When the unthinkable happens in your community, it hits different. It hits more like it should have all along. I don’t know if anyone needs to carve out some space to reflect on the Covenant Shooting — but Lord knows I do. These thoughts have stained my heart and have left me with no choice but to hope.
Just two weeks after the shooting, Easter came. With the deaths in our town still fresh, I found myself clinging to Christ’s resurrection for hope. This isn’t the first year I’ve come to Easter feeling the weight of death and finding consolation in an empty tomb. Each miscarriage left its mark — with it, Easter has become a day for me to bring my grief before God, worship the Lord who conquered death on our behalf, and remember that He has not left me without comfort in this. On the contrary, He has much to say.
This year, God saw fit to place me in a community who clung to these truths alongside me. After years of fresh grief on Easter, there was something meaningful about knowing this year, I wasn’t alone in this sorrow. I’ll tell you right now these truths are all the more beautiful when reflected within the context of a caring community:
For in subjecting everything to him, he left nothing that is not subject to him. As it is, we do not yet see everything subjected to him. But we do see Jesus — made lower than the angels for a short time so that by God’s grace he might taste death for everyone — crowned with glory and honor because he suffered death. [Heb 2]
Death could not hold You. The veil tore before You. You silence the boast of sin and grave. [Hillsong United]
The last enemy to be defeated is death. [1 Cor 15]
If it's true that You know what I'm feeling, could it be that You're weeping with me? Somehow, this sorrow is shaping my heart like it should. [Andrew Peterson]
When this corruptible body is clothed with incorruptibility, and this mortal body is clothed with immortality, then the saying that is written will take place: Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, death, is your victory? Where, death, is your sting? The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ! Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, be steadfast, immovable, always excelling in the Lord’s work, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain. [1 Cor 15]
The morning that You rose all of Heaven held its breath; 'til that stone was moved for good, for the Lamb had conquered death. [Hillsong United]
Death no longer rules over him. For the death he died, he died to sin once for all time; but the life he lives, he lives to God. So, you too consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus. [Rom 6]
I’ve seen headline after headline and post after post that says, six dead. This continues to weigh heavy on me. Seven died. Someone else lost their child far too soon. Someone else has to live with the fact that not only is their baby gone, but they have to live with the weight of what they did in their last moments. There’s no taking that back. There’s no redemption at the end of their life. There’s enough room for us to grieve the six victims and, by God’s grace, their murderer too. I grew up hearing this narrative that we shouldn’t give shooters attention, because that’s what they want most — but that doesn’t sit right with me. We can sit in the weight of this brokenness and feel in our bones how wrong this was — and yet still deeply grieve the loss of a human who was in despair to the point of murdering children. As death stings, we should make every effort to remain tender and not let our hearts be calloused.
There’s enough room for us to be angry, be grieved, be hopeful, and be tired.
We don’t have to choose one or the other.
Something I’ve found myself wondering — what would Jesus have said to Audrey Hale if they hung on the cross next to His? This good news of deliverance extends to the thieves, the liars, the abusers, the greedy, and the murderers. In a moment of humility, the thief to His right said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into Your kingdom.” That’s it. When I read of the thought Audrey put into this, when I think of the conversations they had with those around her in the months leading up to this, when I reflect on her final words to loved ones, and when I wonder what they might have read in the hallways of that Christian school — I can’t help but hope that they too get to taste the true, deep, lasting forgiveness found only in Christ. How I’m hoping I get to give them a hug on the other side of this life — and how I hope I’m not the only one waiting to embrace Audrey. Only in Christ can justice and forgiveness coexist.
152 bullets fired. Six victims is far too many, but it’s not lost on me how many more we could have lost. How deeply grateful I am that there weren’t more people murdered. All the while, I can’t help but think of the terror to everyone that heard not six, not twenty — but the sound of 152 shots in that school. I imagine the kids and staff who waited to learn who was dead. I wonder how far out the shots were heard. I can’t imagine forgetting that sound. With the amount of gun violence in this era, I wonder the memories this stirs up in many who are still mourning and healing. This isn’t the kind of thing you move on from easily. There are kids in our community who are going to need safe places for not just the months to come — but the years to come. May we have the courage and patience to sit with people in their grief and walk with them through their hurt.
I doubt I’m the only one feeling the weight of social responsibility following this tragedy. We are in the middle of a mental health epidemic, a politically polarizing time, and a large cultural movement. We cannot afford to not check in on the people around us.
I’m struck by the people God placed around Audrey Hale. Her parents knew they weren’t well enough to own a gun, and the one they knew they had, they encouraged her to sell it. They saw her. They cared. They spoke up. I find myself wondering what I would have done if Audrey Hale was my classmate, my neighbor, or my friend? Would I have honored her? Would I have taken her out to coffee? Would I have been a safe place for her to share what they were going through? I find myself assessing whether I’m loving the people around me well and whether I even notice those who are hurting.
If you’re tempted to think this world is too much to handle or you don’t know how to engage people in this time we live in, be encouraged by this. God intentionally placed us in this era, in this city, in this workplace, in this home, in these relationships — He gave significant thought to the time and places we live in. You were not born a second too soon or too late.
God knew all this moment in history would hold and created you to exist in the middle of it all.
Creatively love the people He places in your life.
Be a faithful steward of what He has entrusted you with.
Ask the hard questions.
Weep with those who weep.
Fight for empathy within you.
Stay curious and attentive.
Open up your home and heart to others.
This is what we’re made for, friend.
