Columbine Students
Twelve years ago today, I stood outside Columbine High School shortly after the school shooting now etched in the country’s conscience. Columbine will forever be equated with angry teens and guns.
It was a surreal experience. I happened at that small hill on the side of the campus quite by accident. I was with a pastor friend in the car when we saw many unmarked vehicles passing us on the freeway at high speeds. We were just curious enough to go a mile “out of our way” to see what was happening. We rolled down the window and asked one of the students what had happened. Through tears she said, “they shot a bunch of students.” Shaken, we parked the car nearby and stood on that hill comforting students and letting them borrow our cell phones to call parents telling them they were okay.
During all this chaos, we also watched swat teams pop open sedan trunks to cover themselves in Kevlar and helmets. They also picked up shotguns and assault rifles. Helicopters with sharp shooters hovered overhead. It truly looked like a small war. Little did anyone know that the shooters had already done their damage and taken their own lives.
It was only later that we would discover that twelve students and one teacher were killed by the crazed gunmen. We also discovered that one of the students was from our church. And thus began the slow motion days ahead of contemplating what just happened. We held funerals at our church. We attended a huge region-wide memorial service in an open parking lot.
We sat by the sides of grief stricken people. We watched literally hundreds of media vehicles descend upon our city to cover this for the world audience. It all had a dream-like quality that I have rarely felt since.
Columbine Memorial
My children would have attended Columbine High School. Of course, we moved to Washington, but that was the school in our neighborhood. We had neighbors whose children lived through this.
It seems a distant memory now. In fact, I logged onto the Denver Post website today and it barely got a mention – even in Colorado.
Four-twenty. A day I will always remember.
It seems right that I would be remembering this and feeling this on Easter week. This week of the collision of the wildest of emotions. We march to death with Jesus; to a cold Gethsemane, followed by a cruel cross. But it must be so in order to yield a miraculous resurrection. Pain and disappointment completely overturned by hope, warmth, new life.
Happy Easter Columbine friends. I remember with you. I still retain hope with you.
An autonomic response is one that happens involuntarily or automatically. Two weeks ago, I talked about such a response that happens to most of us in Costco. And this response is so revealing about our underlying sense of hurriedness in life. I said,
Brian Boone 