Please allow me to rant through storytelling. It is about guns - so hold on to your firearms of preference. This is a story that I have shared in portion on Facebook and used in part in the Welcome to Worship this last weekend of what seemed to be endless bloodshed in the land of the free and the home of the brave.
It was back on our last full day staying in a small village outside of Dubrovnik, Croatia. Karen and I decided that we wanted to take one last adventure before we headed out of town. We hired a driver from a company we used several times in Croatia. We were both amazed at the story of where he lived and how he lives away from this wife and child as he earned a wage to support them. He was a really good guy who was very willing to address himself to some of our basic and often tourist-like questions.
Our destination was to be Mostar, Bosnia-Herzgovina. He suggested to additional side trips to small scenic spots not too far off the beaten path we were taking. Mostar is a quaint small town. The arching walking bridge over the river that divides the town is one of the most picturesque scenes we encountered on that vacation. It was also a scenic wonder to me because as we approached the town, the minarets from a dozen mosques dotted the skyline and there was one lone church steeple. Quite a change from the cities and towns of Ohio.
Mostar was also known as being a place that was part of the battlefield of the Balkan war in the early 1990s. As we prepped for the day trip, we read about the fighting that went on there and how many bullet holes could still be seen dotting a number of buildings in the town. One source noted that many of those holes were turned into parts of graffiti art. This was once a divided town but now was a symbol of people with differences living together in peace.
Well, as we were driving to Mostar we asked our driver about his family and he asked us about the United States. He told us some of the tensions that still exist between Croatians, Bosnians, and Serbs. Quite enlightening. Then - we may have come to a light or an open expanse of road - he asked us if we were afraid. Karen and I were confused for a second and Karen said something like,
"You mean afraid to be in Bosnia?" He said, "No. To live in the United States with all the guns."
Wow. Here we were passing road signs of the towns that are infamously associated with bloodshed and genocide and he is asking if we are afraid to live in the United States. He was not merely referring to a story he may have heard. He really knew the statistics about guns and death by guns and military type weapons that anyone can own.
In a bit of shock, we tried to tell him that we were not afraid - but we agreed that there are so many guns out and about that if you only heard the about the number of guns in the hands and homes of Americans, it should sound frightening to anyone. Yet, there in that van we were once again hearing a story we had heard quite often on our latest trips to Europe in the last two years. The image of the U.S. is becoming more and more deflated. And worst of all, it comes as a great disappointment to people 'over there.' The old term Ugly American that was heard often in Europe during the months I was in England in the early 70's has intensified. Now, it is not merely about how we carry ourselves and know only one language and have a lack of understanding of other cultures. Now, it refers to a culture of violence and hatred and an inability to live within a diverse population - in peace. Our young driver sounded sad and discouraged about who we were becoming. It was as though we were a beacon - a light - that had gone dim.
Unfortunately, as we all know, as a nation we will not work on us. We are too busy trying to fix the blame for all that is wrong on someone out there. Even though we are not made secure by the number of guns we have or the availability of guns, our lust for more is growing as we whip up the fear among us. And, others in the world see that in us. They see a country allowing fear to cause the brave and the free to fire away at will.
By the way, we found a small artisan who was making metal plates in his little shop. We went into to watch him work and yes, we bought stuff. But here is what really hit us. He had turned empty casing of large caliber bullets and mortars into pieces of art. I thought: to hell with letting death rule us and make fools of us by worshipping the weapons that enflame a warring madness among us. Here was an artist who understood the reality of a population - a homeland - being devastated by violence. He may not be an artist who turns swords into plowshares, but he knows how to turn bullets into vessels of beauty and life. I say, unleash the artists and the people of grand imagination and let them lead us out of the grip of death we seem to love so dearly.
TRRR
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