2014 is etched into my brain. In that fateful year, on an ordinary spring day an armed man came onto Seattle Pacific University’s campus with murderous intent. He was able to kill one student (Paul Lee) and wound a couple others (Thomas Fowler; Sarah Williams) before a student (John Meis) courageously disarmed and subdued him. In December of that same year, I had a massive stroke that left me paralyzed and without speech (I have since mostly recovered). The second event, though intensely personal, was less traumatizing than the shooting. My stroke was a function of natural biological processes. The shooting was diabolical.

When the shooting started. I was on campus in a house that the School of Theology used for faculty and student interactions. The lock-down signal had been given right away. So, we holed up in that facility for several hours. While there, we were desperately trying to get news about what was transpiring. My wife had called me and said that a news outlet had reported the death of six students. We were devastated.

After a few hours, Dr. Doug Strong (then the Dean of the School of Theology) and I decided to venture out to assess the situation. By then the local police were swarming the campus. We made our way to the SUB and met with Dr. Jeff Jordan and Dr. Stephen Newby (on the music faculty). Before long, we received reliable information about the extent of the carnage. One student had died, and two others had been hospitalized.

Given the horror of the moment, the four of us thought that we needed to gather as a community to deal with this “day that would live in infamy.” At first, we considered chapel the next morning. But then we thought that something more immediate was necessary. Phone calls were quickly made. Consequently, the university church became available for an evening service.

As we discussed the format of the service we thought of appropriate hymns and scriptural readings. Dean Strong said that Psalm 23 had to be read. Should someone say something, or give a homily? Dr. Newby looked at me and basically nominated me as the speaker. At first, I was reluctant. For decades I had no problems in the classroom lecturing from notes. But a homily or a sermon was another matter. I had preached countless sermons over the years but wrote out every word for each one. However, this was a momentous occasion, to say the least. Even with no time to prepare, I agreed to speak at the service.

As I was contemplating what I would say, I thought of Dean Strong’s suggestion about reading Psalm 23. What reading could offer more comfort to a grieving community? I heartily agreed.

However, Psalm 22 comes before Psalm 23. That psalm begins with a jarring statement, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” In that moment, I decided to deal with these two radically different psalms. One complains about God’s absence. The other offers God’s presence even when walking in the shadow of death.

That night I took my cue from all the Psalms. Many psalms are laments about various evils or contain imprecations against evildoers. Ignoring this element somehow does not take evil seriously enough. Some human actions are so depraved, cruel, irrational and egregious that only lament or imprecation make sense. Any other response borders on dishonesty or insincerity. Granted, a lament or an imprecation is not the last word, but such responses underscore the gravity of the evil deed that has been committed. As Christians, Easter is our most glorious holiday. But on the way to Easter Sunday, we dare not bypass absorbing the enduring agony of Good Friday.

In short, in my remarks I thought that this community could (and should!) justly express outrage, lament and even utter an imprecation or two, without compromising its Christian stance. This tortured soul attacked my beloved university and my precious students. Comfort was the order of the day. Psalm 23 provides that. Still, it is preceded by Psalm 22. That is hardly an accident. Or, so it seems to me.