The ‘Good Ol’ Boys’ club is still in play – Royal Examiner

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I waited a day before commenting at length on the recent tragedy at my alma mater, Bridgewater College, in order to pray and collect my thoughts. There were several reasons for this, but none more prevalent than my desire to ensure that what I had to share would be measured, meaningful, and most importantly, from a place of healing rather than pain. So this is it…

Tragedy and trauma are intrinsically linked; the first gives birth to the second. As I watched the news footage of the situation unfold, as I rushed to social media for additional information, it was a trauma I felt. Now keep in mind that I have been studying in BC for two decades and a lot has changed. Walking around campus last year, I was struck by how virtually unrecognizable it had become since my time there. But I noticed one thing that has remained the same, all these years later: Flory Hall.

In addition to the offices of the president and academic dean, Flory Hall houses the departments of history, political science, foreign languages, and education. As a history/polscience/French major with teaching certifications for my undergrad, I spent roughly 90% of my college experience in this building. To quote Dickens, “I could walk blindfolded.” So when I watched the WHSV reporter give updates with my beloved playground as the backdrop, the police presence, and the yellow warning tape strewn across the legendary landscape, I literally hurt.

Yes, I feel sorry for the students, faculty, and staff going through this ordeal (at that time we were not yet aware of the shooting and death of the two campus police officers) and for their families desperately looking for information about their loved ones. security. But, perhaps selfishly, I hurt for myself and for those who came before me. For those of us who have walked these sidewalks with no fear or care in the world. And for those who walk those same paths in the future, deprived of the safety and security I took for granted.

I was struck by a flood of memories of my friends, some of whom died in the years that followed, and the good times we shared. It reminded me of 9/11 and I tried to process it within these very walls. I thought I was the last assistant to leave the building before Christmas vacation, enjoying the quiet of an empty school building and the peaceful glow of a beautifully decorated Christmas tree as I stepped out into the cold, dark December night. . I remembered the smell of chalk dust filling classrooms that hadn’t yet been converted to the more modern markers and smart boards that are no doubt out of place today. I hurt for what felt like a violation of a place that for four years was not just my site of learning, but my home. In many ways, I grew up there.

With news of the deaths of Officers JJ Jefferson and John Painter, and the critical role they played in protecting the residents of campus, my pain turned, temporarily, to anger. More than that, it was rage. Hence my need to delay public comment, because nothing good comes of giving voice to raw, unbridled rage.

So I fell asleep the night of February 1 asking the Lord to direct my thoughts to how He sees this situation and what He wants me to tell people.

I woke up the next morning with the song “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day” playing in my head and I haven’t been able to shake it since. Based on Longfellow’s poem, it recounts his inner turmoil dealing with the considerable trauma of the Civil War (and those traumas in his own life) with his innate belief that God is good and is our hope and our future. As I pondered the words, chanting them to myself as I continued my morning routine, I found my temper changing, softening. Of course, I was still angry, frustrated, and hurt for everyone involved, including the families of the slain heroes. But the rage was gone, replaced by the incomparable peace and joy that passes all understanding.

It may seem gloomy. Darkness can seem so invincible. But as Longfellow discovered, “Then the bells rang louder and deeper, ‘God is not dead, and neither is He sleeping. Evil will fail, good will prevail, with peace on earth, the goodwill of men.

Good will. Pass it.

“Christmas bells”
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar songs play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat themselves
Peace on earth, good will to men!
And thought how, as the day had come,
Belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The uninterrupted song
Peace on earth, good will to men!

Until it rings, sings on its way,
The world turned from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A sublime song
Peace on earth, good will to men!

Then from every black cursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the south,
And with the sound
The songs have drowned
Peace on earth, good will to men!

It was as if an earthquake had torn apart
The hearths of a continent,
And made desperate
Households born
Peace on earth, good will to men!

And, in despair, I lowered my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
Because hatred is strong,
And laugh at the song
Peace on earth, good will to men!

Then the bells rang louder and deeper:
“God is not dead and does not sleep;
Evil will fail,
The right wins
With peace on earth, good will to men.


matt pandel
Dr. Matthew B. Pandel is a mental health consultant, theologian and educator. He resides in the heart of the Shenandoah Valley with his wife, Carolyn.

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