Mourning with Bridgewater College

We moved to Bridgewater eight months ago. Never in that time have I been scared or worried about safety. Not until Tuesday.

We fell in love with Bridgewater on one of our house-hunting trips to the area. We had our sights on Harrisonburg since we would be working in campus ministry at JMU. But ultimately, Bridgewater caught our eye. It’s a friendly little town with lots of parks and spacious neighborhoods. The North River runs through town on the south end, branching off into the Dry River to form the western boundary. Route 42 serves as the main street of town, making it a town that is small enough to be quiet and welcoming, but big enough to have restaurants, businesses and even a small college.

A hazy picture from the evening run described below.

I like to explore towns by running them. My first runs after moving were down to Bridgewater College on summer evenings. I ran down Dinkle Avenue, moving past old houses adorned with the occasional college flag. The beauty of the small campus struck me with its expansive central quad lined with trees and stately brick buildings. I turned south towards the river and found myself on a road along its banks. The North River was on my left, Bridgewater athletic fields on my right, the sunset in front of me; I felt the joy of a beautiful summer night spent in God’s creation.

When fall came, “BC Proud” banners appeared on 42. Restaurants filled up on weekends; El Charro became busier than before and Sugar and Bean during lunch hours became a bad idea. I started to update my kids on three football teams: Hokies, Dukes, and Eagles. One day when Chelsea was at a wedding, I drove over to the college to see if I could find my way into the football game. A kind worker let us park in the alumni lot and we walked over to the humble stadium to watch the game.

This is Bridgewater. Quiet, kind, friendly, beautiful and unassuming.

On Tuesday, things changed. I don’t mean that the town isn’t those things anymore. It’s just that tragedy leaves scars. Chelsea texted me to tell me about a warning of an active shooter on campus. She locked the doors. Helicopters were overheard.

I was transported back to April 16, 2006. I had accepted admission at Virginia Tech, my dream school. But that day, news crews filled the campus as the university reeled from the loss of 32 victims. How could this happen? It couldn’t. Not in a place like Virginia Tech. What would this mean? Tuesday felt surreal – could this be happening again?

When I heard about the shooting, and after the shooter was apprehended, I was torn by two disparate instincts. Part of me wanted to go. I’m a campus minister. I wanted to get on campus and see where God might lead. I wanted to pray with people and offer even a pair of hands to someone in need. But it’s the other part of me that surprised me – I was afraid. It wasn’t a crippling fear; I only felt it for a moment, but it was a pause, a hesitancy. And this was different for Bridgewater. The damage had been done.

The main quad at BC.

I took my kids to campus the following day to mourn and pay our respects. When I told them what I wanted to do, they had questions and I didn’t have answers. The campus was deserted except for news cars parked along the road. I was struck by the well-dressed, made-up reporters getting ready to give a story to the 5 o’clock news. One man had a mirror with bright lights that he was using to do his television makeup. 50 yards from him lay flowers serving as a memorial to two men whose life had been needlessly and cruelly stolen. A professional photographer captured the lonely bench before taking a phone call. A quiet cameraman stood by his setup. It felt like two incongruent universes had come together.

News cars along the street.

My experience at Tech tells me that this shooting will not define Bridgewater College. Instead, I know this town and that college will band together and be stronger for it. This, I think, is a glimpse of how the kingdom of God works. He brings beauty out of ashes, life of out death. This is what God does with the mess of our world.

But today, it all simply hurts. The fracture has happened and a scar will remain. Men have died and their families will not be getting them back, not until Christ returns. Students, faculty, security, officers and townies like us will walk around with a hint of wondering in the back of their heads. It will cross my mind next time I run through the campus. Some will suffer this for a long time, maybe for the rest of their lives. My son asked last night if the man would kill him. This is the weight of sin.

As a minister, it’s tempting to put a bow on this and end with the hope of the resurrection. That is a true hope – the only hope. But today, I simply mourn with those who mourn.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” (Matt. 5:4)

“Weep with those who weep.” (Romans 12:15b)