The Pain of Fifty Fathers

In the darker places in my heart, I imagine a conversation taking place at some Father's Day in the future.  On that day, the father of the shooter who killed 49 in Orlando is going to have to try and answer the question of the shooter's son, his grandson, now three years old.  "Why did he do it?"  That three year old is going to have ever Father's Day to consider that question which is going to haunt the hearts and minds of every father of every victim.

Why did he do it?

This Sunday, we are having a memorial service and vigil in our church to remember those killed at the "Pulse" nightclub.  I was reminded it was Father's Day-that this may not be the best choice of dates.  As a father myself, I do not know a better date.  There will be no celebrations for the fifty fathers of the dead.  I would offer this small tribute to them.

We need to grieve, we need to give people the place and opportunity to grieve.  But too many won't.  Too many are too jaded or too numb or too judgmental of the lifestyles of those who were killed to even consider grieving.  It implies they have something to be sad about. 

What is a father to do?  What is a religious father like me supposed to do?  The shooter was a religious father, but he twisted his faith beyond recognition.  Maybe the answer is that our children must come first.  If our faith traditions do not grant us the permission to look to our children first, maybe it is time to change our faith traditions.

Because if we truly put our children first, if they are the most precious things in our lives, how could we ever, ever consider putting somebody else's most precious thing at risk?  How could we pick up a gun?  How could we scope them out?  How could we tolerate a God or a faith that told us that the children of 'those people' need to be punished?

Even as I say that, I must admit I come from a religion that defies that basic premise.  The God I work for sacrificed His only Son on the cross.  Sacrificed one child that the rest of us can become Children of God.  Don't get me wrong, I like being a child of God.  I am grateful for the sacrifice that Jesus made for me on the cross.  But it is indicative of what is so sick and twisted in humanity that God considered this God's only option.

My other option is to consider my God to be so sick and twisted as to kill His own Son.  That, I cannot bear.

These children are dead and their fathers will grieve.  In some small, insignificant way, I will grieve with them, but it seems woefully inadequate.

I do not mean to discount the pain felt by the mothers of these children.  That one piece of news footage of one mother outside the club, crying piteously for some sign that her child-grown matters not-still lived will haunt me.

But my experience is fatherhood and I want this Father's Day to be one where we can comfort the fathers and families that are grieving and where fathers can come together to do our part to keep this from every happening again.

So say we all?