Another Shooting in Rochester

There’s been another shooting in Rochester.  Though every shooting and every death is tragic and there have been way too many of them this year, this particular event last night seemed even more cruel than usual.  In front of the Boys and Girls Club on Genesee Street, a place of refuge and empowerment, seven people were shot resulting in three deaths.  At this point two of the three have been identified; Raekwon, 19 years old and Jonah 17.  I know neither their stories, nor the circumstances that led to the violence perpetrated against them, but I do know that they were too young to die.

I cannot begin to imagine the devastating heart break overwhelming Raekwon’s and Jonah’s parents right now.  As a parent who has children of similar ages, my heart aches for their families.  Children aren’t supposed to die before their parents; especially children so young.  Sure, our kids get older and with every passing day they seem more and more adult-like, but they never stop being our kids.  We never stop worrying about them.  We never forget the days of diapers and bottles; cut knees, scraped elbows and the occasional bruised feelings.   We never forget the super-hero promises we made of keeping them out of harm's way.

The streets of our city have become a killing field.  The cemeteries of our city are swallowing up our children.  Rochester’s reality reflects the reality of the larger culture in which we live: A culture addicted to gun violence.  Add to that the systemic cycle of poverty and a powder keg emerges. 

At every homicide location, we’ve been gathering in prayer and sadly our prayer vigils have been occurring almost weekly.  At these vigils we pray for peace, understanding, and healing.  We pray that God will hallow the ground desecrated by the spilling of blood.  And yet the violence continues.  Shootings remain at epidemic levels.  As people of faith we can’t help but ask the questions, “Where is God in all of this?”  “Does God hear our prayers and laments?”  “Does God even care?”  These questions are not only fair, but they are faithful.  I ask these questions myself. Come on God, can’t you stop this insanity?  You could part the Red Sea, can’t you part the violence?  If only we had magic wands to make the violence disappear.

We don’t have wands, but here’s who we do have.  We have Jesus.  I’m not talking about Jesus walking and talking with me alone in some remote garden.  (Sorry, that old hymn gets it wrong.)  No, the Jesus we have is the one who knows about systemic poverty, because he was born and lived his entire life in it.  The Jesus we have is the one who himself was an innocent victim of violence as his tortured body hung dying on a cross.  The Jesus we have is the one who cried out in anguish on the cross to a God whom he thought had abandoned him.  The Jesus we have is the one who didn’t stay dead; who was raised by God thereby putting death itself to death.

And yet our children still die.  With blood stains fresh on our streets, Good Friday death still casts its ominous shadow.  Oh sure, we know that Sunday’s coming; that an empty Easter tomb awaits us; that God promises a future of healing, reconciliation, and life, but we can’t entirely dismiss the fear and discouragement of the present.  That Holy Saturday tomb looks so huge. 

Here’s the deal: In the midst of my doubts and fears; in the midst of tears that come way too easily; I will continue to keep Easter vigils on street corners and I invite you to join me.  Who knows?  Maybe our presence on street corners is the presence of God for which we’ve been praying.  Maybe our tears of Good Friday anguish are God’s tears.  Maybe our vigils, in which prayers for shattered tombs are offered, will give Easter hope to one sibling, one parent, one child.

Peace and Love,

Pastor Doug