What the Bible Tells One Christian about Gun Control

Since the tragic events at Sandy Hook Elementary, I have been overwhelmed and a little disturbed by how people of various political inclinations have rushed to capitalize on the opportunity to launch a debate over gun legislation. What has concerned me even more is how many people have tried to use Judeo-Christian Scriptures to justify pro-gun arguments.

One popular passage used by those opposed to gun control is Luke 22. In verses 35-38, Jesus tells his disciples,

“When I sent you out without a purse, bag, or sandals, did you lack anything?” They said, “No, not a thing.” He said to them, “But now, the one who has a purse must take it, and likewise a bag. And the one who has no sword must sell his cloak and buy one. For I tell you, this scripture must be fulfilled in me, ‘And he was counted among the lawless’; and indeed what is written about me is being fulfilled.” They said, “Lord, look, here are two swords.” He replied, “It is enough.”

Some argue this means that Jesus is telling the disciples to arms themselves, and proponents of this interpretation often assert that Jesus is endorsing the use of weapons for self-defense.

However, by the reference to Hebrew Scripture, Luke’s implication seems to be is that Jesus tells his followers to bring swords to fulfill the words of Isaiah 53:11-12:

The righteous one, my servant, shall make many righteous, and he shall bear their iniquities. Therefore I will allot him a portion with the great, and he shall divide the spoil with the strong; because he poured out himself to death, and was numbered with the transgressors; yet he bore the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors.

If you read a little further, the self-defense interpretation makes less sense. Luke next describes Jesus’ time of prayer on the Mount of Olives and the arrival of a crowd intending to arrest Jesus.

When those who were around him saw what was coming, they asked, “Lord, should we strike with the sword?” Then one of them struck the slave of the high priest and cut off his right ear. But Jesus said, “No more of this!” And he touched his ear and healed him. Then Jesus said to the chief priests, the officers of the temple police, and the elders who had come for him, “Have you come out with swords and clubs as if I were a bandit? When I was with you day after day in the temple, you did not lay hands on me. But this is your hour, and the power of darkness!” (Verses 49-53)

Thus, in Luke’s gospel, Jesus reprimands his follower for cutting off the ear of the high priest’s servant, who was among those coming to arrest Jesus (see also John 18). He does the same in Matthew, where elaborates on his opposition to violence, telling his disciple,

“Put your sword back into its place. For all who take the sword will perish by the sword. Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then should the Scriptures be fulfilled, that it must be so?” (Matt 26:52-54)

Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount (Matt 5-7) — one of his most extensive sermons in the canon — is full of arguments in favor of nonviolence:

• The Beatitudes:

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. … Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. … Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. (verses 5-9)

• He even goes so far as to call for doing good to, and even loving, one’s enemies: 

“You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also; and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well; and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile. Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you. (verses 38-42)

Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous … (verses 43-48)

Please understand, I am not saying that guns are bad, or evil. Growing up in Appalachia, I would have to have willfully ignored the number of people for whom hunting is important to keep food on the table. I also believe in self-defense. I don’t even think private citizens’ gun ownership should be banned. But regulation is not the same as prohibition. As I have noticed many gun control advocates observe, if we recognize that people should be instructed and licensed in order to use a car to reduce the risk of accident and injury to self and others, why wouldn’t we want the same for guns?

Most of all, though, I believe that Christians have a responsibility to look for nonviolent ways to respond to threatening situations. For one thing, it is irresponsible to deny that accidents with guns will happen, just as they do with motor vehicles. But more than that, for those who would call themselves followers of Jesus, it is important to follow his example of responding to others with empathy and love.

We should love enough to reach out to young people who may be suffering emotionally and/or psychologically. We should not react to the perpetrators of violence with hate, and rather than chastising their families or whomever we might lay the blame upon we should work to promote a culture of caring.

From a practical standpoint, hate and blame-laying don’t change what has happened in the past. But treating others with love and respect is a good start toward reducing the chance of future pain. We cannot eradicate evil from the world, but we can stand against it by letting the Spirit work through us to counter evil with God’s love.

So, on a scale of 1 to 10, how crazy is this?

This evening, I did something I consider a fairly bold move for my quiet, little cookie-cutter apartment complex.

I went outside and did something no one else would think to do.

That’s right, I walked right out in front of God and everybody (one of my parents’ favorite colloquialisms) – yes, right in front of God and everybody – I did something no one would recognize as an appropriate behavior for a 29-year-old woman.

It probably does sound weird, what I was actually doing. You see, there was wide swathes of pavement on every side of the apartment buildings here. Wide enough that two cars can easily pass even with a row of parked vehicles on either side. All that pavement, which seems great most of the time, has the unfortunate side effect of leaving few places for snow melt to absorb into the ground, and there are no ditches for that either.

In this lovely, cold February weather, that snow melt puddles on the lower spots in the pavement, and particularly on the sidewalks. When night falls and the temperature drops from cold to frigid, that snow melt refreezes. In the morning, we residents are greeted by a solid, inches thick layer of ice that is literally smooth as glass. I tend to be impatient, and take quite a few tumbles. I’m never sure which is more bruised – my bottom, or my pride.

My parents had been visiting, and they were heading off to their place a couple of hours to the south. When I stuck my head out the door to yell a last quick good-bye, I noticed all that standing water puddling up, right before my eyes. It was taunting me, I swear it was. Then, I remembered I have a broom-mop, (it can do either, but does neither well) and that it probably would do a nice job shoving some of that slush onto the heaps of iced-over snow. Then, I hoped, it would refreeze on the ice-encrusted snow heaps instead of on the sidewalk a few steps from my front door.

What I did then was odd-looking, I’m sure. I turned the broom-mop on its skinny end and started swinging at the ice like I was a lumberjack splitting logs. There was a purpose to this, really. When I struck the surface ice, it broke open where air bubbles were trapped beneath.

As I alternated between whacking more solid sections and releasing the water trapped beneath the surface and shoving the resulting watery slush onto the banks of iced snow, at least one couple getting in their car had paused, obviously wondering what the heck that short chick was up to with her broom-mop, then they hurried on about their business. I shrugged it off, but I soon started wondering whether I was actually accomplishing anything. Then, I thought about the big helpings of pot roast and mashed potatoes I had eaten, plus large slice or torte for dessert, and that cup of coffee that was ampping up the adrenaline rush. I realized I could pass this off as exercise. I was burning off some of those calories that just don’t disappear the way they did when I was a teenager. Yeah, that’s it! My heart rate is elevated enough to consider this aerobic exercise. And after all I couldn’t see that I was making the ice any icier. This had a chance of helping, and shouldn’t hurt either way.

Before I knew it, twilight was almost over, and the slush was thickening. As it continued to harden, I started going back over the ice with my slush pusher, giving small, firm pats to the surface and keeping the freezing slush from flattening out into smoothness worthy of an ice skating rink. This, I’m hoping, will give my boots a little more traction in the morning, and maybe give my pride and my backside a reprieve.

During this little exercise, I felt oddly liberated. These bland apartment buildings, with their identical paint jobs and matching carports, make me feel pressured to conform. Go along with it, the neighborhood seems to say. Don’t make waves or put on such a weird show for the folks across the street; just enjoy the quiet little “community” that looks just like a dozen others nearby.

I think I somehow skipped part of the training on the American Dream, in which a cookie-cutter house in ready-made neighborhood in the suburbs is the way to happiness. I miss the quirks of my old city apartment. I liked the funky brick streets, with their sidewalks skewed by the venerable tree roots below, where walking looks a bit like playing hopscotch as one negotiates the ups and downs. I loved being close enough to the post office and the grocery store to walk for small errands.

It always seemed odd to me that so many people got in their cars to go around the block, giving themselves plenty of opportunity to complain about the parking situation, and how much better off they’d be in a little place outside of town where they’d have a parking spot with their name on it. I always feel like I’m going to get lost in those housing developments where everything looks the same. I could get lost in this expanse of uniformity.

Maybe this is a cyclical, generational thing, with my subconscious rebelling against these homogenized ‘burbs in which I find myself today, which will look great to a generation or two down the line.

Maybe I have a little touch of those “hippy” tendencies some people like to comment on. Although if I’m a hippy, I have to be the lamest, mildest hippy ever, because I inherited genes for good-student-well-behaved child as well.

Perhaps I’m just on track to be that crazy cat lady my ex always accused me of being.

Maybe one of these days, I will have some clue who I am. But for tonight anyway, I’m about wound down enough to snuggle under a blanket, watch a movie, and put aside my neurotic, almost nonstop self-analysis for a bit.

Maybe I had a smidgen of a clue about that whole happiness deal after all.
 
© 2011 Nicole Pickens

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"Neighborhoods unite to promote their attractions" | ThisWeekNews.com

I'm excited to see High Street's communities work together to show people the value of what is in the city. It would be great to see more people realize there is so much they can't find in the suburbs.

Since moving out of Point Pleasant, West Virginia, I am constantly reminded that I am a city girl who happened to be born in the country. People probably get tired of hearing me brag about how wonderful it is to be able to walk to my favorite restaurants, church, and the grocery store. This, of course, complements my greenie status regarding air pollution.