In Weapons We Trust?

I've had the courage to ask the question publicly only once before.

I responded to a Twitter debate about the idea of teachers carrying guns in school by asking what the plan would be if a well-meaning educator accidentally killed an otherwise safe student in an ill-fated attempt to stop an intruder.

I received only one response, but it was enough. A stranger without a real name jumped to the attack, demanding to know what difference it would make, since the shooter would be killing everyone anyway, and expressing disdain for "you people", I assumed meaning those who questioned the wisdom of just anyone packing heat in a public place.

I considered answering that it would, in fact, make a significant difference to the family of the hypothetical, otherwise-safe-but-dead-at-the-hands-of-a-teacher child, but decided to let it go. There was clearly no conversation to have there.

But my question has never gone away, and I have never heard an answer for it:  What are we going to do when a civilian, attempting to stop a crime, real or perceived, or to defend himself/herself against a threat, real or perceived, inadvertently makes the situation worse than it would have been without their intervention or without the introduction of their firearm? And when their legal justification emboldens other would-be heroes to pull guns when they shouldn't?

I'm not saying no one should have a gun, and I'm not talking about anyone's home. And I'm as enticed as anyone by the scenario of a would-be mass-murderer being stopped short by a bullseye through the crowd from a sane, stable individual with the moral compass of the Lone Ranger and the aim of Doc Holliday, who never wanted to hurt anyone, but knew he or she had to be ready in case this ever happened.

But aside from that one perfect scenario, what happens when:

*A civilian correctly perceives a danger, but misses the target and shoots someone who otherwise might have escaped, or had already escaped? Or fires a shot through a window, across the street, and through the head of someone who was nowhere near the threat? Or multiple civilians all do these things at the same time?

*A civilian perceives something incorrectly and draws or fires when there is no need? Trained and experienced soldiers and police officers kill people they aren't supposed to kill more frequently than we would guess, but we don't think this will happen when scarcely trained and probably panicked civilians attempt to respond to what they perceive in the heat of a moment?

*A civilian attempting to intervene is mistaken for a perpetrator by police who are also intervening?

*A criminal seizes a firearm right off the person of a civilian who is caught off guard, or has overestimated his or her reflexes? Carrying a gun doesn't make you Chuck Norris.

*A gun falls into the hands of a child in a crowd, the way all kinds of things fall into the hands of children?

*A clinically sane, but aggrieved, misguided hothead, a person you wouldn't want teaching your child's Sunday School class, is the first in line to strap on a holster at church? (Of course they will be, and you know you thought of someone! If you can pack heat, so can the person whose judgment you trust the least.)

In a story that needs to be dwelled on, a board member from the NRA posted comments online recently, waiting scarcely long enough for the bodies to become cold, criticizing the murdered pastor of Charleston's Emanuel AME church for not supporting a concealed carry law in his role as a South Carolina state legislator. The NRA board member was bold enough in the moment to blame this pastor for the deaths of eight members of the congregation, but not bold enough to leave his comments posted after they triggered a backlash.

A sad detail of this story is the fact that the board member's criticism was posted in response to comments from an individual using the pseudonym "ShootDontTalk". Seriously. An influential player in one of the most influential political lobbies in our nation engaged online and thus lent credibility to someone who called himself "ShootDontTalk".

And this leader, who thought "ShootDontTalk" was a good person to engage with online, is presumably telling us, with his claim that these murdered worshippers should have been armed in Bible study, that the perfect scenario at the beginning of this post is all that will ever happen if we all just carry loaded weapons everywhere we go.

Maybe there is a good answer to the six scenarios I posted above. Maybe a critic would point out the long odds against any of these scenarios happening, as though their chances are any slimmer than the deadeye-Annie-Oakley scene we all hope for. Or, maybe the NRA board member from the story above would acknowledge, "Yes, any of those terrible things could happen, and if they do, we will be very sorry, but that's just the tradeoff we need to make to be safe today."

Being sorry and having a meaningful answer are not the same thing. Maybe I am uninformed, but I haven't heard proponents of concealed carry and open carry laws publicly address these unintended scenarios and how our society might respond if they should occur.

But maybe none of these things is the worst danger or most difficult question the followers of Jesus face in all this.

Maybe, just maybe, a congregation of worshippers carrying loaded guns while singing "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms" isn't a picture consistent with a Lord who told Pilate that if His kingdom were of this world, His servants would fight, and who rebuked Peter's swordplay and restored Malchus's ear.

Could it be that a family of disciples keeping one hand on their pistols while they worship, actually discredits the gospel of Jesus Christ?

In whom (or what) will the followers of Jesus place their trust?

Our answers may not match the perceptions of those we are trying to reach for Him.

The Essence of Cool

"We're on a mission from God."

If your lips don't stretch into a wry smile as your mind conjurs up Dan Aykroyd's voice delivering this perfect line, then you have no idea what I'm talking about. But you will.

One of the great gifts I received from my Dad in my youth was a fondness for a sanitized-for-TV version of The Blues Brothers, a 1980 movie I later learned, with great surprise, was actually littered with profanities galore. But not the version I watched, the version I came to love and have quoted from often. The characters, the dialogue, the implausible plot, my first sighting of Carrie Fisher outside of Star Wars, all made impressions on me, but nothing from this movie has stuck with me like the music. From James Brown to Aretha Franklin, from Ray Charles to the Peter Gunn Theme; it just never stops.

Does it seem to you that Dads are blessed with a very special task:  to pass along to their children at least one piece of cultural rot that Mom finds especially heinous? Mom tolerated The Blues Brothers fairly well, but on one occasion, when I took my obsessive Jake & Elwood routine a little too far, Mom responded with, "David, that was a terrible movie. Nobody even liked it when it came out....except your Dad."

And that was all I needed to know.

Moms, there are not enough words to capture the imprint you leave in the hearts of your children, how deeply you influence who they are. But Dads, among all the things you do, there is one thing you do better than anyone else while your kids are little: You define cool. You are the essence of hip. Your cred is beyond question, your playlist the ultimate, your language of anger the boundary of acceptable, your lens the litmus test for good taste. Yes, you fall hopelessly out of touch with anything resembling cool for awhile, but it always comes back to you, and your kids who believed they would reinvent the wheel end up resembling you in more ways than their physical features and mannerisms.

Why would God entrust you with this kind of influence?

He had to have known that millions of Dads around the world, throughout all of human history, would take this Kitchen Aid hand mixer of children's minds and do terrible things with it. But there it is, nonetheless. The opportunity to write in a language we scarcely comprehend, stir and season a stew we barely realize is cooking, and be the conductor on a train ride whose track we build as we go, and most of us end up wishing we could build over again.

The opportunity to capture the slightest glimpse, for a fleeting moment, of God's perspective on His creation is one of the most amazing gifts He gives. He actually lets us see what it's like to be Him, to love someone else so fully, so selflessly, not because of anything they have done to deserve it, but because they are yours. To want to be in communion with them so badly you are willing to give up anything...anything, to build the bridge to make it possible.

Dads, whether or not you realize it in the moment, you are being held up by your Father so you can reach your face to the telescope to look through and just barely make out things He sees with perfect clarity, and wants you to see so you can understand Him.

And that's your job now with your sons and daughters.

Hold them up so they can get a glimpse of the Father you see more clearly than you ever did before, now that you're a Dad. They will listen to you, if you will show them. Even if they don't listen now, your words will never be forgotten, and they will take root someday, Dads. Have faith, plant the seed, water the soil.

Look to your Father, and make sure your kids see you doing it.

A mission from God, indeed.

Sleepover

A big day for an 8 year-old, packing up for a friend's birthday sleepover.


He gets sad for a moment, and I comfort him: "It's just one night."


We hug goodbye, I get sad for a moment, and he comforts me:  "It's just one night."


Putting away laundry later, and his room is not the same without him in the house.


What am I gonna do someday when it isn't just one night anymore?

A Productive Day

I hate to admit it, but I judged him.

 

No, I didn't say anything, make a face, or do anything anyone could have seen on the surface.  But I felt, for just a moment, like he was less than me. And I pray for forgiveness for feeling this way.

 

I drove slowly through the elementary school drop-off line, dressed up in a jacket and tie, and the kind of shoes that make that clicking sound against the floor, making their wearer feel important and sure of himself.

 

After my boys got out of my truck and walked toward the entrance, I began pulling away, but had to stop to allow another Dad who was walking his son into the building to cross the drop-off line.

 

And that's when I felt it.

 

This man walked slowly, holding his son's hand. His pace was not deliberate; no hurry at all, almost slow enough to appear depressed. He looked sloppy and disheveled, but I'd like to think that wasn't the reason I judged him. After all, we all know better than to judge someone for how they're dressed, right?

 

I judged him because I assumed from his demeanor that he was embarking upon a day of minimal productivity. I surmised he didn't have much on his docket today, and, for just a moment, I felt superior to him because, of course, my calendar is full, and somehow that makes me better.

 

Of course, I'm judging an appearance, just as much as if I were judging his clothing. He could actually be busier than me and two of my friends put together for all I know, but that's not the point. And maybe I'm just an arrogant jerk, but that's not the point, either.

 

The point is, even if this man accomplished nothing more today than to hold his son's little hand, walk him to school, and get his day off to a gentle start, peaceful and prepared, with the knowledge that his Daddy loves him, that is, in the scope of a lifetime, a more meaningful and enduring accomplishment than all the important things on my calendar.

 

When my sons become men, they won't find comfort in the events my phone reminded me to attend or the things it reminded me to do.

 

Will they have memories of Dad's hand holding theirs, his agenda only to be present with them?

 

I bet this other guy's son will.

 

 

It was 100 years ago today...

Father,

No one alive today remembers this, but on this day, 100 years ago, a 19 year-old shot and murdered a royal couple, for reasons he must have believed were valid.

How could he have possibly known what this murder would trigger? Did he ever imagine the millions who would die in the years of war that would follow his act of violence? Could he have envisioned the countless people who have never been born in the generations since, because their would-be fathers, grandfathers, and great-grandfathers perished in the mud of some European battlefield? The innocent civilians, having nothing to do with his grievances, but swept away in the torrent of war?

Only You know, Father, but I doubt he thought of any of that. There's no way he could have.

And that's what I pray about tonight, Father, for all of us.

The tempter deceives us still. Our adversary encourages us to have more confidence in our own vision than we have in Yours. The serpent still whispers that we know as much as You do, that You're the one who isn't being truthful, and that You're afraid of us becoming like You.

The deceiver affirms our sense that we have the power to manipulate others, to see the future, and most of all, to determine in advance the scope and limits of our ungodly acts. We hear the voice that tells us we can say and do what is hurtful to someone, and still control the splash, direct the dominoes, and keep the fire of our sin safely where we can see and control it.

But the truth is, there's a reason You have told us vengeance is Your sole domain. We honestly can't see in advance where the river of our rage will roll, where it will overrun its banks, and who beyond our target will be swept away in its rapids.

We just can't see it, and You know that about us, and that's why You ask us to trust You.

God, we do trust You, and we ask you to help our distrust!

It's easy to sit here today and think young Gavrilo Princip was just another hateful, politically-motivated, short-sighted fool. It's easy to cast him aside as a nut, a terrorist, a murderer, a moron who was too stupid to realize his murderous act would explode into something he never could have imagined, and hurt people far beyond the scope of his grievance.

Yes, it's easy to think all that, until I remember some of the times I have listened to the same deceitful message, and thought I could control sin.

It didn't work for Gavrilo, and it doesn't work for me.

Father, please continue to be patient.

A Mentor's Death

I still remember when I learned he had passed away.

He was one of my earliest professional heroes, someone I admired, looked up to, called on for advice, all the usual mentorship stuff we throw around too cheaply most of the time. This guy was the real deal to me. He took a chance on me, gave me my first shot in leadership, and I took very personally the goal of never letting him down.

We worked hard together, laughed a lot, and my daily interactions with him were an ongoing tutorial in leadership, both effective and, sometimes, not so much. His health was terrible, and he didn't do much to improve it. When he retired, I didn't hold out much hope that he would live much longer at all. Literally. I thought it was likely he would be dead within a few years.

When I moved away a couple years later, I honestly feared he would die, and I would not hear about it in time to attend his funeral. I don't know if this is sickeningly morbid, but that's what I thought would happen, and this scenario just broke my heart.

So, before I moved, I took the step of asking a friend to keep me posted about him. She would certainly know if and when anything happened, and I rested easier knowing my feared scenario would not come to pass.

Well, you may have guessed by now:  It happened after all, exactly as I had envisioned it.

Turns out, my early-career hero lived another ten years after he and I parted ways, and experienced improved health during much of that time. I learned this when I happened to catch up with the friend who was supposed to tell me when he died. She did tell me...that he had died about a year before.

My surprise and sadness were, in the moment, matched by frustration with my friend, though I did not tell her so. What purpose would it serve? She told me the story of my mentor's death, and we reflected together on how much he had meant to us. My friend did acknowledge how unfortunate it was that I had never been informed of what happened, and just when I thought she was about to apologize for forgetting me, she dropped some humbling perspective:

"I'm surprised you didn't know. He was so active on Facebook, I assumed you were keeping up with him."

Oh.

Well...

I myself had been active on Facebook for five years at that point, and couldn't believe my mentor had never friended me in all that time, if he was on Facebook too. I really thought I was important to him, a protege he was proud of, a legacy beyond himself, an extension of his values and priorities, etc, etc, etc. I actually resented my dead mentor for a bit. How could he have ignored me all those years, when it would have taken nothing but a few keystrokes to find my open Facebook page? I should have been among the first people he looked up when he opened his account!

Of course, after awhile, the obvious and uncomfortable fact settled into my mind:

"You didn't look him up, either, you know..."

Pride, pride, pride.

This man, who lived a full life of family, faith, and professional success, many of whose years included the burden of serious illness, who spent many years working with many different people, and only two of those years working with me, should have prioritized an ongoing, personal connection with me, during the last ten years of his life. And all that, when I hadn't thought to look him up myself.

That thought was the foundation for the hurt and resentment I felt.

When you spell it out like that, I was not nearly as slighted as I first felt I was. In fact, the opposite. I had felt I deserved the glow of my mentor's continued attention and praise, without the investment of my own attention and thought toward him. I thought I should have meant a great deal to him, when I had not made sure he knew how much he meant to me.

But I hope he knew. I have to believe he did know.

Isn't it a mystery how we pass through the lives of people, and they through ours?

And, isn't it interesting to consider the expectations we so often bring to the table, expectations of what others are supposed to do for us, emotional needs we want others to fill, but not always what we could do for them?

Could this be different?

Could we instead focus on giving freely to others, investing gladly in the lives of those souls who are with us for a season, regardless of what they ever give back?

Could that outlook possibly be the key to feeling the glow I thought should have come from my mentor?

RIP, Mr. Shelton.

I loved you, and I hope I somehow showed you how grateful I am for all you invested in me.

Without Guile

Sweet night.

We've had a busy day, and we're tired. Settled into our laptop spots in the living room, interacting with the world out there, and even a little bit with each other.

Our 6 year-old, Jonathan, has a buddy spending the night at our house tonight, so he is more excited than usual. We Redboxed a movie and a Wii game for our boys and Jonathan's friend, but the kids have instead gravitated toward the Legos in the bedrooms, which is a cool reminder that kids like to play, don't need much help doing it, and adults don't need to plan every minute of their lives for them.

But here's what just happened, that I am praying I will never forget:

Jonathan has a little thing he does now and then, when he is listening to the radio in his bedroom. We keep his radio tuned to K-Love, and his favorite artist is Toby Mac. When a Toby Mac song comes on, we usually find out about it when Jonathan comes running down the hall and, without a word, turns on the radio in the kitchen so we can hear the song too.

The best part is hearing his sweet, six year-old voice singing along with one of his heroes.

The lyrics to "Get Back Up" or "Me Without You" take on a whole new relevance when sung by your child.

Tonight, sometime after Kristi and I had drifted into laptopland, and the kids in Legoland had faded into the background, I became aware that the kitchen radio was playing, at pretty decent volume, and Jonathan's voice could be heard singing along with Toby Mac's new hit, "Speak Life". The spirit was contagious, and I couldn't resist singing along, too.

It was then that I realized the radio in Jonathan's room was on, and that he had done his usual thing, playing K-Love in his room, and turning on the kitchen radio to let everyone share in the joy of Toby Mac.

So, what about this meant so much to me on this particular night? He has done this many times; it's not a new thing. Why such a big deal?

The difference tonight is that a guest is here.

I am amazed and overjoyed that our son behaved exactly the same way in front of a buddy that he normally behaves when he is alone with us. He played the same music, shared the same joy, sang with the same gusto, and did it all without the slightest hint of hesitation, inhibition, embarrassment, or shame.

He didn't change a thing on account of a guest being present.

I distinctly remember doing quite the opposite while I was growing up.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not naive enough to think our six year-old will never experience embarrassment about the norms of his household when his friends come over. And I don't maintain any illusions that he will never behave differently with friends than he will in front of us. The innocence I saw tonight will not remain unspotted throughout our son's youth; I get that.

But what if....Can I even say it? What if...

What if, somehow, it could be?

A child growing up with such a sense of identity that it didn't matter who knew who he really was? A kid who knew it was OK to be honest? A boy or girl who could just sing their true song in their true voice, regardless of who would hear?

Of course, this transparency works both ways.

Just as an uninhibited child will share faith and family norms with friends, he or she will also express differences in faith and family norms with the very family who so carefully instilled those things. Parents can't ask for one, and not accept the other.

How do we raise children who will let shine the light God has placed within them, in front of friend, foe, or stranger, without feeling an obligation to filter, dim, or shade the light, or put it out altogether? Kids who will grow up into men and women free of guile? People who are who they appear to be? Husbands, wives, parents, and friends who sing the song their spirit is moved to sing, without shame?

When do our masks begin to form?

God, let us as parents nurture the sensitive flame of your spirit in the hearts of our children.

Father, let us never blow it out.