belong

A hero in a school

Last week, David posted about the story of a possible shooting spree in a Georgia school that was averted by the calm, loving actions of Antoinette Tuff. Against all odds Tuff offered compassion and empathy to a young man who arrived at the school that day, intending to do serious harm to others and to himself. Tuff has been touted as a hero.

And she should be.

Her actions prompted David to ask the question, “What would our lives look like if we were to live by the love of Christ, an attitude of nonviolence, and daily spiritual preparation?” These are important questions for Christians to ask, and I share what I sense to be a current of optimism beneath their surface. It suggests that embracing these practices would lead to something better for ourselves and others. But something about these questions haunts me as well, and I wonder how we might answer them if Tuff’s story was different.

Let’s imagine a different story

Let’s imagine for second that in another school a shooter enters a school building determined to wreak havoc on those who are there. With loaded guns, the shooter walks the halls, and is confronted by a peaceful custodian. With love and courage the custodian confronts the person, in much the same way as Ms. Tuff had, seeking to create a bond and to instill in this person a sense of worth as a human.

But this time, two minutes into the conversation, the shooter gets bored and makes this peace-seeking custodian the first of 27 victims.

The internet is abuzz with stories of the custodian who bravely, but foolishly, stood in the way of the shooter. People begin to ask questions like:

“When will we learn, unarmed schools are death traps for kids?” or

“When do we draw the line and refuse to let violent people make victims out of others without a fight?” and

“Who really thinks non-violence works, anyways?”

The non-utilitarian purpose of love

And therein lies the challenge. For Christians who believe that Jesus really meant it when he said, “Love your enemies,” or “Do not resist an evil person,” David’s questions will lead us toward lives that will look more loving, and look more like Christ, but faced with an immediate threat of danger, they’re as likely to look like the second story as the first. And to this reality, the crowds, inside and outside the church, shout stories of genocide, and intruders in the night. They ask us, “When has non-violence ever really worked?”

This question, however, points toward the flaw in the entire discussion—living a life of non-violence, of love, is never about whether or not it will “work.” When we engage this argument we are all too easily drawn to base our conclusions of the truth of a conviction by its ability to produce the desired outcome over against another rival theory. We make love a viable option, so long as it is wins the argument and proves to be useful.

I’m thankful for Tuff’s response and even more thankful that it resulted in a story with a happy ending. However, her response is no more right because the crisis never happened than if she had become the first of several people this young man killed. Because the point of non-violent resistance to evil cannot be based on its effectiveness in the moment, but on its ability to show the other person the love of Christ.

And sometimes, when choosing love, it means things won’t seem to turn out ok in the end.

To love, like Jesus, might well mean that we come to a violent and seemingly unfortunate death. But if Calvary have taught us anything, it’s that the point of the coming of the Kingdom of God is not to ensure our own safety. Rather, we find out that it is to give of one’s self to bring everything in heaven and on earth under Christ, so that one day God may be all in all, and responding in violence will never lead us in the direction of a God who is love.

To stand, as Tuff did, might not keep a tragedy from happening every time, but to fight back violently, to kill a would-be shooter, to wage war of whatever level against our enemy will always keep at least one part of God’s universe from being drawn into the loving union with God and with one another that God desires for every corner of his creation, and for every person he’s created.

At the end of his post, David asked another question, “How would we – and our culture – and our churches – be transformed [if we lived this way]?” I firmly believe that if the church would embrace this path the church itself would not only be transformed into the likeness of Christ, but the impact on the culture would be immense. But it just might mean that many of us find ourselves in harm’s way, following our Lord whose decision to non-violence has led to millions of people receiving life rather than death, even though it meant his own death on a Roman cross. The question then becomes, are we willing to risk this much?