Two Years and Two Lessons

Two year's ago, I reflected on the Virginia Tech shootings. Blacksburg, Virginia is the town of my birth. When my grandmother was alive, we would escape from her house in nearby Christiansburg and make our annual pilgrimage to the beautiful university, so the idea that someone could run around shooting his peers in that wonderful place nestled in Appalachia disturbed me even more deeply than other newsworthy tragedies.

Lexington, The Economist's column on the U.S., reflected on the Virginia Tech tragedy this week. The columnist was apparently spurred on by Lucinda Roy's memoir: "No Right to Be Silent: The Tragedy at Virginia Tech." Ms. Roy, as head of Virginia Tech's English Department, interacted with the future killer, but, the columnist points out, "her attempts to make sense of his final explosion meets an insuperable obstacle." Lexington, channeling Lucinda Roy (I have not read the memoir myself and was not aware of it until this weeks' Economist came out) rightly criticizes Virginia's too-lax gun laws, reflects on media coverage, campus security mechanisms, and the "faulty conclusion" that we can always identify potential killers before they strike. Lexington concludes, and I can only agree that "there is no reliable way to prepare for the unpredictable." But the columnist continues: "And that, alas, is the only lesson to be drawn from April 16, 2007."

Regarding policy or necessary preparations to protect ourselves, that may be the only lesson to be drawn. But, being Easter, I would like to offer two more from a level The Economist avoids (and often has little regard for): the spiritual.

First, mankind is fallen. Our moral and spiritual selves are flawed beyond true human repair. The Virginia Tech killer was deranged; he was also human. His crime was an especially deadly symptom of the decay and sin fallen humans have. There is something each of us needs to escape from, repent from.

Second, there is hope beyond this wretched condition. While tragedy causes some to doubt or blame God, for others, it is a reminder that this is not all there is. My parents were campus ministers at Virginia Tech when I was born, and we still follow the ministry there. The response of the Christian community - the prayers, the gifts, the support - stem from a hope beyond death. Christ's death on the cross allows us to overcome sin, this fallenness that lies behind every great and small act of evil, and draw near to God, who is the end of our desires and the giver of Life. His resurrection means that we, too, will rise again. This will never make loss any less painful. It ought to pain us, because it was never meant to be so. But it points us to a hope that reminds us, such loss is not forever.

It's an interesting coincidence that this particular Lexington column was published during Holy Week. Whether or not you break bread or drink wine with me this weekend, I hope we will all reflect on the sobering and hopeful lessons of Virginia Tech.