The horrific events that took place in Connecticut last week have shocked the world. The thought of someone going into a school and killing innocent children in cold blood is so much more than we can fathom.
Just as frightening is the reaction of so many people toward the killer. So many people wishing his eternal damnation. Being an avid internet user, I learned long ago how cruel people could get and I have chosen to ignore the hatred and anger running rampant.
I decided to blog about this after service this morning. It began with a comment I wrote on the back of my sermon outline in response to something said. I know many of you will write hate-ridden comments back to me (and I will delete them - after all, this is a family blog).
My comment was written in response to the statement that we should be angry and if we don't then we need to be checked to see if we have a heart.
I'll begin with my note:
Angry? Really? At whom? God? The young man who had psychological problems, possibly Asperger's Syndrome?
Asperger's would make him unable to realize the consequences of his actions. That boy was terribly, terribly messed up and did something horrible as a result.
Sad, devastated, shocked, scared. These are better reactions.
Jesus would see the boy's mental issues, which could not be controlled. The boy did not ask for these problems - he was born with them. Jesus would feel his hurt and grieve for him too.
Am I angry about what happened? No. How can I be? I have spent the last 18 years of my life raising a child with Asperger's Syndrome. I know about the good times and the bad. The good times full of love and the bad times when he goes into a blind rage and only time can calm him down. But yet my love for him never waivers. I feel his pain when he snaps out of it and is full of remorse. I know that inside is a terribly sad young man who just wants to be normal.
What I feel after last week is heartbreak. Something I have sheltered myself from. After many years of abuse, I vowed never to let myself cry. In the last few days I have learned I still cry easily.
I cried when I read my daughter India's post about the children. I cry when I think of those babies who were murdered. I cry when I think of the survivors and the nightmares they will have to live with. I cry when I think of the families left behind. I cry when I think of the first responders and the horror they witnessed. I cry when I think of all of those affected.
I cry when I think of that young man's brother - mistaken as the killer and learning of the death of his mom and his brother in such an abrupt manner. I cry when I think of their mom and the horror she would have felt when she realized her son was too deep into his own blind rage to come out of it.
I cry for Adam.
Adam, with the demons in his own head. Demons who would not leave no matter how badly he wanted to be normal.
Did he kill himself because he didn't want to go to prison or did he snap out of his anger first? Did he look around and realize what he had done and the horror of his actions overwhelmed him? Were his final moments filled with the same anguish that his victims felt?
Adam was 20 years old. With Asperger's Syndrome he was a much younger child himself. A child who probably had dreams and wishes for his life that he knew would never come true because of how his mind functioned. He was a child who may have ended his life while crying for his mom and feeling the remorse that comes after the rage.
Jesus is all things good. Full of love. He would not have been angry with Adam. He would have known that this is not who Adam wanted to be. I believe God wanted Adam's own hell to end and brought him Home to be with Him. When Adam crossed over and was freed of his mental chains for the first time in his life, I believe that Jesus held him as Adam cried out in anguish.
And Jesus wept.
