the name of Jesus, of whose death I am a witness, Amen.

A HOLY WEEK: Day Five

(As this week advances, I show more and more disregard for the commitment I originally made to post each day by the early to mid evening. It’s mid-morning Friday as I post this reflection about Thursday. Good job, Coley.)


Last night’s worship at our church focused on the night Jesus gathered with his closest followers to institute what today we call communion or the Lord’s Supper. It’s another of the traditional worship experiences (officially known as “Maundy Thursday”) that draws less and less interest with the passing of generations. Last night’s worshipers numbered twelve. Which was a convenient number, if you think about it, in as much as that’s how many started out with Jesus in the upper room, the night before he died.

So the inevitable question was, which one of us will be like Judas? Which one of us will leave church tonight to betray Jesus? Which one of us will be like Peter – another of the twelve – who three times under pressure denied even knowing Jesus? How many of us will be like the original followers, people who deserted their Lord at his time of need?

Those are hard questions to answer, or at least to want to answer, because to do so means I have to confess, I have to say, “Me,” before accusing anyone else.

How many people in the room will fail today? I will.
How many people will in some form or fashion deny Jesus today? I will.
How many people will run away from their faith today? I will.

Because I don’t know your heart as well as I know my own. Because my behavior is an easier target than yours. Because I have no business looking around the room to finger co-conspirators before I acknowledge my role in the plot.

I figure the original last supper was a very personal experience. Jesus all but shined a spotlight of accusation on Judas. He predicted Peter’s denial right to the man’s face. It must have been with a searing gaze that Jesus looked into each of his disciples that night.

And what about you, Bill? I don’t want to hear about all those other people. Tell me about you. What are you going to do?

Most of the time Christians remember the last supper as an event in Jesus’ life, which, of course, it was. But it was and continues to be also a very intimate and revelatory experience for us who claim Jesus’ name. Anyone who dares sit with Jesus as he prepares for the cross is subject to that peering stare, those confession-seeking questions. Anyone who eats that meal with Jesus will be asked, What about you?

Maybe that explains why fewer and fewer people participate in Maundy Thursday worship. Perhaps that’s why I’m thinking about proposing we do away with that worship in our church.


Pray with me:
The passion grows. The intensity deepens. The questions grow harder and harder. Jesus wants me to stay awake while he prepares to die for me. Help me do at least that. If you don’t, I will run away, or deny, or betray, or all of the above. This is a hard week, God. In the name of Jesus, Amen.

A HOLY WEEK: Day Four

Seems I can’t get around to writing these entries during the day, when I said I would.

I can just imagine the conversation with Jesus:

- - - -
Me: Hey, Jesus. How’s it going?

Jesus: What?

Me: Oh, I guess that’s a bad question this week, isn’t it?

Jesus: Yeah. What about you? How’s it going for you?

Me: Oh, pretty good. Busy. Real busy. Scurrying here and there trying to get things done for Sunday.

Jesus: Sunday, you say. What’s happening Sunday?

Me: Well, it’s Easter, the day you..... Oh, well, we mustn’t get ahead of ourselves. Sorry about that, Jesus.... So...tell me, gotta any big plans for the weekend?.... Oh, wait. Scrap that question. Just forget I asked it. I really feel stupid.

Jesus: You need to slow down. Want to go to the garden with me tomorrow night. Quite peaceful there.

Me: Well...I...wouldn’t want to disturb your quiet time. And anyway, we’ve got worship at our church. You know, Maundy Thursday.

Jesus: Oh, right. I never much cared for that name. Nobody knows what it means.

Me: Or cares! Hee-Hee.... I mean, you’re right, Jesus. It’s a hard word.

Jesus: So are you ready for this?

Me: I plan to be.

Jesus: You plan your spirituality?

Me: Well, I have to; you know, when you’re really busy, and all.

Jesus: I forgot. You’re the busy one. Tell you what. I’ll leave the invitation open. If you can tear yourself away from your plans, I’ll be in the garden. Come anytime. I’ll find you.

Me: Right kind of you, Jesus. I hope you have a good night....or a holy night, or...you know what I mean.
- - - - -

Yeah, I’m ready for this.


Pray with me:
I’m tying, Lord...sometimes, VERY trying. Don’t give up on me. I need to feel the cross and find the tomb, but not yet. Settle me (if you can!), I pray in the name of Jesus, Amen.

A HOLY WEEK: Day Three

It’s late, really late for a day three reflection. Truth be told, it’s day four of this Holy Week as I write. But, there’s a reason.

Tuesday was a multi-tasking day. I flew solo in the church office, completed several necessary tasks, and finished work on another of the week’s worship experiences; but more important, I took time for myself. I had lunch with a couple of great people from our church, cooked dinner, went to Davenport, watched portions of the evening political talk shows that feed my partisan hungers, spent a grueling but satisfying hour on the treadmill, and gave Shari her nightly back rub. To top it off, I devoted almost no time to wondering what I could have accomplished had I used those several hours to prepare for the week’s events.

For Jesus, I imagine the third day in Jerusalem had to include some personal time. The Gospels report his penchant for quiet time alone; by day three of his journey to the cross, he must have needed a bunch of it. And in his away moments, when he wasn’t healing, teaching, scolding, or mentoring people, I bet he didn’t worry about how he could have been steeling himself against the rest of the week.

Not for a moment do I compare the itinerary of my small life with Jesus’ preparation for the cross, but I may have at least stumbled upon a valuable lesson from his example: In the face of stress and expectation, in the company of dread or obligation, however large or unmanageable the burdens of your life, be sure to get away. Whether for five minutes or five hours doesn’t matter, just get away. Be yourself. Live your life. Tend to your roots.

Firmly planted in those roots for Jesus was the conviction that the week ahead of him, while spiraling out of his earthly hands, would never leave God’s. Jesus knew he didn’t have to prepare for his destiny, but rather surrender himself to it. God would provide.

What’s on tap for you the rest of this week? Or later this month or year? Big things? Large responsibilities? Potential failures? Do what you have to do, but also make sure you get away. The one who accompanied Jesus on day three in Jerusalem will be there when you get back...and wherever you are.


Pray with me:
The cross looms larger. Help me see it and feel it and prepare for it, without being owned and enslaved by it. That sounds tricky to me, but then again, that’s why I pray and you listen – not vice-versa. In the name of Jesus, Amen.

A HOLY WEEK: Day Two

Today I think about how busy this week is.

Worship experiences to create. TV spots to write. Supplies to acquire. Events to execute. Responsibilities to manage. Expectations to satisfy.

So much to do.

Holy Week is so task oriented for me. This morning I created in my PDA a list of “must-do”s (which are very different from “to do”s, by the way, which are more easily delayed, rationalized, or rescheduled). Among the week’s “must do”s were time-, energy-, and imagination consuming activities for every day between now and Easter Sunday – outcomes whose failure to materialize would consequentially affect my and/or others’ experience of Holy Week.

Every now and then I get so full of myself as to believe that something I do – perhaps one thing I do – makes a difference. But that’s one thing per week (or month!). My goodness, this week’s “must do”s are a collection of better get it dones.

Then there’s the matter of the week itself. The people I work with put so much attention on this week (damned Christians!). If there’s a week in the year when the inspectors will be out in force and in the pews offering unsolicited reviews, this is it.

So much to do. So many things to accomplish. I measure the rise and fall of this week’s fortunes on the basis of what I do, how soon I do it, and whether those who partner with me in the week’s ministries similarly follow through on their commitments.

Most who read The Express aren’t religious professionals (you may pause now to count your blessings), but if for you Holy Week is an important spiritual journey, if you value worship on or in the special days leading to Easter Sunday, or if you’re just one of those infamous pew sitters who attend more than participate in the life of your congregation, chances are you have a lot of items on your calendar this week, too. Please know I feel your pain and share your stress.

And please also know that Jesus yet again gazes at us in amazement, wondering how you and I can be so caught up in what we “must do,” when our focus and passion this week, of all weeks, should be on what he must do.

Whatever else you’re doing right now, STOP! Raise your hand. Open your heart. And for the next thirty seconds – time for which you will receive neither reward nor recognition – keep your eyes on Jesus.

Whether you want to, need to, or have to, just do it. Now.


Pray with me:
God, keep me silent long enough to pay attention to the one who is about to do for me what I could never do for myself or anyone else, the one in whose name I now pray, Amen.

A HOLY WEEK: Day One

Today the parade came to town. I heard lots of screams from adults and their children. Some people no doubt got caught up in the excitement of the occasion, more than they did the spiritual significance of God’s chosen one arriving for his date with a cross, but it was good of them to show.

Lots of Bible was heard. “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” was the most common cry. I had heard that one before...for that matter, I had heard all of it before, many times before. I couldn’t know what was going on inside their hearts, so I can only presume they intended to mean what they said.

Lots of debris, too. Palm branches and coats covered the road. I didn’t stay long enough to know whether owners retrieved their street confetti additions, but at times they were piled in multiple layers, making an impressive display, if nothing else.

The star of the parade, of course, was Jesus; all eyes were on him today. Our particular parade piece identified the wonders and miracles he had performed over the years of his ministry. Easy to cheer such a prolific healer.

As noted earlier, I have been to this parade before, lots of times; for a “religious professional” such as myself, it’s kind of expected that I will be somewhere in the crowd. But no matter how many times I wave my palm branch and witness these proceedings, two observations remain true:

First, there is a powerful disconnect between today’s carnival and Friday’s cruelty, between today’s festivity and Friday’s finality. At every parade I am just short of dumbstruck that people so amiable and appreciative when Jesus came to town – pleading with him to save them now (which is what “hosanna” means), and calling him “King” and the one who comes in God’s name – would so quickly and completely turn on him by the end of the week, calling for his death rather than the criminal Barabbas’. What’s wrong with people?

Second, there’s a reason I know something about this parade and its hypocritical participants: I am one of them.... What’s wrong with me?


Pray with me:
God, the week has only begun, and I am already uncomfortable. I suppose that’s the point, but it’s not a fate I choose freely. Help me get through this day, then get me moving toward the confrontation of the soul – a cross-roads, you might call it – that I need to have. In the name of the one who came in your name, Amen.