It didn’t take long for me to recall the Aroma Therapy Spa location on Piedmont Avenue, two blocks from the church I served in seminary, a few miles from the hospital where I was born, across from a bank where I worked as a summer teller. Tuesday’s shooter chose a southern point in a corridor of immigrant neighborhoods in northeast Atlanta, where the confluence of three interstates also happens to provide popular, easy access to strip clubs for well-heeled businessmen, visiting athletes, and local commuters.

While the perpetrator of this crime claims sex addiction, given his targeted location and identities of his victims, we cannot deny the realities of race, gender, ethnicity and class. As we grieve the victims and share outrage at the horror of this killing, we at Western stand, grieve, and pray with all whose shared identity means this violence resonates with painful personal experience.

The series of the PC(USA) Office of Public Witness (“OPW” in our three-letter acronym world) on the impact of the January 6 insurrection at the Capitol has me thinking about Western’s response. We in the Zoom gathering the following Sunday most likely recall Susie Farr saying “I don’t want to forget [what we saw]; I want to remember.” Many of us with video on were nodding in solidarity; I can imagine some with cameras off were, too.

As many of us as would not want to relive the horror or the evil of that day and as the mob violence traumatized many, we know that we cannot forget it. We can’t forget, not just because of the current eyesore of a barricade or the ongoing efforts to get to the bottom of what happened, but because we shouldn’t forget.

We shouldn’t forget, for so many reasons:

• We need to see the truth of what God would have us see – about the events, the people, and the circumstances leading up to January 6;

• We need to be clear that the Jesus we follow would not want his name waved on a flag in the middle of that crowd;

• And grounded in our faith in a God of love and justice, we need to see the dangers of white supremacy, for black and brown bodies and for all people.

I’ve always given thanks February is the shortest month. Each year a small part of me worries the month will never end, that it will always be cold, that the bulbs will never get to bloom, that Groundhog Day will become Groundhog Month, in the spirit of the Bill Murray movie. This year, as much as any, we have plenty to grieve and “winter” through, and now must include those experiencing Texas power outages in our prayers.

Yet here we are, over halfway finished with February and already in Lent. I am grateful for the fun and community that happened this past Sunday night during the virtual Valentine’s/ Mardi Gras games, led by Bill Rappolt and Will Ramsey. The spiritual connection during the post-worship virtual fellowship with members of Western and Northminster was an all-time Ash Wednesday highlight. And I’ve just learned that this week, often known for the Presidents’ Day holiday, also brings the birthday of two of my favorite women writers who are also both African-American: Toni Morrison and Audre Lorde. February does bring gifts, and I would be remiss if I didn’t add Black History Month!