This morning I had a thought. I wondered what I would do if I lived in Watertown, Massachusetts. I wondered what I would do if I ran into this 19-year-old young man who is responsible for so much death and destruction.
What if we lived in a home there and answer a knock on the door. It's a young man with a gun, who pushes his way inside. He is injured and wants first aid. You usher your children upstairs, to safety. The young man promises not to hurt them if you help him.
You move him into your kitchen, get out your first aid supplies, and examine his wounds. His face is set - obviously angry, obviously wild - but not afraid. Part of your heart aches for him. He's so young. Does he have any idea what he's doing? Does he understand that he has gone too far to come back? Part of your heart, though, hates him. Hates him for the turmoil he and his brother have caused.
You try to make him talk to you. You ask him questions, but he will not answer. His jaw is set tight, and his hard, angry eyes send you the message that he will not talk. As you clean up the blood on his arms, his chest, your mind races and you pray for wisdom, for safety, for strength.
Finally you say, are you Muslim? He nods. You ask, why do you hate us? He doesn't answer. You try again. Something in you needs to understand, to make sense of this. So you say, who is your God? He says, through teeth clenched with pain, There is no God but Allah.
You ask again. Why all of this? Why the hate? Why the murder of innocents?
Finally he reacts. There are no innocents!
You push. What about your brother? Was he innocent? He refuses to answer. Did he need to die? He says, everyone dies.
Do you know you killed an innocent 8 year old boy? He reacts. There are no innocents!
What about your mother? What about your father?
He refuses to answer.
You start to ask him another question and he shouts, Enough! Enough! No more talking.
You aren't a medical professional. You clean up the blood as best you can, but you don't even know for sure what the problem is. Was he shot? Are these bullets? Shrapnel? You really don't know. You tell him, I don't really know how to help you. I've cleaned you up. I don't know what else to do.
He stands up, grimacing. You half expect a thank you, because you are so naïve to this kind of evil. He stands for a moment, as if he is trying to decide what to do. For the first time you notice a gun.
You pray, and you are flooded with peace. You pray for courage. This could be your last chance.
God loves you, you say. He stares at you, hard. You are right that we are not innocent, you say. We have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. But he loves us anyway. And he loves you. And this path that you've chosen, it's not the path HE has chosen for you.
He stares. He jaw is clenched, his eyes are angry. Shut up, he says.
You pray. I will not shut up. God loves you. Even you. Even now. Stop this now and there may be a chance for you!
Shut up! He screams. He grabs his things and heads for the door. At the door he hesitates, and your heart rejoices for an instant. But he leaves, barreling out the door, running down the street.
You lock the door. You call for your children. You turn to call the police. And you wonder.
What if I had met him before all this happened?
What if someone had told him that God loves him before he killed and wounded so many people?
What if I had had the opportunity to witness about the One True God last week?
Would I have done it? Would I have noticed?
As you call 911, your own heart both repents and rejoices and the tears flow as the adrenaline pulsates through your body. Would you have noticed this boy a week ago? Would you have talked to him about God? Would you have seen his inner turmoil, slowed down, and stopped?
You can't help but wonder, how many opportunities have I missed?
You can't help but pray, God - please - never ever let me miss an opportunity to tell others about you.
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