Contents
The Massacre
by Vance Redden
I keep hearing the TV commentators say that they just don't understand the motivation for such a horrendous act. Below is a chapter out of my book, "The Book of Bird, Facing God's Judgment." It tells exactly how something so full of hate can happen and how it might be prevented. How can a person feel so full of hate that he could do something like this? First of all, it has to do with how he views the world and the people in it. If he concludes that all is evil, then indiscriminate killing of the innocent is in reality the killing of evil. It's a mindset. An evil so entrenched in the psyche that it seems almost reasonable. Righteous revenge. How do I know this? It almost happened to me.
Chapter 8
Does God Intervene in
the
Lives of Men?
2 Corinthians 4:7-11
Yet we who have this spiritual treasure are like
common clay pots,
n order to show that the supreme power belongs to God, not to us.
We are often troubled, but not crushed;
sometimes in doubt, but never in despair;
there are many enemies, but we are never without a friend;
and though badly hurt at times, we are not destroyed.
At all times we carry in our mortal bodies the death of Jesus
so that his life also may be seen in our bodies.
“God, we need to talk. I guess when I revolt against you, things can happen. When you asked Noah to build the boat in Genesis 6: 11-14, he did so on faith, not knowing what you had in store for the world. On a personal level, I guess I should have expected my flood. Things in my life have reached a point where something has to break. You used to step into men’s lives on a regular basis. Now it seems as if you have retired. I can’t remember the last time you have really intervened in the lives of men. And now you have forgotten me. I’m having a hard time understanding all this, but I’m not sure I can make it in here. Oh God, why is it that when I need you the most, you’re never there?
“Never there? You say you can’t remember me ever intervening in your life?
No, Lord. Not offhand.
“Then remember now!”
And I relived it in my mind as if it were happening for the first time.
Now see, it was a beautiful, sunlit day. Not a cloud in the sky. It made no impact on my mood. The hangover didn’t help. It had to be after 12:00 P.M. It didn’t matter. I didn’t have a job anyway. My wife, Stella, was mad at me. She wanted to know where I had been. I ignored her questions and she became even more incensed. I didn’t blame her. I felt the same way. I couldn’t answer her questions anyway, since I had no memory of the night before. I didn’t know what it was called then, but I know now. It’s called a ‘blackout.’
I didn’t know where I had been, what time I got home, or how I got there. I had
spent the last of a paycheck received when I was fired for missing work. There
went the rent money. Even our young daughter could feel the tension and her
crying only intensified the growing pressure in the room. What happened? The
remorse weighed heavily on my conscience. Self-loathing was prominent and I
wanted it to be over with: finished. I knew only that I was lost and incapable
of stopping the insanity
. When I left the house that previous afternoon, I was on my way to
the convenience store to get some milk and cigarettes. I was already upset with
myself because of the loss of my job, but had decided that this was the last
time. Remorse was like a 50 lb. weight hanging on my heart. “I am going to
quit drinking,” I told myself. This can’t go on. And I resolved again to
change. That’s when a friend waved at me from in front of the bar across the
street.
“Hey Vance,” he yelled, and he waved me over. I walked into the bar
and sat next to him.
“I heard about you losing your job,” he began. “What a bummer. Can
I buy you a beer?”
“Well just one,” I answered, “I have to go to . . .” and I was off to the races.
Now it was the “day after” and I was wondering what the hell had happened. I was mad. No, not just angry, but mad. As in insane. And I had nowhere to go and nothing to do. It was over. And as I sat in the chair, calmly drinking a cup of coffee, Stella finally realized that something was just not right. I was too quiet. She came out of the kitchen and found me sitting there as in a trance, with a total lack of expression on my face. She squatted in front of me, her anger suddenly gone, and looked into my eyes and I softly touched her hair, then got up and headed for the shower.
Our daughter, Michel had stopped crying, Stella was quiet and introspective, and I stayed in the shower a long time.
I had an old sport jacket, and when Stella saw me getting dressed up with tie and jacket, she was getting nervous about me. “Where are you going?” she asked.
“I’m just going out for a while,” I replied. I kissed her on the cheek, gave my daughter a hug, and told her I was sorry for everything. I walked out the front door.
Do you remember the guy in Austin that went up to the top of the tower and began shooting people on the ground? Ever wonder why he did that? I know. He did it because he was without hope. He did it because he had no respect for life. He did it because he was mad as hell and he was going to get even. And I knew how he had felt, because I felt the same way. It was a cold feeling, devoid of emotion; knowledge of my own captivity to evil and no way out. I walked into the Army-Surplus store and asked to see a 45.
I gave the man behind the counter no reason to doubt my sanity. I was rational and friendly. I took out my checkbook and made the purchase along with a box of shells, and thanked him for his help. I went into the bathroom of the service station next door, loaded the 45, threw away the packaging, put the gun into my waistband and buttoned my jacket to hide it. I walked calmly to the corner and stuck out my thumb. I was ready to leave this life, and I wasn’t going alone. Let the chaos begin.
I had no plan. No direction. Just the first step of getting a car to stop for me. I hadn’t thought about anything past that point. I had just begun to wait, and about the second car by pulled up to a stop in front of me. A man reached over and opened the passenger door and invited me in.
“Where you headed?” he asked.
“Straight ahead,” I told him.
“Well, I’m only going two blocks, but I just had to stop for you. . .”
“No,” I told him as I pulled out the gun and pointed it at his stomach, “we’re going farther than that.”
“And what if I don’t?” he asked calmly.
“Then I shoot you and go on alone. It’s up to you. Frankly, I don’t give a damn one way or the other.”
He took off slowly and began to speak. “You must be hurting a lot,” he told me. “Do me a favor. If you can postpone shooting me for a while, let’s stop at my house first.”
“Are you nuts?” I smiled coldly. “Why would I do that?”
“Because it’s for your benefit. I’ve only got maybe $20.00 on me and that isn’t enough to take you very far. At home, I have over $300.00 in cash that I would like to give you if you have the time. My family is gone for a few days, so you can get the money and we can leave again.”
“Why on earth would you want to do that?” I asked.
“You have to understand, I’m not afraid of you. I have lived my life without fear since Jesus came into my life, and you have no power over me. When I saw you standing there, I felt God moving me to stop for you. I never pick up hitchhikers, but God told me to stop, and here I am. If I can do something for you, even if it’s just giving you some money, maybe that will prevent you from hurting somebody else. God loves you and I love you and we both want to help. God can take away your pain and I’ll do everything I can to help you too, if you’ll just let me.”
That was it. I had been ready for anything, but not this. “Pull over,” I told him. When he did, I laid the gun down on the seat, got out of the car, and began walking; sobbing uncontrollably in response to his words and the love he had shared. But he wouldn’t go away. The car followed me slowly, with him urging me to get back into the car.
“Come on,” he urged, “get in and we can go get some coffee.” I finally submitted and got back in the car.
The gun still lay between us. He wasn’t concerned. He picked it up and put it under his seat. He took us to a drive-in, ordered two cups of coffee, and when it came, he bowed his head and thanked God for intervening in our lives. Then he asked me to tell him what was wrong.
I held nothing back. When the story was over and I had calmed down, he told me we could start setting things straight. He took me back to the Army-Surplus store where he went in and returned the gun and ammunition, bringing me back the hot check I had written. He took me to his house, where he convinced me to call my wife and tell her I was okay; that everything would be all right and I would be home in a little while. And he prayed and praised God as I sat there totally subdued in God’s grace.
“Do you remember now?” God asked. “I performed a miracle in your life and you can forget so easily.”
“I remember, Father. And although I faltered later on, I was never able to hate that same way again. You saved my life and changed me that day. Thank you, Lord.”
“And I blessed the man that stopped for you beyond your understanding or imagination. Not only did he save you from yourself, but he also went on living, experiencing my grace in love, joy and faith. He served me well.”
The memory still drives me to my knees in prayer and thanksgiving. I remember going home to my wife after all that had happened and she met me at the door in expectation. I tried to explain to her what had happened to me, but couldn’t get much out except that I had met an angel. I told her I was going to church on Sunday and that I was sure that everything was going to be okay.
His church home was the First Baptist Church in Victoria, Texas. He asked me to go with him the coming Sunday, and he picked me up and took me to church. He gave me a small Bible to read and carry in my shirt pocket and he introduced me to his friends and family. When church services were over, he asked me to wait for him while he remained to attend a board meeting of some kind. I waited. When he came out, he smiled and handed me an envelope. In it was a receipt. The church had paid to get our storage out. Stella and I had furniture and other belongings in a storage unit, but didn’t have the money to get it out. We were getting ready to lose it. The church had taken care of it after he informed them of our needs.
In addition, the envelope contained enough money for me to pay our rent and purchase some needed groceries. He also gave me the business card of a local steel fabricating company and told me that the owner (another member of the church) had agreed to hire me. I had a job. All I had to do was show up Monday morning.
When I got home I showed Stella the envelope and told her about the new job. We danced around the living room in total happiness. Monday morning I was up early and made it on time to my first day on the job. Stella made me a pinto bean sandwich with a piece of baloney on it. It was great. I came home each night to a wonderful dinner and we laughed and played with our daughter until we couldn’t laugh any more. We rolled around and tickled each other. We chased each other around the house and made monster faces. Both Stella and Michel would shriek in delight. We made love until the wee hours of the morning, then laughed hysterically at ourselves and fell asleep in each other’s arms. There was as much love in that small house as has ever been from the beginning or shall ever be seen again.
The weeks went past. Our lives had become wondrous and beautifully predictable. Every Friday was payday, and the first thing we did was to go grocery shopping. We spent our Saturdays at the beach, where Michel would hang tightly to my neck when I took her into the water. Sometimes we went fishing in Port Lavaca, or went to a drive-in movie theatre on Saturday nights. Michel went along for the ride, although she usually fell asleep during the movie.
Every Wednesday night I went to my Bible Study and every Sunday was Church time. We went grocery shopping together and I carried our daughter while my wife went nuts buying everything in sight. I showed Michel a pinching movement with my fingers, pointed at Stella, and she nodded her head up and down vigorously in enthusiastic approval. I reached down and gave Stella a little pinch, and when she squealed, Michel went wild with laughter. Life was good.
When we got home, Carlos was sitting on our front steps waiting for me. Stella looked a little frightened. I told her everything would be all right and I sat down on the steps with Carlos. He was an old drinking buddy and had brought over a six-pack of Budweiser to share. I explained to him that I had quit drinking and had found God and that drinking was no longer a part of my life. He said I should just have one beer with him for old-times sake. I agreed. “Just one, Lord,” I whispered. When his six-pack was gone, I went to the store and bought another one. I didn’t notice that there was no laughter coming from inside the house. I asked Stella to join us, but she refused. We were having a ball. I never knew what hit me.
“You know,” I said thoughtfully, “I blamed you for that.”
“Yes, I know,” the Lord answered.