The Shotgun in the Corner

I confess that I have a slight fascination with the British singer/song writer, Sting.  In fact, I have this secret desire—not so secret to my friends—to sing a concert with Sting.  So, if anyone knows anyone who might know someone who might know Sting, let me know.

I loved the sound when Sting was with the 1980’s group The Police.  I was in college, studying music, and the diverse pop/rock, punk, new wave sound of their music was a great diversion from the classical that occupied the rest of my musical life.  Over the years, I have appreciated how Sting’s sound and writing have matured and changed as have I and these days,  I especially appreciate the poetry and vision and pathos that his music reflects.

This past Friday morning, just a little under 48 hours after the terrible, horrible, unspeakable school shooting in Parkland, FL, I woke up to one of Sting’s songs flowing in my soul.  Released in 1988, the song Fragile is a song that Sting wrote to honor the memory of Ben Linder, an American civil engineer who was killed by the Contras in 1987.  At the time, Linder, aged 27, was working on a hydroelectric dam in Nicaragua, a project that would bring water and electricity to villages in northern Nicaragua.

The lyrics of this song are poignant and powerful and Sting has sung it at many concerts including a concert on the night of September 11, 2001 and to open his concert at the Bataclan in Paris in November 2016 during the reopening of the concert hall after its closing following the 2015 Paris terror attacks.  It has been featured in movies and documentaries as a reminder up how fragile life is and, for me, it is a call to action to protect life.

On Friday morning, as I was thinking about the shooting in Parkland, FL on Ash Wednesday, these lyrics captured my attention again and expressed what I was feeling:

 

“If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one

Drying in the color of the evening sun

Tomorrow’s rain will wash the stains away

But something in our minds will always stay

Perhaps this final act was meant

To clinch a lifetime’s argument

That nothing comes from violence and nothing ever could

For all those born beneath an angry star

Lest we forget how fragile we are. 

 

On and on the rain will fall

Like tears from a star, like tears from a star

On and on the rain will say

How fragile we are, how fragile we are…

(Sting, 1987)

I thought about this song all day, as I walked in the rain and took pictures of raindrops on the first flowers of spring.  I sang this song all day as I thought about the fragile lives of students and teachers who died on Ash Wednesday, one of the most powerful, thoughtful days of the year.  It was on Ash Wednesday that fragile life was taken–a day of humility when we confess our sins and open our hearts to the love and mercy of Christ, and seek to move the actions of our lives closer to the action of the life of Christ.  All that day, as I thought about this song and listened to this song and sang this song a memory began to form in my heart and soul.

I was a small child; I don’t really remember how old I was.  For a child growing up in a pastor’s household and moving every four years or so—whether we needed to or not—my grandfather’s farm in Iredell County, NC was the place I called home.  Even to this day, when asked what part of NC I am from I will always say Iredell County, even though I never actually lived there.

At the time of this memory, my grandmother was quite ill and we lived close enough to visit three or four times a month. To enter my grandparents’ home, we went up the back steps and through the back porch into the kitchen.  One particular afternoon I went up the steps and through the porch and there it was.  My grandfather’s shotgun was standing in the corner just next to the back door.

I froze.

You see, there were no guns of any kind in my household and I didn’t know what to do.  I never remembered seeing a real gun before, much less seeing one right there where I would have to enter the house.  Why was it there?  What had my grandfather been shooting?  Would it stay there forever?

I knew that my grandfather’s shotgun was something that was needed on the farm, one of the tools of farming.  It was useful in getting rid of rats or snakes or other varmints that I was not aware of.  Of course, it was also useful for hunting, something I don’t really remember my grandfather doing, except once or twice when we had rabbit.  It was useful in the hog butchering process.  I knew that it was important to my grandfather and that my grandfather would be careful and safe with it, but I was uneasy and didn’t want to pass it to get into the house.

I must have told my mother, or maybe, my mother noticed my hesitation.  I remember my mother talking to my grandfather—her father—and while I don’t remember the conversation exactly I remember them talking about me and the hesitation and discomfort that my grandfather’s shotgun caused in me.

I remember my grandfather saying something like: “Ah Hazel, she knows not to touch it.  She will be alright.”

To which my mother replied: “She is afraid and even though she knows not to touch it, she is uncomfortable.  Isn’t it our responsibility to make sure that she is not afraid and that she feels safe?”

Sometime that afternoon, the shotgun disappeared off of the back porch.  My grandfather moved it to his bedroom.  It was really an inconvenient place for my grandfather to put the gun. On the back porch, the shotgun was easily retrieved if needed. In the bedroom, it was not so convenient, but there it remained because deep in his heart, my grandfather wanted me to feel safe because he loved me. And because he knew that it was indeed his responsibility to help me feel safe in his home.

 

Sometimes, many times, doing the right thing is not convenient for us and yet, the lack of convenience should not keep us from doing the right thing.  Jesus’ teaching in the Gospels is very clear about what our lives, as followers of Jesus, should be—life-giving.  Particularly, in Jesus’ teaching in Matt. 5, 6, and 7—the Sermon on the Mount—we are given encouragement to live lives that are life-giving and, not life-taking.  When we embrace it and put it into the action of our lives, this teaching of Jesus,  is powerful.

In the first part of this Sermon on the Mount, are teachings of beatitudes or blessings.  Blessed are those who are humble or mournful or meek or passionate for justice, pure in heart.   Those who live these characteristics in their lives are blessed because they live what Jesus desires for the lives of his followers. These characteristics are powerful in Jesus’ life as well and if, as followers of Jesus, our lives are to imitate his, we must realize that these characteristics are ones that we need to understand and embrace.

The next blessings refer to acts of mercy, peace, and justice–all acts that carry within them the responsibility to help others feel safe, protected, and cared for.  These are the characteristics of our lives that Jesus wanted his followers to pay attention to and to offer through their lives.  These are the characteristics that are life giving and, again, they are ones that we need to understand and embrace.

 

Throughout this Sermon on the Mount are Jesus’ instructions and encouragement for life-giving living.  There are instructions on loving our enemies, on how we give to others, on how to pray. There are encouragements on fasting, on how not to treasure stuff, on how judging is not our job. Within these three chapters we find the golden rule— “in everything do to others as you would have them do to you.” (Matt. 7:12).  We are reminded that we are light and salt—a reflection of Christ’s light and the essence of flavor to bring hope and encouragement to others and the world.

In the midst of these three chapters, Jesus offers to us a list of his expectations of a life-giving life. There are not exceptions. These characteristics are what he is looking for in the lives of his followers, what he is hoping for in our lives.  These are the teachings that clearly indicate that Jesus expects us to take on the responsibility to help those around us feel safe and protected, loved and cherished.  And just in case we fail or get things mixed up, there are reminders of mercy and grace and forgiveness as well.

The words of these chapters are strong and clear. There are expectations for how we live for and with others. These expectations come from Jesus, himself, the ultimate example of one who offers life and mercy and safety to others.

In regard to another shooting that has taken the lives of students and teachers in schools that should be safe, Jesus’ words in the Sermon on the Mount point us to our responsibility to stop this senseless way of life that we, as Americans, have witnessed, over and over again.

NO, it isn’t easy.  NO, it isn’t always convenient.  NO, it doesn’t result in our wealth or power.  But enacting laws that put an end to the possibility of shootings, that result in the loss of our most precious resources—our children– is the RIGHT thing to do.

My grandfather knew that he needed his shotgun—a tool for his life’s work in farming.  He also knew that he had a responsibility to help his granddaughter feel safe.  He knew that his granddaughter loved him dearly and had faith that he would protect her from the varmints that could damage a farm and also from the shotgun in the corner. My grandfather knew the right thing to do.

I have lost count of how many shootings have occurred at schools and other public places in our country.  It doesn’t really matter the number anyway.  Whenever any child is shot and killed in a place that is supposed to offer life and hope, then we have failed in our responsibility.  Whenever any teacher or school employee has to go through training just to know how to respond to such a horrible and unthinkable event then we have failed in our responsibility.  Whenever we do nothing more than offer thoughts and prayers, then we have failed in our responsibility because profound prayers and thoughts lead to action.

When these things happen, we have failed our children, our future, our country, our world, and especially Jesus.

What is the answer?  I wish I knew.  What I do know is that there is a grave sin upon us this Lenten season.  We need to confess and receive forgiveness.  We need to listen to Jesus and embrace his teachings for living lives that are life-giving to all people.  We need to take whatever risk we have to take in order to keep our schools safe–enacting laws that provide the right safeguards when purchasing guns and putting in place other layers of protection for our teachers, our children, our future.

We need to have courage and trust to follow the Gospel teachings of Jesus and take on our responsibility to provide safety and bring hope.  If we choose, once again, to ignore the teachings of Jesus, in the Sermon on the Mount, we will continue to sing with Sting:

On and on the rain will fall

Like tears from a star, like tears from a star

On and on the rain will say

How fragile we are, how fragile we are…

(Sting, 1987)

May God grant us that courage.

To God alone be glory!