I'm numb.
I've been this way ever since Sandy Hook.
Every time a breaking news alert flashes across the screen I feel like Bill Murray waking up to that same annoying alarm in Groundhog Day--except, unlike Murray, I know it is a different day but the same story.
We can list these stories--and the list is growing every day--by the location in which "it" occurred. Columbine. Parkland. Orlando nightclub. San Bernadino. Fifth Third center (Cincinnati, OH). Sandy Hook.
Sandy Hook sealed our fate.
Because of Sandy Hook I struggle with hope that things will change. Instead I have come to expect the usual response: a plethora of nothing. All the bloviating and mindless pontificating in the wake of such tragedy, interspersed and decorated with insipid "thoughts and prayers", and let's not forget the political grandstanding, in every direction--all of it, a plethora of nothing.
There was a time when I thought the death of children would be the tipping point, and we would leave behind our plethora of nothing. I am not that naive anymore.
We have an "it" problem.
And that is why I am numb.
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Anytime you talk about "it" tempers flair, fists are raised in anger, and what comes out of our mouths would make demon-possessed Regan (The Exorcist) blush.
It would seem that "it" isn't the only thing with a hair trigger.
And let's not even get started on the arguments in favor of "it." I know full well how those go. And I have already heard them. You're convinced by them. I'm not. So keep your "people kill people" and your "bad guys will always break the laws" in your holsters. You are safer with them there.
Let me give you the benefit of knowing I don't want to take "it" from you. And, for the sake of argument, I will concede that particular amendment (oh, you know the number by now; you chant it often enough) gives you the right to "it." If a piece of paper is enough for you, I can't argue with that. I have often wondered if all it takes for health care to be a right is the right piece of paper, then it must be a universal right, right? But I digress...
If you are frustrated with my refusal to name the "it" for what it is, as we all know what I am talking about at this point, well, so am I. But I do so intentionally because "it" is ambiguous enough to cover the objects themselves, their apologia, and the lives taken from us. (It also, to continue with my movie references, dovetails nicely with how Stephen King's IT manifests itself differently to each person).
I want you to know that a part of me likes "it" too. In fact, that is part of the reason why I refuse to own one. I know the scientific research that details the effects of "it" on people psychologically. That's why it is okay for you to admit the real reason you defend "it" so much is because you like "it" so much. All the other reasons you give are footnotes to this singular mind-pleasure. That, and man, there are some great movie characters (here I go again with the movies) who do some awesome things with "it." I get goosebumps every single time I hear Doc Holliday say, "I'm your huckleberry."
I will also tell you that every single "it"-owner I know is a responsible individual. I respect them. And I know they couldn't care less whether I own "it" or not.
The real reason I don't own "it" is Jesus Christ. But I guess I shouldn't bring religion into this. I only want you to know that I refuse "it" not out of fear but out of faith. "But what if someone broke into your house and threatened your children," you say. "Oh, yes," I respond, "this is where hypothetical-scenarios are used to prove that I too would use violence to protect my keep." That I would use violence in such an instance, I'll have you know, isn't proof that such an action is right and good; it only proves my humanity, my sinfulness. (But to allay your fears over something that is statistically improbable--I keep a wooden spoon by my bed just in case the Reverend Caleb Henry must prove how much of a violent sinner he really is).
My argument against "it" is that you just aren't yourself if your life revolves around it. Use "it" for hunting, or the thrill of target practice (after all there are weirdos out there who like to golf or go to the driving range, so I can't judge). But, for some reason, you feel the need to do more with "it."
I could denounce "it" as an idol (which, without a doubt, it is). But you probably wouldn't care. That's why I am focusing on you here.
The trouble is that because all of us are enveloped in a culture of death we have, oddly enough, chosen instruments of death to help us survive. There is a certain logic to why we do this--albeit a twisted logic. If death is all around us, knocking on our door, hiding under our beds--we confidently aver that we need something that will cause death to make sure we keep on living. But, let me ask you, how can death defeat death?
The problem with"it" is that it is a reflection of the very thing we want to destroy.
Trigger warning: this is where the Gospel comes out. (I'm a preacher by trade, er, calling).
The reason why I follow Christ is that instead of using instruments of death to kill death, he was killed by an instrument of death in order to defeat death. Sounds a little crazy, eh? How could that be possible? Well, when you are the source of all life, and all things cohere within you, you have no need of instruments of death to bring life. Christ had the same power of life before he died on the Cross as he did when he left the Tomb three days later. And it is that power of Life, which defeats death, not through inflicting death, or wielding it, but by suffering it for our sake, that explains my refusal of "it."
My prayer--not an argument, mind you--is that you would find that the Life in Christ defeats the twisted logic of using "it" or other instruments of death to defeat death, or even to defend life, because only Life has power over death.
"And the last enemy to be defeated is death" (1 Corinthians 15:26).
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"I'm numb." I began with that statement. And it is true, still true--in a certain sense.
I'm numb because of senseless tragedy which is met with the response of a plethora of nothing.
But I live with hope, in the face of tragedy, because the Gospel reminds me that Jesus left the tomb empty, with nothing.
I'll take the nothing of the Tomb over our plethora of nothing.
My numbness is real. But my hope has more substance. It has more substance because there was nothing left behind in that Tomb...
Nothing, that is, but...death sheets.
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