I couldn’t come to any conclusion. These were just troubling thoughts rattling around in my brain. What I really needed to do was to work on the sermon for tomorrow—and that, eventually, I was able to do.
Chapter 21
Edward Smalley was a big man with a big voice. The father of one of the students killed in the high school shooting, he wanted some action. The way I figure it, he didn’t know what kind of action was appropriate in the circumstances, but he needed some relief from the pain of his loss, and just thinking about it only made matters worse. Therefore, he called a meeting of those who had loved ones killed or injured in the shooting to talk about what to do. A construction worker and lifelong resident of Belvedere, he was well known and generally well liked.
So, I decided I better show up once I got word of the meeting from Philip Treadway. Not to voice my opinion but to test the temperature of the waters.
The meeting happened that Wednesday evening at the Belvedere Library, which often provided space for general purpose gatherings. The room was large, set up with rectangular wooden tables that would each seat six to eight people comfortably. Around the walls were pictures of people who had been important in the history of the town and scenes of Belvedere’s past.
People ambled in, somber and reflective in appearance. No small talk, just nodding of heads in recognition of fellow sufferers. There were about forty people in attendance, including Clifton Stoner.
The more high-minded people were focused on how to prevent such a tragedy in the future. Others were focused on revenge.
Once everyone was seated, Smalley opened the meeting. “We’re here to talk about a tragedy that never should have happened and how to prevent anything like that from ever happening again. My wife, Margie, says that a lot of that might be trying to figure out which children in our school might be so troubled that they would do such a thing as that Wooten boy did, and how to reach them. I’m sure her point of view is a good one if it’s possible. But what seems more important to me is having a patrolman at the school to prevent a crazy person from shooting at others or to stop them on the spot.
“But I’m getting ahead of myself. What we really want to do is open this up for any ideas you have. It’s an opportunity to talk about what’s on your mind. We’ve all suffered greatly from what happened, and we don’t want it to happen again. But while the pain of it is so fresh on our minds, we also need healing ourselves.”
That got things started, and virtually everyone had something to say.
A thirtysomething woman in the back called out, “I want to say a good word for the school system in calling off school this week, not just for the high school but for all of the city schools.”
Another added, “And for providing counselors for those kids and parents who need it, though that will need to be a continuing process.”
Because I had been forewarned by Philip, I wasn’t overly surprised when a man I assumed to be Mike Troutman jumped up and shouted, “I want to know what we’re going to do about getting that Wooten woman out of Belvedere. We’re not going to get any healing as long as she is around to remind us of what her kid did to kill our children and ruin our lives.”
I sucked in my breath to keep from responding. Keep cool, Steve. You’re here to listen, not to get involved.
Troutman’s outburst caused immediate and mixed reactions. Some heads nodded, but the general murmur through the crowd seemed to me one of disapproval.
Edward Smalley could see that the meeting could quickly get out of hand if revenge became the main subject. He raised his arms to calm folks down. “I don’t want to prevent discussion on anything here tonight, but I think we need to focus on what we can do to prevent something like this from happening again. If some of you want to discuss other things, you can do so after we’ve finished with the first order of business, and that—again—is to look at protection of our children in the future.”
Some people were still visibly in shock, and all looked as if they were in grief. They had a lot of ideas, but they wanted something done, and they wanted it now! It took all of Smalley’s leadership skills to keep them on track over the next two hours.
As is often the case in situations like this, the opinions varied widely about the most effective preventive measures. Fortunately, not much blame was placed on the school or the local police force, though some noted that it would have been good if someone had foreseen such an event long ago. But even at that, plenty of people vented their anger of one kind or another during the discussion.
Some suggested arming the teachers and getting them trained in the use of weapons, but ultimately the majority thought this unwise because it would make guns too easily available to others in the school. Deep down there was the disturbing mental image of teachers with guns.
Ultimately, there was consensus that two things should happen. The teachers and staff at the school should be trained in how to spot troubled students and how to deal with them way in advance of tragic action occurring. And the Belvedere police should always have someone on patrol at the school during school hours. To my relief, and I think to the relief of most in the room, the mood became more cordial and cohesive.
However, after these conclusions had been reached and decisions had been made about who would go to the authorities to make the demands known, the underlying hostility on the part of some of the participants surfaced. Mike Troutman shouted, “This meeting isn’t over. There’s still some of us that want that woman out of town.” Everyone knew who “that woman” was: Connie Wooten.
I pressed my lips together. Here we go again!
An uproar followed. Edward Smalley, still in the leadership role, finally gained control of the meeting. “As far as I’m concerned,” he said, “we’ve accomplished what we came here for. If there are others of you who have a different agenda, you are free to stay and hash it out. But I, for one, want nothing to do with it.”
Eight men remained in the room after the others had left. I hung around in the back of the room, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Mike Troutman was clearly the leader of this group. The others included relatives of students who had been killed or wounded, plus Stoner, who had lost his wife, and a few others who were troublemakers by nature.
“I got Sam Cummings to fire that Wooten woman, but we don’t need her kind around here.” Troutman’s face reddened. “The fact that she’s still here will always be a reminder to us of what that boy did and that she could have prevented the tragedy if she’d have brought him up right.”
“Yeah,” remarked another. “In any event, she should have let someone know he was crazy if she couldn’t handle him.”
A third man nodded his head rapidly and looked around the room. “And she let him have all those guns.”
Those were the more rational responses. Others were more vicious in their words of condemnation. They had blood lust on their minds and wanted action but had no idea what that might be.
“What do we do?” someone finally asked.
Clifton Stoner, though an acknowledged leader in the community, listened intently but said nothing. He noticed me in the back of the room but chose to ignore my presence.
Mike Troutman spoke again. “We give her fair warning. If she doesn’t leave town, we’ll burn her out. She just lives in one of those trashy trailers on the edge of town. I’ll take the lead. I know all of you and how to get in touch with you when needed.”
This seemed to satisfy the most vengeful among them, and no one seemed to be willing to challenge Troutman and his assessment. However, there was an uneasiness that Stoner had not spoken. Troutman looked at him, and many eyes followed his gaze.
“What do you think, Mr. Stoner?”
“I think you’re right about encouraging her to leave, because as long as she is here, she is a reminder of what happened. Anything more than that, count me out.”
Clifton shot me a glance as he left the room. I nodded back. Now armed with more knowledge, I felt better about th
e sermon I had prepared.
Chapter 22
Thursday, October 19
The sanctuary of Incarnation Church overflowed with flowers and people at ten o’clock in preparation for Flora Stoner’s memorial service. I had never seen such a beautiful display of flowers—an outpouring of love for one of Belvedere’s most beloved citizens. And where there were no flowers, there were people—standing room only. Not only were Incarnation people there in great numbers but folks from all walks of life who had been touched by this exceptional woman, including a number of high school students.
Flora’s family knew the hymns she would have wanted, and there had been easy agreement about the Scriptures to be read. The focus of the service would be on Jesus’ overcoming death and offering eternal life to all who accepted Him as their Lord and Savior. But the service was equally to honor the life of Flora Stoner, and there would be plenty of opportunity for that.
Under the circumstances, I believed there should be testimonials, if that was satisfactory with the family. It was. Flora’s daughter Carolyn was chosen to speak for the family. Marilyn Gregory, a lifetime friend, reminisced on a life well lived. Amanda Cook, the high school principal, dealt with Flora’s contribution to the community. To me, the speakers gave perfect balance to the character of this fine woman. Her life reflected that she had been a precocious child, a popular young woman, an ideal mother, and a champion of community spirit. For me she had also been an outstanding church leader.
I based my sermon on John 11:21–27, focusing on verses 25 and 26: “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live. And whoever lives and believes in Me shall never die.” I then used Romans 8:32–39—that nothing in creation can separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus—to affirm the point.
It was my usual three-point sermon. I wanted to assure those present that Flora was now in a better place—in God’s presence enjoying eternal life. But I also wanted the sermon and the memorial service itself to be a tribute to a life well lived in obedience to God. And finally, I wanted people to be filled with forgiveness and not hatred toward the boy who had committed this heinous act.
I used the Scriptures to demonstrate that this service was not meant to be a somber focus on the loss of a person so greatly loved as Flora. It was a resurrection service in which people could rejoice in what Christ has done for us in assuring us of eternal life, knowing that Flora was now praising God and growing from strength to strength in His greater presence.
Then I talked about Flora’s life and what it meant to so many people. But I also focused on the nature of her death. Just as in life she had given of herself for the benefit of others, so had she done in her death. Just as Jesus Christ had innocently died for our sins, Flora had given her life protecting others who were in danger. She had been Christ to those in need and, like Jesus, had died in doing so.
I concluded with a plea for healing instead of retribution. “At times we Christians, as the body of Christ here on earth, are called upon to absorb events that evil produces. Tyler Wooten was not evil, but his actions were…horrible and senseless. The evil one made use of them to kill and destroy, just as he did on Good Friday. Jesus was present both times. He and Flora were called to overcome evil with good, and it cost both of them their lives. Let’s not dishonor Flora or disobey God by choosing hatred and vengeance. Jesus had no clearer message than that we Christians are to be forgivers. Let forgiveness reign in your hearts, and leave the rest to God.”
Following hymns and prayers, I invited people to the altar for personal prayers and had a team of leaders available to pray with those who came forward. An overwhelming number of people did, including some who were not members of Incarnation Church, and many high school students.
I know it’s not proper for a pastor to pat himself on the back when everything seems to have gone so well, but I couldn’t help it. In spite of all the tension and rejection I had been feeling, in my estimation this service could not have been better. The testimonies had been right on target, my sermon had covered all the points I thought needed to be covered, and the congregation seemed responsive. What more could I ask?
One wise saying from the book of Proverbs, chapter 16, verse 18, cautions, “Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” While I took comfort in how well I had done, I became blind to other reactions that might be festering as people filed out of the pews.
Chapter 23
The flowers at the memorial service had made a beautiful setting, but the decorations in the fellowship hall were even more glorious. The women had outdone themselves in giving the reception the appearance of a festive occasion.
The immediate change of atmosphere from funeral services to the receptions that follow never ceases to amaze me. Even when I have seemed to succeed in focusing the service on the resurrection of the person who has died, a solemnity still reigns, as though that were necessary to properly grieve the loss of the deceased person. Then when I have entered the fellowship hall, I have found people smiling as they enjoyed the food and talked happily about their memories of the deceased.
Such was the case once again. The reception was just as well attended as the memorial service. Since I still basked in my own glow about how the service had gone, I found myself engaging in light chatter with the crowd as I made my way around the room, totally unaware of a verbal time-bomb ticking on the other side of the crowd. Instead, I heard, “Remember when Flora…,” and “I’ll never forget the time Flora…” There were smiles and even laughter.
I made my way to the food table as well. First, I needed to show appreciation to our women who so seriously prepared their delicacies as a sign of their devotion to the church and to the loved one who had died. But I also wanted to check on the tomato aspic—not that I would eat any of it—but to see if it was being well received. Apparently so, from the quantity that had disappeared from the plate and the number of people crowded around it. Way to go, Jayne.
I asked myself, Why am I so concerned about this congregation and how they feel about me? Maybe it only took an appropriate memorial service for Flora and this beautiful reception to get things back on an even keel. This is my church being the church it usually is and can continue to be. I’m at home here. Blow away, clouds of doubt and confusion. Shine, Lord, through the misgivings and uncertainty with hope and joy!
I felt as though I were walking on air as I continued around the room, giving and receiving smiles and words of encouragement.
When I made my way toward Clifton Stoner, surrounded by members of the family and close friends, I realized something was wrong. No one in this group engaged in smiling chitchat. Some turmoil was building, and Clifton stood at the center of it. My immediate reaction was to avoid the scene, but I knew I couldn’t do that. I had to pay my respects to Clifton and to get his reaction to the service.
As I tried to get closer to him, I was met with frowns and heads down, shaking a loud no to me. The crowd around Clifton seemed, at the same time, to be tightening, closing me out. I couldn’t tell whether I was being cautioned to go elsewhere by those who gave me fair warning or shielded from him by those sympathetic to his mood. Neither tactic worked, because as soon as he saw me approaching him, he lashed out angrily.
Stoner pushed his way through the guardian circle and faced me. “I’ve had as much nonsense from you as I can stand,” he hissed. “You had a great opportunity to simply praise the woman who was my whole life, and instead you remind us of why she will never be with us again and ask us to be happy about it! And then you give us this feeble plea for forgiveness. I know that boy has died. Good riddance. But it doesn’t stop there. What about this mother of his who shaped his life to be the fiend he ended up being?” The smoldering look in his eyes as they narrowed on me told me he wanted revenge and he resented my call for forgiveness.
Completely caught off guard, instead of trying to defend myself, I just sputtered. Just as well. Stoner wasn
’t interested in a response. He turned and headed out the door.
I sensed danger. His emotional display coupled with his strong disapproval of my incarnation challenge told me it was just a matter of time until Clifton’s resentment would explode on Incarnation Church—and on me in particular.
Chapter 24
After I arrived home, I felt devastated. Clifton Stoner’s explosion had not gone unnoticed by most of the people in the fellowship hall, including Jayne. She was, of course, sympathetic and supportive but also as perplexed as I had been. She fixed me a cup of coffee as I plunked down on a chair in the breakfast room.
“What could Clifton be thinking? The service couldn’t have been better.”
I just shook my head, still in a state of unbelief.
“What’s going on?” Brandon asked as he came into the room. The children had been out of school since the shooting and, while glad to have the free time, were somewhat at loose ends about how to handle it. Planned holidays were—well—planned.
This time became awkward and unexpected. Hannah had used her time to become more acquainted with Skeeter, but Brandon appeared at a loss about what to do with himself. His wide-eyed look told me he was still in shock and undoubtedly trying to figure the whole shooting thing out. Jayne told me the night before that Brandon had been on the phone with his friends quite a bit. Although he hadn’t seemed willing to talk the matter out with his parents, I honestly hoped he found some solace among friends.
In any event, for once he wasn’t plugged into his Xbox, and though his mood toward me didn’t show a noticeable change, he did sort of become involved in conversation for a few minutes.
In His Place: A Modern-Day Challenge for Readers of In His Steps Page 10