The scariest thing to my mind about mass shooters (which was again borne out this week in seeing images of Stephen Paddock) is how normal they are.
Contrary to President Trump and nearly all the media coverage since last Sunday's shooting, Paddock (and the many others like him) isn't mentally deranged or evil. That isn't what sets him apart. What seems telling about these killers, however, is not how much they have in common but how much they look and seem like so many others who do not inflict harm.
We'd really like an explanation of the shooting that makes Paddock unlike every other shooter. So we say he was obviously mentally ill, and thus our society should focus on caring for the mentally ill instead of worrying about preventing the next mass shooting by worrying about gun control.
While it’s true that we need to do a better job caring for the mentally ill (where does this leave the dismantling of the ACA now?!?), the vast majority of people with mental illness will never harm anyone. Mass murderers, regardless what we want to believe, don't tend to be mentally ill.
They're not out of touch with reality. They don't hear voices. They don't think the people they're shooting are gophers. I mean, do we simply not want to take Paddock's brother's words seriously? In other words, the problem with these shooters have very little to do with mental illness.
So what could we possibly use to signal that we may have another potential mass shooting in the making?
I have a theory: With many of these killers, the signs are of anger and disappointment and solitude.
Anger, disappointment, and solitude. Those emotions are universal. How do we make sense of that? There's a darkness that creeps up within all of us -- and if we're honest with ourselves, we might just admit the horrifying truth that there's not a lot that separates us from them.
We fear solitude. Yet that's the very atmosphere that modern American society creates for each and every one of us.
So it really shouldn't be a surprise that we have nine mass shootings every ten days in America.
Yup. You read that right. 9 every 10 days. Last Sunday's shooting may have been the deadliest mass shooting in modern American history (though, that claim really needs a stress on modern as if modern were the past 50 years or so). But there were 6 other mass shootings last week somewhere in America!
That doesn't make the news because, let's be honest, we're so accustomed as a culture to the violence.
Violence itself is our American problem. 9/11 taught us that if someone hits you, you hit them back. Only, you don't just hit them back, you up the ante. You hit them with "Shock and Awe" to destroy the enemy's will to fight back.
But Shock and Awe really only worked to embed violence even more deeply in our society. Violence isn't just "their" problem; it's our problem. It infects all of us. Almost every day we hear about another violent attack. The news has inundated us over the past decade and a half with so much violence that we've begun to accept is as business as usual.
The truth is much simpler: As long as violence is the way you respond to violence, we will continue to sow the seeds of violence and isolation.
So what's the answer?
Well, tougher gun control laws are a start. But they're hardly the solution. (And lest Congress pays any attention, investigating whether a bump stock should be regulated is really myopic in terms of the cash of weapons Paddock had in his possession. You know, like explosive material in his vehicle.)
Gun control cannot be the solution, but it is a start. But -- and here is where most Americans simply ignore me -- we need so much more than gun control. We need models who will lead us toward a massive shift in our culture. Resentment and violence infects us all and we need to learn better ways to take responsibility to manage our anger, disappointment and hatred.
God tells Cain that, "sin is lurking at the door; its desire is for you, but you must master it" (Genesis 4.7). The truth is that there's a little bit of Cain in us all. Unfortunately, many of us are too afraid to look at it. We'd much rather ignore our pain than examine it. Though the way to master the "sin that is lurking at the door" is to acknowledge it, we, like Cain, bury our resentment deep within ourselves, only for it to manifest through violence.
This is why it baffles me that so few Christians take the spiritual practice of confession seriously. "Confess your sins to one another" (James 5.16). That's certainly where I think Christians should take a step beyond gun control laws. It's so much healthier in the Body of Christ to talk about stuff rather than to bottle it up. Without the ability to talk about our frustrations, we externalize our emotions by blaming others. Our shared desire for fame and admiration can then lead us to commit acts of violence when they become frustrated.
Much more than gun control, we must shift our culture of violence to a culture of peace. We need models who will lead us to move beyond resentment and towards an ethic of love, a love that embraces even our enemies.
That's what confession is meant to do.
So, to all my sisters and brothers who resist gun control laws, can we at least agree to start here? Can we at least agree to hear one another's sins, so that we can try to cut out this growing violent cancer?
Because I have a sense that once we begin doing that, we'll see that we don't need all those guns after all.
Contrary to President Trump and nearly all the media coverage since last Sunday's shooting, Paddock (and the many others like him) isn't mentally deranged or evil. That isn't what sets him apart. What seems telling about these killers, however, is not how much they have in common but how much they look and seem like so many others who do not inflict harm.
We'd really like an explanation of the shooting that makes Paddock unlike every other shooter. So we say he was obviously mentally ill, and thus our society should focus on caring for the mentally ill instead of worrying about preventing the next mass shooting by worrying about gun control.
While it’s true that we need to do a better job caring for the mentally ill (where does this leave the dismantling of the ACA now?!?), the vast majority of people with mental illness will never harm anyone. Mass murderers, regardless what we want to believe, don't tend to be mentally ill.
They're not out of touch with reality. They don't hear voices. They don't think the people they're shooting are gophers. I mean, do we simply not want to take Paddock's brother's words seriously? In other words, the problem with these shooters have very little to do with mental illness.
So what could we possibly use to signal that we may have another potential mass shooting in the making?
I have a theory: With many of these killers, the signs are of anger and disappointment and solitude.
Anger, disappointment, and solitude. Those emotions are universal. How do we make sense of that? There's a darkness that creeps up within all of us -- and if we're honest with ourselves, we might just admit the horrifying truth that there's not a lot that separates us from them.
We fear solitude. Yet that's the very atmosphere that modern American society creates for each and every one of us.
So it really shouldn't be a surprise that we have nine mass shootings every ten days in America.
Yup. You read that right. 9 every 10 days. Last Sunday's shooting may have been the deadliest mass shooting in modern American history (though, that claim really needs a stress on modern as if modern were the past 50 years or so). But there were 6 other mass shootings last week somewhere in America!
That doesn't make the news because, let's be honest, we're so accustomed as a culture to the violence.
Violence itself is our American problem. 9/11 taught us that if someone hits you, you hit them back. Only, you don't just hit them back, you up the ante. You hit them with "Shock and Awe" to destroy the enemy's will to fight back.
But Shock and Awe really only worked to embed violence even more deeply in our society. Violence isn't just "their" problem; it's our problem. It infects all of us. Almost every day we hear about another violent attack. The news has inundated us over the past decade and a half with so much violence that we've begun to accept is as business as usual.
The truth is much simpler: As long as violence is the way you respond to violence, we will continue to sow the seeds of violence and isolation.
So what's the answer?
Well, tougher gun control laws are a start. But they're hardly the solution. (And lest Congress pays any attention, investigating whether a bump stock should be regulated is really myopic in terms of the cash of weapons Paddock had in his possession. You know, like explosive material in his vehicle.)
Gun control cannot be the solution, but it is a start. But -- and here is where most Americans simply ignore me -- we need so much more than gun control. We need models who will lead us toward a massive shift in our culture. Resentment and violence infects us all and we need to learn better ways to take responsibility to manage our anger, disappointment and hatred.
God tells Cain that, "sin is lurking at the door; its desire is for you, but you must master it" (Genesis 4.7). The truth is that there's a little bit of Cain in us all. Unfortunately, many of us are too afraid to look at it. We'd much rather ignore our pain than examine it. Though the way to master the "sin that is lurking at the door" is to acknowledge it, we, like Cain, bury our resentment deep within ourselves, only for it to manifest through violence.
This is why it baffles me that so few Christians take the spiritual practice of confession seriously. "Confess your sins to one another" (James 5.16). That's certainly where I think Christians should take a step beyond gun control laws. It's so much healthier in the Body of Christ to talk about stuff rather than to bottle it up. Without the ability to talk about our frustrations, we externalize our emotions by blaming others. Our shared desire for fame and admiration can then lead us to commit acts of violence when they become frustrated.
Much more than gun control, we must shift our culture of violence to a culture of peace. We need models who will lead us to move beyond resentment and towards an ethic of love, a love that embraces even our enemies.
That's what confession is meant to do.
So, to all my sisters and brothers who resist gun control laws, can we at least agree to start here? Can we at least agree to hear one another's sins, so that we can try to cut out this growing violent cancer?
Because I have a sense that once we begin doing that, we'll see that we don't need all those guns after all.