In April 2007, I was a pastor intern at First Presbyterian Church in Giddings, Texas. Two weeks after the "Virginia Tech Massacre" - a combination of words I still struggle with to this day - I was scheduled to give my fourth sermon of my internship and the lectionary texts for that day included Revelation 7. Chris, my supervisor, mentor, and pastor of the church, worried that I was going to lose the congregation in attempting to preach from Revelation. After all, we post-modernists have trouble with ancient prophetic books like Revelation because it they sound wacky, weird and frightening. But it seemed like the right thing to do at the time, as our country for a while became a "Hokie Nation," reeling with anguish, terror and grief on behalf of the 32 dead and those left behind.
During their memorial, faculty member and poet Nikki Giovanni used the power of words to express what I think was school spirit, identity, unity and thus, hope for the bereft students, staff and Blacksburg residents. Her rousing words had people on their feet, chanting, "Let's Go Hokies!" I wish I could have been there, to experience the power of all of those people together. They didn't want to let the horror control them. They were, in effect, refusing it and were making the choice to never give up.
Her address also inspired me to take that reading from Revelation 7 as the same kind of thing. It was a stamp of identity for those early Christians to remember they were connected with the powerful, divine and invisible, so they could continue to live in hope.
After the deaths of two people on the VT campus yesterday, my fellow Hokies and I are remembering that awful day all over again. And we ask the same questions again: "Why, how?" Fellow Hokie fan and friend Wes Jamison wrote yesterday that it feels wrong that news reports have to say "today's shooting" on campus. It feels just wrong. I hate it. The first time around shouldn't have happened. I feel strange telling myself that "at least only 2 died this time and not 32." That feels wrong. No one should have died. No one should have felt so isolated or angry enough to want to kill. No one should have ever been put in harm's way because of a single angry or imbalanced person.
Campus violence is not a new thing. The VT Massacre certainly broke a record in numbers of deaths on U.S. college campuses. But do you remember Kent State? What about the shootings from the U.T. tower in Austin, TX? I wasn't alive yet, but I heard the horror that people felt who saw it on the news. I am told by a seminary professor that there is a bullet hole or two in the side of the administration building at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary, which is within walking distance of the U.T. Tower. We are surrounded by reminders of evil and touched personally by evil. We cannot shake it off completely, as much as we are called to try. I sound like a pessimist, but I'm not. I am a Calvinist.
And it is Advent. This is one more reminder that no matter what season of joy or penitence we find ourselves in, we cannot seem to shed the fact that evil strikes indiscriminately. Evil happens as we are preparing the way of the Lord into our lives and into this broken and fearful world. But that's just it. God knows that we cannot fight the darkness without Her on our side. The darkness is so powerful it breaks our hearts and will continue to do so as we try to stand up claiming hope and love and peace on the world's behalf. We do these things because we believe that God chose to be born a defenseless little baby - to an unwed teenaged mother - into a broken world that was murdering firstborn Jewish babies.
Advent may feel like the most schizophrenic time of the Christian year, because we proclaim the utter joy and hope that comes from our faith in Jesus Christ our Savior, who can do the impossible and save the world from sin. It's good news to shout about and get happy about, although the holiday season can be so depressing to us personally - more accidents on the roads, increased violence and all. So we believers look like fools talking about light and joy and hope. It's as if we are fighting Godzilla with a butter knife. We know we are able to do only so much but evil is much bigger than we are, even if we are unified to fight the battle. Even if every person in our congregation links arms and marches in the streets. But not doing it, not rallying together represents to me a lack of faith, all the same. That act of resistance against evil and acceptance of hope is our act of faith, our little itty bitty butter knife.
So it feels sometimes in Tucumcari, New Mexico. Perhaps we feel disassociated from the evils happening on large college campuses because they are far away. But we have our own Godzillas. We have some real problems with malnourished children, poverty, dissatisfaction with our government, a troubled economy, fear of our population shrinkage, domestic violence, poor selection of jobs (unless you work in education or the service industry or run your own small business), not to mention the general depression I get from people here who are watching unused buildings going into ruin. There are citizens here trying to fight the beast with butter knives, and they must feel at times inadequate. In the backs of our minds we fear that what we are doing might not save this town from dying. Is there a magic bullet? Can we find a cure? Maybe we can make a difference, but evil rears its ugly head in new forms all the time.
Virginia Tech's two deaths yesterday is yet one more snapshot of how evil will not leave us alone. Nikki Giovanni's address back in 2007 confirmed for us that more is to come. This Advent season we are fighting Godzilla with a butter knife and that's the way it is. But we do it in hope and faith and love because God promises to fight and win. Giovanni's bold statements that reclaim the identity of Virginia Tech, back from the dark side and over to the good, is a powerful reminder that we can do the same.
Advent continues to be a miraculous time of waiting for God to break into our fearful and hurting world. Instead of Revelation, the lectionary readings for this Sunday include John the Baptist, a seemingly wild and mysterious man standing up to the Pharisees and heralding the Messiah. He came to testify about the light. John 1:7-8 says it twice. This seems very important, to testify about the light, not just once, but again and again. We fight evil, not because we can beat it, but with each attempt, with our little butter knives, we are acting on faith. And this act of faith is what lets more and more people know that we have faith. And by letting more and more people see our faith happening, maybe that will make them have faith (or call us fools!). And maybe, just maybe, the lights that we shine will make God's name known better, understood better, everywhere we are seen and heard. And they will know who we are and in whose name we brandish these butter knives.
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