Thursday night, the silence was pierced, as it too often is, by the sound of gunfire, loud enough to interrupt my dreams, but thankfully this time not enough to wake my four-year old daughter.
We call them fireworks around her. Before bedtime we heard more “fireworks” and as we were huddled in a safe place away from our many exposed windows waiting for the firework display to end, she looked up at me and asked, “Daddy, can fireworks kill you?”
I wonder sometimes about the world in which I am trying to raise my daughter. Will it ever be free from danger, violence, hate … darkness? Last night was different. I typically lie in bed and pray for whomever the latest victim may be, who wanders in the darkness, who prowls in the darkness.
But there is a greater enemy among us now, prowling night and day. We will all be victims. I fell back asleep, into the darkness. No time left to dream. Time passes more quickly as one sleeps. And just as I expected, night turned to day. Darkness became light.
The sun rose again this morning, a glorious rising.
Friday morning was more quiet than usual, partly because of “stay-at-home” orders but also because it’s Good Friday. Not good for everyone. Gunshots rang out yet again. My daughter was already awake, eating breakfast, and turned to me with big, wondering eyes, “Why are they shooting fireworks off so early Daddy?” Before she finished her cereal and banana, I had already received word that it was another homicide, the third in as many days, the fourth shooting. I don’t know what to say anymore.
A Facebook post on this subject suggested that if one lives here long enough, one gets used to it, like “roosters crowing at night.” I went into my office to read through the scriptures for the evening Good Friday service. Luke 22:61-62, “Then Peter remembered the word the Lord had spoken to him: ‘Before the rooster crows today, you will deny me three times.’ And he went outside and wept bitterly.”
How many more roosters must crow before we, as a community, weep bitterly at our collective denial?
In my faith tradition, Good Friday is when we recall the crucifixion of Jesus, a gruesome, tragic, bloody death. One, final sunset. Thankfully, that is not the end of this story. This story ends (or you might say it begins) with his rising.
The Son rose again that morning, a glorious rising!
Therein lies our hope. WE WILL RISE AGAIN!
Peace,
Pastor Jeff
Editor’s note: The Rev. Jeffrey Neevel is the pastor of the St. Thomas Reformed Church on St. Thomas. The parsonage where he lives with his wife and young daughter is near Hospital Ground.
