The Texas Church Massacre, Or (Insert Tragedy Here)

I haven’t been to church in years. I’m what the Saints would call, "backslidden". Not quite a reprobate, not too far away from the thoughts and prayers of my more devout friends and family. As far as I can remember, the church used to be an inviting place. A respite from the cares of this world. I remember the smell of peppermint and perfume. Chicken dinners cooking in the basement, begging me to save a few dollars from the offering plate.

I also remember feeling safe. This safety was different. Much more than the safety a locked door or a loaded gun could provide. This safety delve deep into my psyche, nestled my curious mind in its arms, and lulled my skepticism to sleep. I miss those days, and although I’m more of an agnostic spiritually, the thought of any churchgoer having to forego that safety angers me to my core.

America has a gun problem (queue the liberal string quartet). The problem, much like most problems, is that denial is a grave dug by fear, and unfortunately too many Americans now rest in that grave. I’m not naïve enough to believe that guns will disappear, or that once and for all the same logic that allows deer hunters to hunt with AK-47’s will find the error in its ways, but something must change.

How strange is it that days or months from now the very title of this blog can be interchanged with the most recent massacre? How odd is it that beatitudes have taken the place of action?

I love my country. The thought of watching her sully herself with the blood of the innocent only to bathe in the cesspool of politics frightens me. But we as a people must hold a mirror to her, force her to look at her reflection, and comfort her when she breaks down in tears.

And after that, change the gun laws.