Can You Hear Me Now

We draw our strength from the very despair in which we have been forced to live. We shall endure.

Cesar Chavez

Last Friday, Linda and I rode our bikes to the Church of the Annunciation to pay our respects to those who were killed and injured during the recent mass shooting. We were away from the Twin Cities during the vigils that immediately followed the killings and unable to be in community with our fellow Minnesotans who gathered to collectively grieve.

Being there wasn’t exactly something I felt I wanted to do. It was something I needed to do. My middle son and his family live a few short blocks away from the church and school and they sheltered in place as the shooting occurred. They have neighbors who send and have sent their children to the school. This brings the tragedy closer than I would like.

I was not surprised at how hard the grief hit me. My three children are long past their school-age days, but I have a granddaughter in the sixth grade, two grandchildren in pre-school, and a new grandson who will be there before too long. I could not help thinking of them as I held the children of Annunciation in my heart. No one, especially school-aged children, should have to go through this terror. No parent should have their children senselessly gunned down.

The shooter fired 116 rounds from a rifle, three from a shotgun, and attempted one bullet from a handgun in just a few short minutes. How is that politicians continue protect this kind of madness over the lives of innocent children? Why is a gun worth more than a third grader’s life? There are no answers that will ever satisfy me.

Let us plead to God to stop the pandemic of arms large and small which infects our world. Pope Leo XIV

For at least a mile surrounding the church and school, people tied thousands of blue and green sashes around street signs, trees, and benches. Even the Minnehaha Creek bunny was adorned with Annunciation’s colors. As we rode our bikes closer, I knew we were approaching sacred ground.

When I was a boy, each week
On Sunday, we would go to church
And pay attention to the priest
He would read the holy word
And consecrate the holy bread
And everyone would kneel and bow
Today the only difference is
Everything is holy now
Everything, everything
Everything is holy now

Peter Mayer (Holy Now)

It was a little awkward taking photographs at such a heartbreaking site, but I felt it was important to capture and share what I was experiencing. I tried my best to be respectful of where I was and clicked in a thoughtful and caring manner. I only took as many as I felt necessary to capture the experience.

I did not attempt to see or take photographs of the stain glass windows the killer fired through. That would have crossed a line both physically and emotionally. It was hard enough reading the messages and standing among the many vessels of flowers. There are some things I do not need to see.

Move Your Feet

Everything that day was meaningful, but I was especially moved by the many chalked sidewalk messages. There were the obligatory “thoughts and prayers,” but there were also a great many cries for help. Stop the madness of guns. Let our children learn, grow, and thrive in peace. We need to be better than this and we need to hold our elected officials accountable for allowing these shootings to continue.

As the chalk tells us: “Students Demand Change.” “Enough is Enough.” “End Gun Violence.”

Are we listening? Are we willing to break out of our comfort zones and put in the hard work?

“Thoughts and prayers haven’t been enough; many policies have been dismissed without even being studied or tried. It’s so complicated. I don’t claim to have the answers but we have to commit to looking. Then we can feel good about defending life. If one thing changes for the better, perhaps Fletcher’s and Harper’s deaths and all the injuries and destruction might bring about even more unity, love, and light than I have already seen this past week. One law, one executive order, one policy. You can call it the Annunciation Bill. Then I’ll be able to look Lydia and Sophia and all my students in the eye and say I tried.” Harry Kaiser, gym teacher at the school and father of Lydia, an Annunciation student

“When you pray move your feet.” Matthew DeBoer, Principal at Annunciation School

There was also a great deal of love in that place of horror and tragedy. Even in our darkest hours, it is essential to hold tightly to the love that is always there. The love that never abandons us even when we struggle to see and feel it. This is how we pick ourselves up, get through another day, and work towards the world we want to live in.

Despite the anger and the pain
despite the helpless, hopeless loss, and surrender

Despite the mistakes
missteps
mishaps and worse

Despite the constant pushing
and the endless pulling

Despite the hands that choke you
again and again
time after time

Take a sad song and make it better

The Children Will Lead them

On our way to Annunciation, we encountered a group of high school students protesting school shootings. We later learned that this was happening all across the Twin Cities. These were serious kids spreading a serious message.

Carrying signs like “My life is worth more than your gun,” they call on us adults to stop screwing around and do something meaningful. How many more children will be shot before that happens? If the answer is not zero then there is something terribly wrong with this country.

I will stop writing here and share a few images from our pilgrimage. Photographs are not the same as being there, but for most of my readers, it is as close as they will be — or want to be.

If you are so moved, please click here to help support those affected by this tragedy. Any financial assistance you are willing to provide will be gratefully accepted.

This is not the first time I have written about a school shooting. The Time for Prayer Has Passed traces its roots back to the Sandy Hook massacre. I would love for this latest article to be the last on this subject, but until our politicians do something brave yet necessary, I am doomed to write this over and over again.

Thank you for reading

The sun rises
and floats her way across the sky
unknowing and uncaring
of the pain and sadness that lie below her silent arc

We rise also
to another journey, another day
swept along on the crest of the human condition
grasping at threads to steady our way