Gunshots

This post is about gunshots I heard in my neighborhood one night this week. I hesitate to write about this experience, because I don’t want to reinforce assumptions about my neighborhood: that it’s violent and dangerous and unfriendly. But part of my intention is to analyze those assumptions and what implications they have for our spiritual lives. So for the sake of exploring my transformation through Jesus, I will risk reinforcing your assumptions about my neighborhood.

Here are some reflections paraphrased from my journal the morning after I heard the gunshots:

“Last night as I lay down to sleep, I heard about 15 gunshots. There was a series of several shots, a pause of a few seconds, and then another series of shots. My first reaction was heartbreak and tears. I sat up in bed and was immediately moved to pray for the situation that was probably just 2-3 blocks from my house. I prayed for the victim(s) and the one(s) firing the gun. With no details beyond the sound of shots themselves, I prayed for whatever I could think of.

“This, I thought later in the night, is not the reaction I would have had in the past. To be honest, I have heard gunshots from my home in North Charleston. When I heard gunshots there, my concern was at first for my safety; I was afraid at what could happen to me. I called the police to make sure whatever was happening ‘over there’ wouldn’t spill over to where I was. And, I thought, there was some criminal now on the loose that needed punishing!

“But last night in Southwest Philly, I mourned the situation. It hurt me to know that there was potentially loss of life, that someone had gotten to a point where s/he felt like violence was the only answer, that children lived on that street and were afraid, that my neighborhood would be looked down upon for the sins of a few. Later, when I once more tried to sleep, I was afraid. What if shots came through my window or wall? What if a police chase led the perpetrator to my back yard?

“After sensing my own fear, I was ashamed and returned to mourning: the situation of those directly affected deserved my prayer more than I did.”

Events like these are a part of the Mission Year experience. Something about living amongst the gunshots makes you care more about them. And not just for the victims. We often shun from our prayers those firing the guns, deeming them worthy of judgment and damnation (if not to hell, then at least the death penalty or maybe prison). But I was moved to pray even for the one(s) firing the gun(s).

Being among my neighbors and caring about them has opened my heart from selfish fear to grieving prayer. This is just one (rather extreme) example of how the Lord is using this relocation to transform me. I thank God for the opportunity to experience such transformation.