Before each school year begins, the principal at Westwood Hills Elementary School calls me. The principal asks whether Westminster Presbyterian Church will serve as their host site in an emergency during school hours. My answer is always, “Yes.”
On September 2, 2026, the school, unfortunately, had to implement its emergency plan. Our church became the reunification site for families following an active shooter incident at the elementary school. Once it was safe, children and staff rode buses to the church in the adjacent neighborhood. Students without book bags and teachers without belongings stepped off the school buses and into our chapel.
In a space built for a little over 100 people, the chapel quickly filled with 400 students and 40 staff members. Small groups of younger children sat crisscross applesauce on the carpeted floor with their teachers hovering over them. Older children in fourth and fifth grades sat on the stage steps, filling every inch of the stage.
Throughout the morning, I carefully stepped through the sea of children and bent down to speak with two or three students at a time. We exchanged names, and I offered them water. I told each one of them that today was a hard day, and they were so brave. I told them that God loves them and so do we. Then I asked if I could give them a hug, and they always said, “Yes.”
Some children appeared more distressed than others. I crouched down in front of a fourth grader sitting on the steps and asked if she was ok. She said that her stomach hurt, and it was hard to breathe. She wondered if this was normal. I reassured her that everything she was feeling was normal, because she had experienced something very difficult. Then she looked at me and asked, “What if I pass out?”
I responded, “We will catch you.”
While students and teachers filled the chapel, central office staff gathered parents in the lower parking lot and inside the social hall, where adults sometimes stood shoulder to shoulder. Families completed reunification forms and waited to hear their child’s name called out among the crowd.
Church members and staff offered support in various spaces by reassuring families, breaking down tables, and directing people to the restrooms. Police officers and local clergy became a visible presence of peace among anxious parents and overwhelmed school staff. As the hours passed and the temperature reached 95 degrees, neighbors brought cases of water and cared for families.
The reunification process took just over two hours to place children with their families. Teachers and administrative staff remained in our building until mid-afternoon.
The following night, our church held a peace and comfort service for the community. Many Westwood Hills families and staff attended, along with people from the neighborhood, area schools, and faith communities. The variety of individuals demonstrated how this tragic event left no one untouched.
Local clergy, school staff, and church musicians led worship, while additional clergy sat in the front row and were available for prayer during and after the service. More invited guests sat toward the back of the sanctuary. Two therapy dogs rested on the brightly colored rugs in what we all call our playground, a worship space designed specifically for children. Two young police officers stood by the back door and participated in the service by holding candles and removing their hats during prayers.
The service, designed for children, included an extended children’s time rather than a sermon, and attendees lit candles during the closing song, “This Little Light of Mine.” As worshippers extinguished their candles, I realized the long journey of healing had just begun.
A legacy of love is reshaping our community with words of gratitude and actions of hope. I am thankful for Westwood Hills and for Westminster Presbyterian, and for how, together, we witnessed God’s love within the church’s walls and far beyond them. If ever those children, staff, and families wonder whether God or the church loves them, I hope they know the answer has always been, and will always be, yes.
