This past April I spent several hours in the Knoxville church where a crazed man shot up a children’s performance of Annie this morning. My brother was married there. All of my children played a role in the wedding. My brother’s father-in-law is a lay leader at that church. And, by my watch, I was in my church in Maryland when this lunatic was shooting up that church.

My brother and his wife are in Knoxville today. Fortunately, the family decided to go hiking rather than to services this morning.

I can see the church. I can see where I stood during the rehearsal, where my son stood as an usher, and my daughter entered as part of the bridal party. I remember where the piano is that my other son played throughout the wedding ceremony. And I see bullets flying around the church.

There’s no meaning I can divine here, other than just being glad that nobody in my immediate family or extended family were there, at least not physically.

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