I was riding a big wheel in our family’s driveway. I would learn to ride a bike in the backyard later that summer, but on this hot day, I was still in the land of three wheels. My brother was outside with me, six years older, and probably watching me for our mother, who was inside with my three sisters.
The truck was a flatbed, at least in my memory. When it pulled into our driveway, my first reaction was annoyance as the large truck negatively impacted my big wheeling circuit. But I also remember the door of the truck opening, and seeing beer cans rattling around inside. In my mind’s eye, they were Budweiser cans. My brother went up to the man inside the truck, and the man asked for directions.
I don’t remember much else after that, except my brother and I went inside, as the man asked to speak with our mother. I remember being in my sisters’ bedroom, knowing everyone was upset, and seeing my brother in the hall.
Everything else about the story I only know from hearing it retold through the years. The man walked off a chain-gang crew a couple of days before. The truck was stolen. He had family in Georgia, and was trying to find them. He found us first, and after learning we were home alone, he talked his way into the house and confronted my mother.
And then my brother chased him away with an unloaded shotgun. My oldest sister slipped out the back door and ran to the neighbor’s house, so police arrived shortly thereafter.
My next direct memory of the event was later that night, when many of my aunts and cousins were in our house and my father, with a strange look about him even to my young eyes, was now home. The story was told and retold that night and in the years that followed, although I have never heard my brother speak of it in any detail even to this day.
This month’s Bloggers Unite topic is gun violence and gun control. It’s a personal issue for me, not only because of that frightening summer day, but also because I grew up around guns. I still remember the way my father’s shotgun smelled, how it looked when you opened it and stared down the twin barrels, and the slapping noise it made from far off in the woods when Pop took a shot. I still remember his smaller shotgun, the one he let me use, and the first rabbit I killed with it. I remember eating that rabbit after my mom prepared it with dumplings, and I remember feeling pride at my own usefulness in providing meat for our family. Even today, my own freezer has packages of deer meat supplied by my still-hunting father.
I also remember shooting a woodpecker with my pellet gun. No idea why I did it. The woodpecker didn’t die immediately, and I remember crying as I shot it at close range to try to get it to stop looking at me.
I give you all of this personal back-story because I now want to tell you something you may not expect from someone with my background:
I think we all need to get over our obsession with guns. Our jealous and preoccupation with guns is long past the flirting-with-idolatry stage. Its now more than just a fetish. Its now full-blown worship.
We’ve all seen the news stories about church shootings and home invasions and right to carry demonstrations. And we’ve all heard the arguments about the Second Amendment. In the end, we have to ask ourselves a couple of big questions. The first question is whether or not the widespread ownership of guns is making us any safer, or if it is somehow protecting some God-given freedom of ours in a unique way (other than the supposed right to own an AK-47). I would assert that we are not safer, and the statistics on accidental shootings versus self-defense successes support my position by a couple orders of magnitude.
The second question is more important, and almost seems to be contrary to the first. It is this: Will the Kingdom of God have firearms? If we answer no (and I think everyone who is being honest would answer the question in the negative) then our actions should be equally clear.
As the church we are tasked with living out the Kingdom as best we can. This may entail almsgiving, or prayer, or devotion to our fellow man, but it also involves vulnerability. This vulnerability, both to each other and to outside harms, is an imitation of Christ and an object lesson in trust. If we are truly vulnerable (go read the Sermon on the Mount right now if you’re confused about the necessity of vulnerability) then we will truly trust God and His grace for our well being. If, on the other hand, we trust only ourselves and our own ability to save our lives, then scripture says we are doomed to fail.
How is it possible for me to feel this way in light of my brother’s bravery? As an adult I know that we were lucky that day some thirty-plus years ago, and that the shotgun could have easily been taken away, leading to a much more violent outcome. And I’m also mindful of my sister and her bravery; as she ran next door to summon help. Help that came, albeit a few minutes later.
The reality is that the gun did not save us at all. It was God’s grace in our lives in the form of alert and responsible children, along with a stable family that provided guidance and inspired loyalty, that saved us all.
We would have survived without the gun. And the church could as well.
