Bloody Sunday

This has not been a good week.

On Thursday morning, a homeless man who had been coming to the food pantry at St. Peter’s, on the far side of the city, walked in and shot the secretary and the assistant rector. The secretary died almost instantly. The rector was still clinging to life when she arrived at Shock-Trauma, but her family only kept her on life support until arrangements could be made to donate her organs. Both women were shot directly in the face, and at first the police weren’t sure which person was which.  There was a memorial service at the church today for members of the congregation. A general service will be held on Tuesday at the cathedral.

It is so difficult. God tells us to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, and we feel almost guilty keeping the building locked when we are there alone. How does one reconcile this sort of tragedy? How did a man with a history of mental instability get a gun? Lord, what were You thinking?

When we do the Prayers of the People, we always stand in respect at the beginning while the names of those military who were killed in action during the previous week are read out.  Today there were thirteen names on the list. It just seemed to go on forever.  It always brings tears to my eyes; even if there are only a few names, it is still too many young lives snuffed out.

One lady announced that her grandson will graduate from college on Mother’s Day and has accepted a commission into the Army as an engineer. She is not very happy about his career choice. He wants to be “like his grandfather”, who was a very distinguished Army veteran, but “I don’t think Cliff would have approved of this at all”.  What does that say?

It is time we all came home.

The Squire and I took the dog and the cat up to the rabies clinic after church today. Blazer thought it was all great fun (A ride! A ride! I’m going for a ride! In Poppa’s car! Oh, joy! Oh, joy!), although the arthritis in his back legs made it difficult to get him into the van.  Eddie, on the other hand, was most displeased about being in the carrier and made no bones about it.  The vet had to drag him out head first, and the cat immediately turned to scramble back inside, which put his posterior in exactly the right spot for the injection. As we were going back to the car, the Squire remarked that he must have stepped in something, and stopped to check out the soles of both shoes.

Eddie had made it abundantly clear what he thought of the entire proceedings.  $%!* on you and your shots, buster!