April 16, 2007 was already a strange day in Blacksburg. Nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains, Blacksburg is accustomed to unusual weather patterns. But 35 degrees, snow flurries and 60 mph wind gusts are still odd for spring even in a town where the joke is, “If you don't like our weather, wait an hour and it'll be something else.”
I was taking the day off that Monday. As ridiculous as it now seems, I thought I had a problem. My printer had gone out and in my mind I was complaining that I had to go out in that wretched weather to buy a new one. Moving slowly, having no urgency to be anywhere, I had just stepped to another room when I heard my cell phone ringing. Unable to reach it I thought, “They'll leave a voice message and I'll call them back.” Seconds later it was ringing again. Experience told me this call was important.
Answering the phone I heard a member of the rescue squad say, “Do you know what's going on? There's shooting … lots of it. Somebody's inside Norris Hall and they're shooting the place up. You better get to the hospital fast.”
I serve not only as the pastor of Blacksburg Baptist Church, but also as a chaplain of the Blacksburg Police Department. Sensing the day was about to thrust me into places where instant identification would be crucial, I grabbed my badge and my police uniform from the closet. Before I could get dressed the phone was ringing again and again.
A police lieutenant yelled, “Pray! Pray hard! Don't stop. Go to the hospital as fast as you can.”
Another call came from an unknown number. Though still unsure who it was, I will never forget the voice: “It's terrible. Come quickly. We need your help.”
Within two minutes I was racing to the hospital and I could tell something truly terrible was unfolding. Law enforcement units from all over the region were streaming west toward Virginia Tech as I rushed east toward the hospital.
I called the lieutenant again for an update. I had no idea he was personally loading injured and dying students into his police SUV and taking them to the staging area where ambulances from all over the region were now lining up to transport the wounded. Asking where he was, he said, “I can't talk now. Get to the hospital as fast as you can. This is bad. I've never seen anything like it.”
I arrived even before the wail of the first sirens could be heard from approaching ambulances. The emergency department of Montgomery Regional Hospital was surreal, looking much like an episode of ER. Doctors, nurses and technicians suited in their sterile gowns, the entire hospital abuzz with the trauma alert, four surgical suites cleared for trauma surgery. It was eerie and, oddly, quite reassuring.
Tragedy is not new to me. While in college I served as a sheriff's deputy while also working part-time for the local funeral home. Back in that day the funeral home operated the county's ambulance service. Later while serving my first rural church, I was a captain with the county's fire and rescue service. I have seen my share of death and injury … but not like this.
Before the first ambulance left the university the lieutenant called again: “I've just put eight students in ambulances and they're all hurt bad. Tell them to be ready.” I told the trauma staff just as the paramedics on the ambulances began radioing the hospital. Within minutes the sirens were blaring into the hospital driveway as we stood ready to unload the broken students. Yelling “red,” meaning the students were critical and a top priority, we grabbed the stretchers and pushed them to waiting medical teams. One girl who was shot several times grabbed my hand and said, “Hold me. I'm gonna die.” I held her as long as I could. Thank God, she did not die.
By now the driveway was filled with incoming ambulances. Many students were badly wounded, some less so, but all were stunned and shocked that such a thing could happen. They mirrored the feelings of the entire community.
The worst was yet to come. As the first line of ambulances unloaded their shattered cargo we all became annoyed that no other sirens were approaching. What was the hold up? What was taking so long? As we stood in the ambulance bay awaiting more victims a nurse who attends our church came to me with tears in her eyes. “That's all of them,” she said, “but they're saying they have at least twelve dead, maybe more.” More indeed!
It was only then that it hit us. There would be no more sirens. A silence had befallen Norris Hall, a silence no siren could awaken.
Three students who fell silent that Monday often attended our church. No other Protestant church in Blacksburg saw so many of its young people silenced by that brutal assault.
Austin Michelle Cloyd was an 18-year-old freshman at Virginia Tech. Her family had moved to Blacksburg two years ago. Her father had received an appointment as a professor of accounting at VT. Ironically, some of his classes met in Norris Hall, but he had no classes on April 16th. I suspect he still ponders if that was a blessing or a curse.
Austin was a strikingly beautiful young lady who was brilliant of intellect, highly athletic and filled with a growing social conscience. Each summer of high school she served with the Appalachian Service Project where she ministered in Christ's name to the impoverished and underprivileged of that region.
Brian Bluhm was a graduate student at Virginia. Also one who was intellectually gifted, Brian was a dedicated Christian and a dedicated Detroit Tigers fan. With a smile and a laugh that could instantly fill a room with joy, Brian always wore a Detroit Tigers baseball cap. Once upon a time it had been Tiger's navy blue, but its constant wearing had faded his cap to a dingy, ugly blue-gray. It made no difference to Brian. He was a proud fan who would turn his cap into a “rally cap” when anyone needed a bit of a rally in their lives. If Brian ever had a bad day, I never witnessed it. Always upbeat and jovial, Brian loved his family, Christ and life with a passion.
Caitlin Hammeren was a girl who seemed to sparkle when you looked at her. Always smiling, Caitlin loved singing. A star in her high school chorus, she was the kind of person who made others feel better just by being near them. A resident assistant who was a constant helpmate to the students in her dorm, she was studying French and international politics. Caitlin had big dreams for the future, she had the drive and the intelligence to make them come true, and all her dreams included God and the greater good of humankind.
Most of us in Blacksburg have spent recent days trying to make sense of the senseless act that so shattered our town and our university. Until 9:46 a.m. on April 16th, a printer gone bad and a day of blustery weather were among our more significant crises. Oh, there were far worse problems to be sure, not the least of which was the same worry about the Iraq war that has preoccupied most of our nation. Yet, generally speaking, ours were the normal problems of everyday life. Seldom did this area's 60,000 residents find themselves shocked by the presence of sheer darkness. But this event has shaken us. In recent days I have heard more than one person say, “It feels like God took a day off that Monday.”
I know how they feel. I suspect no one prayed harder for life and safety than did I as I sped down the highway that morning. I suspect only the parents and loved ones of the dead and wounded were more disappointed with the outcome of those prayers. For a time I found it easy to be angry with God. Yet, later that evening, as I ascended the walkway toward the police command post near Norris Hall, a thought entered my mind that refused to leave despite my ardent attempts to quell it with what I felt was well-deserved bitterness.
As I marched up that steep walk toward that building that would be forever scarred by the carnage of the day, I thought, “Today, maybe for the first time, we understand how Christ felt in the Garden of Gethsemane.”
On the eve of crucifixion it was Jesus who prayed with fervor, “Father, if it be your will, let this cup pass from me.” But it didn't. Jesus had to face a troubled and deadly future while claiming a hope based on nothing more than the same simple faith we must claim … the faith that God would take his suffering and death, and he would turn it into the miraculous gift of eternal life.
In the days that have followed the attack on Virginia Tech I have again claimed the words of St. Paul as my watchword: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, for those who are called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28).
I believe God works for the good of everyone, but the advantage we believers have is that as “those who love him,” we can recognize the hand of God working amidst the tragedy. While God calls to everyone, we Christians hear the call, we know from whence it comes, and hopefully we respond to become instruments of God's goodness and re-creation.
Last week some of my church members were walking into War Memorial Chapel at Virginia Tech to pray. As they entered they met five Amish men exiting the chapel. Asking the men why they were there, the men said, “Everyone was so good to us when our girls were killed in Pennsylvania. We felt we had to come to do what we could to help.”
Even amidst the tragedy, God calls. Now we in Blacksburg are the latest to experience an unwanted and undeserved visit by the sinister darkness of life. And just as God has called “the beloved” to touch our broken hearts, so we now will be called to do everything possible to prevent such a tragedy from ever occurring again. And if, God forbid, such a tragedy should occur, we must be the ones who will answer the call in the name of Christ to partner with God. We must join our Lord in the quest for the making of good amidst the worst that life can send. Just as others have done for us in recent days, we must be the ones to shine the light into the darkness so those who have been briefly blinded may know an eternal truth: The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
God did not take a day off on April 16th. Why this sad and deranged young man chose to turn our town into a sea of tears may never be known, but I cannot and will not believe it was because God was absent. God was present, shedding tears and bringing strength within the wounds.
In his novel, A Farewell to Arms, Ernest Hemmingway wrote, “Life breaks everyone, and some become strong in the broken places.” We in Blacksburg have indeed been broken, but by God's grace we will become strong in the broken places. And by God's grace we will prevail.