Over the next few days I became obsessed with the news story. It broke my heart to recognize the victim, a store manager. There was a constant police presence at the store which instead of creating feelings of security and safety only accentuated my fear that seemed to penetrate my very being. I only shopped during the daylight hours, and I wouldn't allow any of the children to go without me. As I drove through the neighborhood or ran through the streets I was keenly aware of every movement; as I passed people walking or driving, I studied their faces trying to place them. Did I recognize this person? Had I ever seen this car before? As the days turned into weeks, the holidays approached, and the grip of fear that knotted my stomach began to loosen. And then came January 9....
Listening to the news one night while fixing dinner I heard, "An arrest has been made in the Kroger shooting." I whipped my head around and froze. An arrest had been made, and I recognized the suspect. I tried to wade through the paralysis that descended on my intellect and froze my mind, my mind that just kept repeating, "it can't be; it can't be". I tried to focus on what the news people were saying. Not much. Robbery was all they'd say for motive.
As the news cut to a commercial, I turned off the TV and tried to make sense of my new world. This young man who had just been arrested was one of my favorite baggers. He always remembered that when I was buying food for the food pantry I wanted brown bags, and he always piled extras on top. He called me "preacher lady," and he always had a smile. I wanted there to be a mistake. He was pleasant, nice and polite--just like my boys.
Over the past weeks and into months I have continued to try to find motive. I have wanted to know about his life. Right or wrong, I have been more invested in finding out about his life than in the victim's. I have wanted to be able to reconcile the boy I knew with the man who shot and killed his co-worker in cold blood. I have been plagued by what I have seen as irreconcilable differences in who he is. I have wanted to know what his story was; what happened in his life to lead him to this senseless act of violence? Or was he pure evil and had fooled me all along? I wanted to sever any possibility that this paradox that seemed to live within him could live within my boys or anyone I love and hold dear. I wanted him to be either/or and I wanted him to be both/and; and I have lived and wrestled with the tension. I wanted there to be no way that anyone I loved could ever resort to violence because they were "too good", and I wanted to believe that there was goodness in this young man. Every time I'm in Kroger I think about both these men and how many lives were changed that one fateful night. I want to feel safe in Kroger again, and while I don't stay away, I am still always on high alert. Frankly, I want my bubble world, the world that only exists in my mind, to return.
This past weekend my dear friend Emily and I were talking about Ashes to Go. What did we think about them? Both of us thought there was power in them, and both of us struggled to find the theological language to support what we wanted. As we were wrestling with this, I told Emily about a book I had just finished reading, City of God by Sara Miles. In the book Miles says this about Ash Wednesday, "The good news, the evangelium we go outdoors to proclaim, isn't rooted in morals; do this, then God will approve. Nor does the good news offer a magic, protective amult; most people in the Mission, as everywhere, suffer and have their prayers go unanswered....The good news of Ash Wednesday, the blessing so many people seek so fervently, comes from acknowledging the truth; that we are all going to die. That these busy lives, full of eating and drinking and buying and talking on our cell phones, are going down to the dust. That despite the lies of the culture, the fantasy that money or objects will keep us alive, we mortals are just mortal and connected to one another through that raw, fleshly act. " And finally, "It takes the gritty physicality of ashes, the brushed touch of a hand, the racket of urban streets to make Christian faith real for me. And it takes other people--strangers, neighbors, and friends---sharing their lives with me in the presence of death to complete the blessing." (P. 139-141)
It hit me; we are not protected by our false sense of security that violence happens out there and to them--to the other. Everyone's hearts and lives can be broken. Violence lives more strongly in some areas, but none of us are immune which also means we are all responsible. We are responsible for helping to end the violence and to understand that while randomness does occur, more often than not there are complexities beyond our understanding. Together we must live in the tension of the complexity and together we must proclaim that God lives in the tension of the complexities.
I entered Kroger differently yesterday; I gave a prayer of thanks for the police who are still there, for the cashiers, baggers, and managers who still show up. And I gave a prayer for the victim and the suspect and for their families. And I was sorry--sorry that I had not brought ashes on Ash Wednesday to this very Kroger--so that where a horrid act of violence occurred, so that in the presence of death there could be blessing.
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