One week ago today, in my state’s largest urban area, someone went to the Church of the Annunciation.
Then he killed two children who were celebrating Mass, wounded several other folks, and finally killed himself.
He’s still dead, and so are those two kids. But, happily, it looks like the folks who were wounded will live: with varying degrees of lasting consequences.
News coverage has, predictably, shifted to giving politicos and hotheads opportunities for expressing outrage: and explaining why everybody should agree with them.
There’s a refreshing lack of focus on the killer: which lets me hope that a smidgen of common sense may be filtering into America’s news media.
What little I’ve seen reminded me of something from an old movie:
“…You know, sometimes I don’t think she’s really very happy.” (Fauna, in “Sleeping Beauty” , Walt Disney Productions (1959), from a discussion of Maleficent (Fandom))
Meanwhile, crime scene tape has been taken down around the Church of the Annunciation, and parishioners are celebrating Mass again. I’ll probably be mentioning that on Saturday. I don’t like thinking about how those folks are feeling just now.
Helping babies stay alive, bucking the medical status quo in 1909.
When I asked our oldest daughter what she’d like me to write about this week, she suggested “stories about when each of us was born”.
“Busy Desk”, Bilboq. (2006)
The birth of each child was an important event, at least for me and my wife, so I figured it’d be a matter of deciding which memories to pick.
Then I started poking around the labyrinthine interior of my mind.
Turns out I’ve got a few vivid snapshots, but not nearly as many details as I thought there’d be.
I’ve got a pretty good memory; apart from things like appointment times, anniversaries — fact is, I’ll be asking my wife for help with this post. It’s been decades since the mental machinery filed away those experiences.
Meanwhile, I’ll start talking about our oldest child’s birth, and see what happens.
This was when we were living in Fargo, North Dakota. I was doing time in academia again, getting a teaching degree in English. That was in daylight hours.
At night, when the due date came, I was a temp worker — a “Kelly Girl” — thankfully, I didn’t mind the disconnect, and that’s another topic. More specifically, I was a computer operator on the graveyard shift at an implement company.
Happily, the offices were in a building near the hospital we’d picked. Getting coffee, I could look out the window and see the building. Then, when my shift was over, I’d go over and see how my wife and newborn were doing.
But I’m getting ahead of the story.
Besides practical matters, the folks who were giving our — birth preparation class? birthing class? — anyway, the ‘what to expect, what to do, and how to do it’ class.
Where was I? Birthing class, the folks who were giving it. Right. Anyway, these folks gave advice for how to get a quick response at the hospital’s emergency entrance after hours.
We could, one of them said, get close to the outside microphone and make gasping-breath sounds — demonstrating the technique. I’m guessing that it was a joke, but it did strike me as a good way to encourage liveliness.
My wife and I didn’t need to do that. Getting to the hospital and the maternity ward is one of the blurred spots in my memory, but I remember that the process went fairly smoothly.
Changes: Delivery Rooms and Fainting Fathers
Childbirth, even when everything goes right, isn’t “routine”. Not in the sense of being unremarkable. It’s called labor for reasons, and I’ll let it go at that.
Something that’s changed since my youth is who’s around when a child is born.
Back then, at least near cities, most women gave birth in hospitals. The father would be on hand, but at a distance: in a waiting room, out of the way and fretting.
That was changing, slowly, in the 1960s.1 By the time my wife and I had our first child, letting me into the delivery room was acceptable. Along with not having my wife doped to the gills so she’d keep quiet, and that’s another topic.
Grudgingly acceptable, that is. Convincing the doctor took effort.
Somewhere along the line, I learned why some doctors preferred keeping fathers out of the delivery room. Seems that too often, a father would faint: adding the task of sliding a body out of the way to an already-intense process.
I wasn’t one of the fainting fathers.
In a way, it might have been easier on my wife if I had been.
Focused
I’d known in general terms what to expect during my wife’s labor.
There was a breathing routine I was expected to remind her about during contractions. I’m not sure how much good that did. Not the breathing: my alleged help. She knew the routine perfectly well.
My wife also stayed focused throughout. Make that almost throughout. During transition, that’s when the cervix is dilated from eight to ten centimeters,2 she did cry. Briefly.
She was and is not prone to emotional outbursts. At all. Getting her to cry would be like getting Sherlock Holmes to giggle.
The medicos had been poking needles into her, and her veins were not cooperating. My wife says that during transition is not the time to play find-the-vein. I think she’s right.
Ideally, she could have voiced that opinion clearly and eloquently at the time. But, well, there was quite a great deal happening that demanded her full attention.
New Experiences and Evaporative Cooling
She didn’t, for example, tell me that I should stop leaning on her. Not until later, when our oldest daughter was out and we all had a little time on our hands.
I wasn’t one of those fainting fathers, this was our firstborn child. I was excited: and that’s putting it mildly.
Things had progressed to the point where the top of our child’s head was visible. I’d known that our heads change shape as we go through the birth canal. What I hadn’t known was what it would look like.
The first part of our firstborn I saw was the top of her head. Aside from the size and color, it looked like a walnut.
That’s what I told my wife, right then, excitedly: while leaning on her. Later, she let me know that this was not a good idea. Leaning on her, I mean. She’d have told me right then and there, but — mothers may multitask, but not during delivery.
Getting back to that first look at our newborn, her head promptly popped into a more conventional baby-shape as the rest of her came out.
At the time, something that was part of the hospital’s childbirth process was having me (carefully) hold our daughter, lowering her into a body-temperature basin of water.
I think she liked it. As soon as she was mostly-immersed, she turned her head — I think it was to the left.
Pursing her lips, she methodically extended that arm and drew it back, keeping her hand even with her shoulder. Turning her head the other way, she did the same with the other arm. My guess is that she was taking in the experience of being able to extend her arms.
Then I lifted her out of the water. She experienced evaporative cooling.3 And screamed. She still does not like that experience.
A Couple Details
I think my wife’s first close look at our first daughter was when they ‘plopped her on her belly’ and dried her off. We were both very happy about our little one, and I’ll leave it at that.
Except for another detail.
We have had, in several senses of the term, colorful babies.
When she first came out, our oldest daughter was orange. That’s not usual. The reason her head looked like a tangerine has a scary name — infantile jaundice — but it’s treatable, temporary, and not a huge problem.4
Years later, when our son was born, he was purple; until his lungs made up a temporary oxygen deficit. Again, not a huge problem.
And like I said, colorful.
Baptism of Desire, Uncertainty, and Hope
Our Lady of Angels’ Marian Garden: a good place to sit and think. (2013)
All told, my wife and I have had six children. We’ve gotten to know four of them: the ones who survived.
Those four were baptized, the other two weren’t. The reason was, basically, that you can’t baptize a corpse.
About that —
Baptism matters, a lot. It makes entering the kingdom of God an option. (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1214-1274)
One of our children died in what this culture calls a miscarriage, the other experienced a stillbirth: and we nearly lost my wife in the process.
I am profoundly glad that my wife lived, I still grieve for Joy and Elizabeth, and — although I realize it’s impossible — I wish they could have been baptized.
The experiences did, however, result in my learning about what the church has been saying for the last 15 or so centuries about baptism and infants.
So far, we know that baptism is vitally important; that some infants, through no fault of their own, aren’t or can’t be baptized: and we don’t know how that affects their salvation.
Maybe it’d be easier to do an opinion poll and see what most folks want to be true, but the Church doesn’t work that way.
Instead, I can remember that something like a “Baptism of desire” has been discussed: and hope that I’m right about God being good, just, and merciful. I’m pretty sure about that, I’m counting on “merciful”, and that’s yet another topic. Topics.
Here’s a sample of what I found:
“…the Church does not know of any other means which would certainly give little children access to eternal life. However, the Church has also traditionally recognized some substitutions for Baptism of water (which is the sacramental incorporation into the mystery of Christ dead and risen), namely, Baptism of blood (incorporation into Christ by witness of martyrdom for Christ) and Baptism of desire (incorporation into Christ by the desire or longing for sacramental Baptism). During the 20th century, some theologians, developing certain more ancient theological theses, proposed to recognize for little children either some kind of Baptism of blood (by taking into consideration the suffering and death of these infants), or some kind of Baptism of desire (by invoking an ‘unconscious desire’ for Baptism in these infants oriented toward justification, or the desire of the Church). The proposals invoking some kind of Baptism of desire or Baptism of blood, however, involved certain difficulties….” (“The hope of salvation for infants who die without being baptised” , International Theological Commission (2007)[emphasis mine])
I’ve talked about some of this, and how I see changing attitudes about infants, before:
Two children, ages eight and 10, went to school this morning.
They won’t be going home.
Somebody decided that this would be a good morning to spray bullets into a church full of people. Why the 20-something (probably) man made that decision is an open question, and may remain so. He killed himself after committing murder.
This happened in Minneapolis, Minnesota, near West 54th Street, where it becomes Diamond Lake Road. (Google Maps)
That’s the gist of what I saw in the news around noon today:
“Two children are dead, two other children are in critical condition, and a total of 17 people are injured following a Wednesday morning shooting at Church of the Annunciation in southwest Minneapolis, according to police.
“Police say the shooter, a man in his 20s, opened fire during an all-school mass held at 8:15 a.m. Wednesday, when dozens of Annunciation Catholic School students and other worshippers were gathered in the adjoining church….
“…During a news conference, MPD Chief Brian O’Hara confirmed that an 8-year-old and a 10-year-old were killed and two other children are in critical condition. He said 17 people were injured, in addition to the children who died….” (“Live updates: 2 children killed, 17 injured as shooter opens fire at Minneapolis church” , BringMeTheNews (August 27, 2025))
“…’This was a deliberate act of violence against innocent children and other people worshiping,’ [Minneapolis Police Chief Brian] O’Hara said. ‘The sheer cruelty and cowardice of firing into a church full of children, it’s absolutely incomprehensible.’ …” (“Annunciation Church Minneapolis: What’s known about shooting suspect” , Megan Ziegler, FOX 9 KMSP (August 27, 2025))
“…Dating to 1923, the pre-kindergarten through eighth grade school had an all-school Mass scheduled at 8:15 a.m. Wednesday morning, according to its website. Monday was the first day of school….” (“Annunciation Church school shooting: What we know about the victims” , Chris Williams, FOX 9 KMSP (August 27, 2025))
I’m not, putting it mildly, happy about this. I’ll probably be angry, as soon as the disgust I’m feeling eases off.
As for what I think about what happened:
Human life is precious, a gift from God
Murder is a bad idea and we shouldn’t do it
Suicide is a bad idea and we shouldn’t do it
Attacking places of worship isn’t nice
I’ve talked about that, emotions, and trying to make sense, before:
It’s early days, a few items about the person who committed murder and suicide are popping up.
My guess is by tomorrow news coverage, if it continues, will focus on the weapons used, rather than the perpetrator’s possible motives.
I’m also guessing that he was not thinking straight: or maybe was under the impression that the Catholic Church is part of a Jewish plot. That’s assuming that any thought was involved.
Anyway, here’s a sample:
“…posted two YouTube videos, one ten minutes and the other twenty minutes long, showing writings that reference suicide, depression, ‘extremely violent thoughts and ideas,’ as well as an apology addressed ‘to my family and friends’ and a drawing of the layout of a church. A video also showed a number of guns, bullets and magazines. Messages were written on the guns, including antisemitic, and racist phrases and a message saying ‘Kill Donald Trump’. The channel was taken down shortly after the uploads….[33][34]” (Annunciation Catholic Church shooting, Wikipedia (copied August 27, 2025) [33 “Alleged attacker uploaded videos earlier today”. BBC News. August 27, 2025. Retrieved August 27, 2025.][34 “Suspect identified as Robin Westman, multiple sources say”. NBC News. August 27, 2025. Retrieved August 27, 2025.])
Liechtenstein (upper right), Sion (inset, lower left); north side of the Alps.
It’s been about a half-century since I worked for the Red River Valley Historical Society. Articles I wrote for their Red River Valley Heritage Press are in the MSMM Archives, and that’s another topic.1
Something I liked about that historical society is that it focused on what I think of as my ‘home turf’: the Red River Valley of the North. It’s some of the flattest land, and best farmland, on the planet.
When it’s mentioned at all, it’s in the context of 19th century treaty violations. Or the latest spring floods.2 And I’m drifting off-topic again.
The point is that while I was working for that outfit, we had a meeting with folks in Winnipeg, Canada — and got a tour of one of Winnipeg’s old houses.
After a half-century, all I remember about it — in any detail — is our tour guide’s account of how a stained glass window narrowly escaped destruction.
I don’t remember his name. But I do remember that somewhere along the line he said that he was, thanks to his ancestors, the 12th baron of Shaan. Or maybe Schön — there are a few places in Liechtenstein and Switzerland with names like that.3
He described the ‘barony’ as a few blocks in some town: his title gave him no economic benefit, but allowed him a few minor ceremonial perks. Which may explain why he was living in Winnipeg.
Anyway, here’s what he told us about his interest in a particular stained glass window.
Initiative, Theft; Tomayto, Tomahto
A few years earlier, this historic building had been in bad shape. Worse, from the viewpoint of folks who were trying to restore it, it was scheduled for demolition. I don’t remember details, but I think there was a hold-up in transferring ownership.
Was tearing the house down a good idea? Depends on how you look at it.
It might have been more cost-effective to tear the old wreck down and replace it with something blandly contemporary.
But Winnipeg would have lost one of its historic landmarks, and a beautiful stained glass window would have been destroyed.
Gran Vitral Tiffany del Hotel Ciudad de Mexico (Great Tiffany Stained Glass Window at the Hotel Ciudad de Mexico). Octavio Alonso Maya’s photo.
Considering the value folks put on stained glass art, that last bit — destroying a work of art — struck me as odd.
My guess is that someone figured there wouldn’t be enough profit in having the window removed and sold.
I think spending time and materials to preserve the window would have been a good idea. But I’m emphatically not involved in urban development.
Although I think life’s financial side matters, I also think there’s more to life than a high profit margin. Much more.
Seizing an Opportunity: and a Window
As our guide told it, with one day left before demolition, he unobtrusively slipped into the condemned building, removed the window, and took it to a nice, quiet place.
Within 24 hours, the building’s ownership SNAFU got resolved and its new owners noticed that they were one stained glass window short.
Being reasonable people, they said ‘we want our window back, no questions asked’. Communication followed, and the stained glass window was returned as quietly as it had been extracted.
Was removing that window illegal? Almost certainly.
I don’t know much about Winnipeg’s, Manitoba’s, or Canada’s law. But entering a building you don’t own and leaving with one of its windows without getting permission sounds like theft to me.
Was it wrong?
That’s a good question.
Theft: Getting Technical
There are a few actions that actually are wrong. Theft is one of them.
Theft is wrong. (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2408)
But — we’re talking about humans here, so it’s not quite that simple.
For starters, there’s “the reasonable will of the owner”. And sometimes theft looks like good, or clever, business. Shortchanging employees, not delivering goods or services that were paid for — basically, “theft” comes in many shapes and sizes, and it’s complicated. (Catechism, 2407-2414, for starters)
Now: was our tour guide’s removal of that stained glass window wrong?
“Legal” May Not be Right
“Fighting crime and/or evil”: Dick Orkin’s Chickenman. (1966-1969)
I don’t know if it’s growing up in the Sixties, or my Irish heritage: but I’m not horrified at our tour guide’s flagrant disregard for law and order.4
Particularly since his intent was preserving the window: and that he returned it to its now-legal owners as soon as there was a reasonable chance that it wouldn’t be destroyed.
On the other hand, the odds are that if the old house had been demolished, he’d have found a buyer for the window.
Like I said, it’s complicated.
Thinking that something can be legal and still be wrong, and that doing something illegal may be right, started making a lot more sense in the Sixties.
Now that I’m a Catholic, I have to believe that what’s right and what’s legal aren’t necessarily the same thing. (Catechism, 1954-1960, 2273)
But, since I’m a Catholic, I should show obedience to, and respect for, authority. Reasoned obedience: not blindly doing whatever I’m told. (Catechism, 1900-1903, 2242-2243)
Again: complicated.
Believing that what a government says is right may be, in fact, wrong was counter-cultural in my youth. It still is.
All that’s changed are the details, and that’s yet another topic.
Detail, Gentile da Fabriano’s “Valle Romita Polyptych.” (ca. 1411)
I’ve talked about natural law, principles that are part of reality; and positive law, rules that we make up,5 before:
Stearns County Fair, Saturday afternoon. (August 9, 2025)
Stearns County Fair, concessions between the Midway and the barns. (2012)
I took that picture of the Stearns County Fair while coming back from an errand last Saturday.
It’s about as close to being there as I’ve gotten in the last several years.
But since this household isn’t much more than a thousand feet from the fairground entrance, I get to see folks parked on the side street. Or, rather, I see the vehicles they’ve parked there. Sometimes my timing is right and I see them heading toward or returning from the festivities.
My favorite memory this year was seeing a young family — dad and a little girl — heading back to their car. It was late Saturday afternoon. My guess is that the little girl would have been okay with spending a few more hours at the fair. Holding at least two balloons, she hopped every second step or so. The dad proceeded at a more measured pace.
Friday evening usually brings a great many folks to the fairgrounds, but I didn’t notice as much traffic this year. That could be because the day’s forecast included storms. And, sure enough, later that evening a line of thunderstorms started heading our way.
Sauk Centre’s warning sirens went off about 10:25 p.m. — so we headed for our bad-weather positions. Which, in my case, is at the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor.
The storm that clipped Sauk Centre’s west side didn’t look all that perilous on radar, so we figured that sounding the sirens was ‘out of an abundance of caution’. That much lightning, and any amount of hail, could be bad news for anyone out in the open.
Later, when the sirens stopped and the storm was obviously missing us, I checked out what the Weather Service said about the situation. Looks like our spotters noticed something that wasn’t obvious. Which is why we have spotters.
TORNADO…POSSIBLE HAIL THREAT…RADAR INDICATED MAX HAIL SIZE…1.00 IN WIND THREAT…RADAR INDICATED MAX WIND GUST…60 MPH (National Weather Service information, weather.gov (August 8, 2025)
Something new each Saturday.
Life, the universe and my circumstances permitting. I'm focusing on 'family stories' at the moment. ("A Change of Pace: Family Stories" (11/23/2024))
I was born in 1951. I'm a husband, father and grandfather. One of the kids graduated from college in December, 2008, and is helping her husband run businesses and raise my granddaughter; another is a cartoonist and artist; #3 daughter is a writer; my son is developing a digital game with #3 and #1 daughters. I'm also a writer and artist.
I live in Minnesota, in America's Central Time Zone. This blog is on UTC/Greenwich time.
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Blog - David Torkington
Spiritual theologian, author and speaker, specializing in prayer, Christian spirituality and mystical theology [the kind that makes sense-BHG]
